[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/260618/7c0fdb9d.png[/img]

[img]https://i.pinimg.com/originals/aa/49/b8/aa49b80364628071c2c5597192734988.gif[/img]

[sub][b][color=#75779c]Location[/color][/b]: Pines Holler Fairgrounds         [b][color=#75779c]Interacting with[/color][/b]: [color=#BC8F8F]Silvester [@Pumpkin Jackdaw][/color]         [b][color=#75779c]Mentions[/color][/b]: [color=#4998BE]Dallas[/color], [color=#2A7E19]Clive[/color], [color=#694553]Mollie[/color][/sub]

[hr][/center]
Entering the fairgrounds was bittersweet. It was the first year Valen had the holiday off, but the memories of this time last year still floated through his mind. Even in uniform, keeping the motley throng in check, he'd tracked Dallas's whereabouts. He had stayed in her perimeter, using every spare moment to tug her lithe form into the shadows to sneak an impromptu kiss, or else allowed his callused hand to ghost over her waist as he breezed by on patrol.

It wouldn't be anything like that this year. 

He hoped to God he didn’t have the misfortune of running into Evermore—or worse, the two of them together. He hadn't spotted either one, but he’d only just cleared the crowded entrance. Instead, he was thrown off guard by the sight of Mollie; after everything she'd been saying, he wanted to see her about as much as the convict. Grimacing, he hunched his shoulders to duck past her place in line for a funnel cake, absently walking until a scent—sweet and bold—had him staggering to a halt. His slightly bleary eyes struggled to read the sign over the stall, but it was undeniably Mexican food. 

He came up to the stand just as a young woman was leaving, leaning his arms heavily on the surface as he inhaled the air surrounding the grill. A vague amusement surfaced as the older man behind the counter grumbled a response after the retreating girl. [color=#75779c]“Ever consider a desk job?”[/color] Valen asked passively. His hazy brain observed the familiar profile of the man, now certain he was the owner of the local antique store. As he waited, he wracked his memory trying to recall the man's name—remembering him as one of the few men in town he'd yet to pick up a bad vibe from. 

The benefit of being one of the only non-American food vendors meant quite a fair number of people walked up to Silvester’s stall. A fair few he recognized, like the man staring at him now He’d recognized the officer as a new edition to Pines. Well, not new per se, since four years wasn’t that short of a time, but for a lot of locals he’d probably stay new until he died here. [color=BC8F8F]”I’d say my job is a desk job,”[/color] Silvester replied with a grin as he set a tortilla on the hot plate and flipped over some corn on the grill, [color=BC8F8F]”Don’t have a lot of folks wandering in to do anything but sit at a desk, officer.”[/color]

He paused for a moment, then turned to look at him full as he closed the grill lid. [color=BC8F8F]”Why do you ask? Planning on offering me something at the precinct? I’m not near pretty enough to be a secretary I don’t think.”[/color]

Valen felt his mouth twist at the unusually playful response from the older man, making a passive hum in acknowledgement. The alcohol was causing his responses to lag, but he hoped it wouldn't be apparent to anyone else. [color=#75779c]“Lifting furniture and heavy antiques doesn't really fall under the jurisdiction of a desk job. It's… Silvester, right?”[/color] he asked, once he had settled on one of the names rattling around in his head that seemed the most likely match. 

He watched the grill for a bit, distracted by a sudden hunger pang as it sizzled, before lifting his eyebrows as the rest of the conversation caught up with him. He squinted at the man's face—which, as far as men were concerned, he was sure many women would find attractive. He lifted his shoulder as he replied, [color=#75779c]“You haven't seen our secretary, then.”[/color] He paused to lift his chin towards the food at Silvester's back. [color=#75779c]"That the… [i]ee-loht[/i]?"[/color] he asked, his butchered pronunciation awkward on his tongue. [color=#75779c]"[i]Ee-low-tee[/i]...?”[/color]

Silvester turned, toward the grill, opening it to let the smoke billow out like the chuckle from his lips. Wonky Spanish pronunciation occurred much more often around this time of year, seeing as how he had a menu of a wide number of Spanish words for the locals to stumble over. It didn’t bother him. Often times it gave Silvester a small laugh, but mostly he ignored it. Hearing it from Officer Lockwood, though, he could only really describe the feeling as endeared.

[color=BC8F8F]”Eh-loh-teh,”[/color] he said, slow and deliberate as his tongs plucked one of the corn from the grill. He looked over at Valen, a softness to his smile, while he coated the corn with crema and mayo and sprinkled it with a heavy dose of Tajin. [color=BC8F8F]”On the house,”[/color] he offered.

[color=BC8F8F]”And, yes, it’s Silvester. Some folks like to call me Sal because my name is a mouthful,”[/color] Silvester said as he leaned against the side of his stall counter. It was nice to have a slow moment to just chat with someone familiar, [color=BC8F8F]”Officer Lockwood, yes? I’d joke about having muscle to help me move that heavy furniture around, but I’ve made do with my own for years now. Keeps an old man in shape.”[/color]

[color=#75779c]“Eh-loh-teh,”[/color] Valen repeated, the word still coming out flat compared to how Silvester had said it. He shrugged, offering a faint smile that faltered under the other man's unexpected gesture of kindness. [color=#75779c]“You must be out of the gossip ring,"[/color] he said after a beat, withdrawing his wallet to slide more bills across the counter than was necessary. Drunk or not, the overpayment was intentional.

After shoving the leather fold into his back pocket, he tugged the plate closer—noting there was no way he'd be eating the thing without making a mess. Considering it was a damn holiday, however, sticky finger foods were an anticipated highlight of the day. He lifted the loaded cob and took a massive bite, letting out a subtle, pleased grunt as the rich flavors spilled over his tongue. He gave a short, wordless nod while he chewed to convey his kudos, speaking only after he'd swallowed a second mouthful.

[color=#75779c]“Sal. I should be able to remember that,"[/color] he replied, failing to keep his alcohol-thinned focus from drifting right back to Dal at the similarity. It was a fleeting thought before his mind turned over to his own unwanted nickname—not that ‘Val’ was one he ever willingly promoted. 

He let out another gruff laugh, shaking his head once before opting for another bite. [color=#75779c]"Officer Lockwood is off duty. I'm saddled with a mouthful of a name too, but Valen is just fine,”[/color] he answered, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth to attempt some form of manners.

[color=#75779c]“Well, seems to me your creaky knees are in disagreement. I drive by often enough if you actually need some help lifting. My joints are still in top form,"[/color] he joked, polishing off the street fare with more enthusiasm than he would have clocked when he first approached. [color=#75779c]“That was great, by the way. You should consider adding a kitchen to your shop—I’d have a hard time choosing between that and a beer after work.”[/color]

To think someone would recommend he open a kitchen while not a bad idea, in fact it flattered Silvester to his core, it would only ever end up a pipe dream for him. [color=BC8F8F]”Valen,”[/color] Silvester nodded, pouring one of the agua frescas, raspberry flavored, into a solo cup and sliding it toward Valen, [color=BC8F8F]”If I could indulge in every dream I’ve ever had, I wouldn’t need to be a rich man.”[/color]

For a moment, Silvester considered not taking the money offered, but a kindness offered and returned shouldn’t ever be spurned. His mother told him that and he told Anya that in kind. It helped that it rhymed—made it stick easier in the mind. [color=BC8F8F]”Plus, if I’m to put a kind young officer like you to work, I might as well feed him,”[/color] Silvester turned back to tend to the food before it burned as a few more visitors he’d not been familiar with came up with an order of their own. He accepted their money, gave them their food, and turned back to Valen, [color=BC8F8F]”I know we just formally met, but if you do intend on using your fresh joints to help me out, it’d be unkind of me not to offer you a meal. No need for a kitchen extension, after all.”[/color]

Silvester offers a small mutter to himself, [color=BC8F8F]”I know it’d get my daughter to stop complaining about too many leftovers.”[/color]

[color=#75779c]“Thanks,”[/color] Valen murmured as the crimson drink was pushed towards him, accepting the cup gratefully. He took a small sip to sample it. It was damn good—which he was beginning to realize shouldn’t surprise him after the elote—and tilted it back to take several deep gulps. 

He leaned more firmly against the stand, letting the comfortable silence stretch between them as Sal paused their talk to help some other customers. He was absently staring into his mostly depleted cup when Sal’s voice started up again. He turned his gaze back to the older man, mindlessly swirling the last of the liquid out of habit. [color=#75779c]“I’d be hard pressed to turn that down. I’ve never been much of a cook, but I do make a hell of a sandwich.”[/color]

He observed Sal as he mumbled a comment, belatedly guessing the one who had yelled across the fairgrounds earlier must have been Sal’s daughter. Valen inclined his head, keeping a relatively straight face. [color=#75779c]“It's no problem at all. Or if it is… guess you have plenty of Bengay to go around.”[/color] Raising an eyebrow as he finished the drink, he crunched the plastic between his fingers before tossing it in the trash nearby.

Of course Valen heard that exchange, which probably confirmed a few more locals milling about probably heard it too. For some reason, it prickled at the back of Silvester’s neck like someone just caught him doing something out of the ordinary in high school. At the very least, Silvester didn’t blush outside of what his ex-wife used to call a wine flush whenever he’d get even a little bit tipsy. [color=BC8F8F]”Well, since I’m the only one who uses it,”[/color] Silvester grinned it off, throwing another cob of corn on the grill, [color=BC8F8F]”we don’t run out often. Maybe if I did more stretches before lifting anything I’d not have as many issues. But we aren’t anything without our habits, good or bad, hm?”[/color]

With that, Silvester offered a genuine smile and lifted his tong, [color=BC8F8F]”I’ll take you up on that sandwich, though. Nice to have someone else cook for you, for a change. Do you want another, by the way?”[/color] Then he pointed toward the big jug of agua fresca, [color=BC8F8F]”Or another of that? The trick to a good agua fresca, by the way, is to beg your mother to make a big batch for you.”[/color] He wiggled his eyebrows at that, giving a toothy grin before it broke apart into a warm, chesty laugh like he’d just make a joke that would have his daughter rolling her eyes.

Valen let an easy smile return to his face, finding Sal's friendliness oddly contagious. It was disarming to relax after being on edge all morning about whether to even show up. He didn't respond to the comment about habits—though the words lingered in his mind. He wasn't too sure Sal would be so casual about the topic if he knew the extent of Valen's own, but he was content to let the conversation glide past it without weighing in.

At the offer of more food or drink, he let out a low, breathy laugh before giving his head a firm shake. [color=#75779c]“I shouldn't if I want to hold my buzz,"[/color] he admitted, his eyes automatically scanning the surrounding crowd out of routine. [color=#75779c]“Pass on my compliments to your mother, and thanks for the—”[/color] He vaguely waved a hand at the stand in general, appreciative of the company just as much as the food.

Alcohol and fairgoers went hand in hand, Silvester knew that much, so the second Valen mentioned his buzz, he dipped down beneath one of the set up tables and pulled out a bottle of water. [color=BC8F8F]”I say the same to my daughter and I’ll say the same to you, law enforcement or not,”[/color] Silvester said, not looking serious so much as sincere as reached out to grab Valen’s waving hand to push the water bottle into it, [color=BC8F8F]”You stay as hydrated as you can, then thank me later. I’d offer you Tylenol for your morning after but I’ll probably be dealing with my own.”[/color]

Before Valen could go, however, Silvester grabbed a cup to pour fruit and chamoy into and slid it across to Valen. [color=BC8F8F]”Just in case you or someone you know gets hungry,”[/color] he said, stabbing a fork into the cup to end any arguments, [color=BC8F8F]”A gift for the pleasant conversation and a promise for more, hm?”[/color]

As the water bottle was thrust into his grip, Valen looked down at it, perplexed—completely floored by the notion that anyone thought he needed hydration to function. He probably did, truth be told, but the staggered explanation about water ruining his alcohol high died on his tongue as another parting gift slid across the counter. He stared at the cup, a deep crease forming between his brows.

[color=#75779c]“You… are something else,”[/color] he settled on, his voice dropping close to a mumble. It was a statement meant more for himself, unable to articulate how misplaced the older man’s thoughtfulness towards him was—particularly since he was actively filling the role as the town pariah. He didn’t decline either offering, however, lifting both of his laden hands awkwardly in a gesture of thanks. [color=#75779c]“I’m here alone, but I’ll make sure it doesn’t go to waste,”[/color] he said, taking a moment to gather his composure back from the overwhelming kindness.

He cleared his throat. [color=#75779c]“I’ll see you around, Sal. I don’t have a pen on me, but I’ll make sure to drop by sometime. The manual labor should do me good after all this,”[/color] he joked, peering down into the fruit cup while having absolutely no clue what the dark, reddish sauce over it actually was.

Regardless of town gossip, to which Silvester never found himself privy to, it never felt right to never give someone a chance. He knew the dangers of that, he felt like, growing up in this town with some of these people. So he simply waved off Valen’s thanks before his hand moved to pick up his tongs again. Silvester gave it a prompt wave as he called out, [color=BC8F8F]”Don’t forget to let yourself have some fun, Valen!”[/color] Though he meant it more as a reminder to turn off the work brain, it would surely help as a general reminder, even to himself.

[color=BC8F8F]”And I’ll just call the non-emergency line if I need any help before I get your number,”[/color] Silvester ended with a joke, though he furrowed his brows as he looked down at his grill, mumbling some kind of self-deprecation in Spanish to himself while he scratched at his head.

Valen had already taken several steps away, but he still managed to raise his fruit cup overhead in a silent salute.