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Series: Broken World
Prompt: Picnic
Characters: Lance, Eric
Summary: There's a strange boy living in the park.
“Hey.”
“Go away,” Lance grumbled. He curled in on himself even more.
“What’re you doing?”
“Fuck off.” His mom would have been very cross with him for using that word, but it got most other kids to go away.
“You’ve been sleeping here for three days. Have you had any food?”
Lance groaned. He just wanted to be left alone. The gnawing ache in his stomach reminded him that all he’d eaten in the last week was a loaf of bread he’d managed to steal. There were no spirits in this city to help him find food. Reluctantly he focused on controlling his appearance. He was wearing long pants and sleeves even though it was summer because it meant less exposed skin to worry about. Once he was certain his skin looked relatively human, Lance rolled over and opened his eyes.
A blond white boy peered at him from the entrance of his hiding place. The boy had piercing blue eyes. His skin was clean except for some dirt on his hands, though his hair was tousled and there were stains on his clothing from rough play. He couldn’t have been older than thirteen or fourteen--about Lance's age.
“What do you want?” Lance said, still trying to sound intimidating. The stranger didn’t seem fazed at all.
“Do you want something to eat? My mom made extra sandwiches.”
“I—“ Lance was about to retort something angry, but a flash of gold caught his eye. The boy was wearing a pendant around his neck: a cross inside a triangle. He didn’t realized he’d backed away until he ran into a hard brick wall. “I don’t want nothing to do with the Church.”
The boy looked confused and hurt. “I’m just asking if you want a sandwich, not dragging you to Mass.”
Lance hesitated. There was nothing in the boy’s body language that implied he was lying. And he was starving.
“Okay.”
He followed the boy out into the sunny park. Lance had to shield his eyes. He would have to steal a hat soon, or just become entirely nocturnal. He could control what his eyes looked like most of the time, but bright sunlight was becoming more and more painful.
The strange boy led him to a picnic table surrounded by a picture perfect family. A tall, willowy blonde woman who could only be the mom; a smiling blond man who looked like he was made of muscle; another small blonde child, this one a girl in pigtails. Every instinct Lance had was telling him to get out of here. He didn’t belong.
The woman suddenly took notice of him. She went from smiling at her daughter’s antics to examining Lance with a pinched expression on her face. She was obviously taking in his brown, dirt-smudged skin, his ragged clothing, the hollows under his eyes. This woman and her family looked like they’d stepped out of a propaganda poster for Trinity Church. Lance looked exactly like the homeless street kid he was.
“Who’s your friend, Eric?” she asked, her voice calm. Eric. That was the boy’s name.
“’m Lance,” he mumbled. He shied away from the woman’s judgmental eyes and toed his shoe at the grass.
“Can he have a sandwich, Mom?” Eric asked. “You did make extras, and he’s—“
“Alright, alright, dear.” She turned toward the table and went through a plastic box. “We are going to talk about this later.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Eric said dutifully.
“Is ham alright, Lance?” Eric’s mom asked. Lance nodded eagerly. He didn’t really care so long as he got something to eat. He snatched the sandwich from her hand.
“Thanks,” he said quickly before running off.
___________________________________________________________________
Five days later Eric was back again. This time he brought a small basket.
“What do you want?”
“You need to eat.” Lance glared. It wasn’t an answer. And anyway, he’d stolen food last night. If he had been starving he would shift back to normal and snatch the basket right out of Eric’s hands.
“Why are you doing this?”
“I can’t just be nice?” Eric asked, waving his free hand in frustration.
“Church people are only nice when they want converts.” There had been a small congregation of them back home. They always isolated themselves, except when they went around killing spirits and humanoids.
Eric sighed and sat down cross-legged in front of Lance’s hiding place. “I don’t want to convert you. Okay? I just don’t like the idea of you starving and alone under a log in the corner of the park.”
He’d gotten himself stuck with an honest-to-god Good Samaritan. Somehow. The least he could do was take advantage of it.
“Fine,” he said. He inched towards Eric, but the older boy held up a hand.
“I have a couple questions first,” Eric said. Lance nearly rolled his eyes. Here we go.
“Shoot.”
“Huh?”
It took Lance a moment to realize what he meant. “Shoot. It means go ahead. Shoot me the questions. How do you not know that? I’m the one living under a rock.” It probably wasn’t a good idea to be such a smartass to someone who was offering him food, but his attitude hadn’t scared Eric off yet. To his surprise, Eric smiled.
“How long have you been living like this?” he asked.
“Three weeks.” Three weeks since he’d had a bed that wasn’t made of leaves and pine straw or old, mildewy carpet in abandoned buildings.
“Why?”
“Ran away from home. Done now?” Eric frowned, but then he nodded sharply and pushed the basket towards Lance. Even though he wasn’t nearly as starving as he had been a few days before, Lance nearly tore the basket apart. There were three sandwiches inside, bottles of nutrient-rich vitamin water, a couple MREs, and a thermos. Lance picked up the last with awe.
“God, you must be rich,” he blurted out. The thermos wasn’t an old hunk of plastic and metal. It was ceramic with a tiny enchanted crystal in the base. Lance could feel the thrum of its magic against his aura. The magic was strangely cool, even though he could feel the warmth of the thermos on his skin. That was the feel of industrial magic. Rather than being drawn from a Rift by a sorcerer, the magic was pulled by a magic-conducting crystal. The only contact it had with a human aura was when the final spell was crafted.
“Well. Uh,” Eric stammered, “Actually, I sort of borrowed that. From the church. So I need it back.”
Lance looked Eric over again, studying him seriously this time. His whole family was clearly well-fed if they didn’t mind him giving out food to strangers. He was a bit gangly and his clothes were too short, even if they were well-made--the result of a recent growth spurt, not inability to pay for new clothes. His hair was neatly trimmed, his skin unmarred except for a couple scrapes that were probably from playing sports or something. Everything about Eric screamed “Trinity Church kid: bland, brainwashed, predictable.” Except he had stolen an expensive piece of Church property so he could feed a random runaway he’d only spoken to once.
“Thank you,” Lance said. He opened the thermos and breathed in the rich smell of homemade chicken soup. It was the most incredible gift he could imagine.
Prompt: Picnic
Characters: Lance, Eric
Summary: There's a strange boy living in the park.
“Hey.”
“Go away,” Lance grumbled. He curled in on himself even more.
“What’re you doing?”
“Fuck off.” His mom would have been very cross with him for using that word, but it got most other kids to go away.
“You’ve been sleeping here for three days. Have you had any food?”
Lance groaned. He just wanted to be left alone. The gnawing ache in his stomach reminded him that all he’d eaten in the last week was a loaf of bread he’d managed to steal. There were no spirits in this city to help him find food. Reluctantly he focused on controlling his appearance. He was wearing long pants and sleeves even though it was summer because it meant less exposed skin to worry about. Once he was certain his skin looked relatively human, Lance rolled over and opened his eyes.
A blond white boy peered at him from the entrance of his hiding place. The boy had piercing blue eyes. His skin was clean except for some dirt on his hands, though his hair was tousled and there were stains on his clothing from rough play. He couldn’t have been older than thirteen or fourteen--about Lance's age.
“What do you want?” Lance said, still trying to sound intimidating. The stranger didn’t seem fazed at all.
“Do you want something to eat? My mom made extra sandwiches.”
“I—“ Lance was about to retort something angry, but a flash of gold caught his eye. The boy was wearing a pendant around his neck: a cross inside a triangle. He didn’t realized he’d backed away until he ran into a hard brick wall. “I don’t want nothing to do with the Church.”
The boy looked confused and hurt. “I’m just asking if you want a sandwich, not dragging you to Mass.”
Lance hesitated. There was nothing in the boy’s body language that implied he was lying. And he was starving.
“Okay.”
He followed the boy out into the sunny park. Lance had to shield his eyes. He would have to steal a hat soon, or just become entirely nocturnal. He could control what his eyes looked like most of the time, but bright sunlight was becoming more and more painful.
The strange boy led him to a picnic table surrounded by a picture perfect family. A tall, willowy blonde woman who could only be the mom; a smiling blond man who looked like he was made of muscle; another small blonde child, this one a girl in pigtails. Every instinct Lance had was telling him to get out of here. He didn’t belong.
The woman suddenly took notice of him. She went from smiling at her daughter’s antics to examining Lance with a pinched expression on her face. She was obviously taking in his brown, dirt-smudged skin, his ragged clothing, the hollows under his eyes. This woman and her family looked like they’d stepped out of a propaganda poster for Trinity Church. Lance looked exactly like the homeless street kid he was.
“Who’s your friend, Eric?” she asked, her voice calm. Eric. That was the boy’s name.
“’m Lance,” he mumbled. He shied away from the woman’s judgmental eyes and toed his shoe at the grass.
“Can he have a sandwich, Mom?” Eric asked. “You did make extras, and he’s—“
“Alright, alright, dear.” She turned toward the table and went through a plastic box. “We are going to talk about this later.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Eric said dutifully.
“Is ham alright, Lance?” Eric’s mom asked. Lance nodded eagerly. He didn’t really care so long as he got something to eat. He snatched the sandwich from her hand.
“Thanks,” he said quickly before running off.
___________________________________________________________________
Five days later Eric was back again. This time he brought a small basket.
“What do you want?”
“You need to eat.” Lance glared. It wasn’t an answer. And anyway, he’d stolen food last night. If he had been starving he would shift back to normal and snatch the basket right out of Eric’s hands.
“Why are you doing this?”
“I can’t just be nice?” Eric asked, waving his free hand in frustration.
“Church people are only nice when they want converts.” There had been a small congregation of them back home. They always isolated themselves, except when they went around killing spirits and humanoids.
Eric sighed and sat down cross-legged in front of Lance’s hiding place. “I don’t want to convert you. Okay? I just don’t like the idea of you starving and alone under a log in the corner of the park.”
He’d gotten himself stuck with an honest-to-god Good Samaritan. Somehow. The least he could do was take advantage of it.
“Fine,” he said. He inched towards Eric, but the older boy held up a hand.
“I have a couple questions first,” Eric said. Lance nearly rolled his eyes. Here we go.
“Shoot.”
“Huh?”
It took Lance a moment to realize what he meant. “Shoot. It means go ahead. Shoot me the questions. How do you not know that? I’m the one living under a rock.” It probably wasn’t a good idea to be such a smartass to someone who was offering him food, but his attitude hadn’t scared Eric off yet. To his surprise, Eric smiled.
“How long have you been living like this?” he asked.
“Three weeks.” Three weeks since he’d had a bed that wasn’t made of leaves and pine straw or old, mildewy carpet in abandoned buildings.
“Why?”
“Ran away from home. Done now?” Eric frowned, but then he nodded sharply and pushed the basket towards Lance. Even though he wasn’t nearly as starving as he had been a few days before, Lance nearly tore the basket apart. There were three sandwiches inside, bottles of nutrient-rich vitamin water, a couple MREs, and a thermos. Lance picked up the last with awe.
“God, you must be rich,” he blurted out. The thermos wasn’t an old hunk of plastic and metal. It was ceramic with a tiny enchanted crystal in the base. Lance could feel the thrum of its magic against his aura. The magic was strangely cool, even though he could feel the warmth of the thermos on his skin. That was the feel of industrial magic. Rather than being drawn from a Rift by a sorcerer, the magic was pulled by a magic-conducting crystal. The only contact it had with a human aura was when the final spell was crafted.
“Well. Uh,” Eric stammered, “Actually, I sort of borrowed that. From the church. So I need it back.”
Lance looked Eric over again, studying him seriously this time. His whole family was clearly well-fed if they didn’t mind him giving out food to strangers. He was a bit gangly and his clothes were too short, even if they were well-made--the result of a recent growth spurt, not inability to pay for new clothes. His hair was neatly trimmed, his skin unmarred except for a couple scrapes that were probably from playing sports or something. Everything about Eric screamed “Trinity Church kid: bland, brainwashed, predictable.” Except he had stolen an expensive piece of Church property so he could feed a random runaway he’d only spoken to once.
“Thank you,” Lance said. He opened the thermos and breathed in the rich smell of homemade chicken soup. It was the most incredible gift he could imagine.
