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Today was one in which people gave thanks, counting all their blessings. Only a prelude to the larger event of Christmas, some may spend it, and others pass it. It was in alignment with their recent success in Dongyuan that Vergilius, the Color Fixer, known as The Red Gaze, offered the Sinners condolences in the form of a party. A few were shocked, while others held skepticism. Though they all were warming up to each other, Vergilius wasn’t someone they could exactly call a friend. In this manner, everyone chalked it up to spoiling Charon.
It made the most sense, and they were all happy with such a reason.
The party was already underway in the kitchen stowed away behind one of numerous doors. It was sizable, perhaps with the consideration of fourteen total people. Whatever the reason, Sinclair was glad to see everyone in the same space, sharing the same cheers. This atmosphere of joy was contagious, and like Don Quixote, his smile was bright. Just bright enough to read him at a glance, not that he was hard to read in the first place.
The blonde surveyed the room, his gaze quickly shifting towards the table in the middle of the room. Upon it were delectable spreads upon spreads, as well as a few malicious-looking stews and a handful of green, foul-aura emitting potatoes. Yi Sang’s handy work, no doubt. Propping himself off from the wall closest to the door, Sinclair reached the table in no time. He secured himself a paper plate, a fork, and a spoon. Using the designated tongs, with his loved hands, he picked up a few things here and there. Chicken, beef, corn, pumpkin cake, and a few other bland-looking things. Once his plate was half-full, he retreated to an empty spot at the kitchen counters.
Settling his plate, Sinclair settled for a chicken drumstick to start things off. A hum to his lips, he grabs the fork, intending to skewer the thigh, only for a voice to give him pause.
“It’s M.E.W. your hands?” an elegant-sounding, beautiful voice questioned in his ear. Sinclair froze upon the spot, feeling heat rise to his ears. Turning his head towards the voice, he’s met with a face that’s just as beautiful.
“Ryoshu,” he addresses respectfully, albeit quietly. She’s not looking at him, but rather at his hands.
“W.U.S.”
A mere greeting with a layered and direct insult towards his temperament. Sinclair acknowledges it calmly.
“I was uhm, well.” He makes a stabbing motion with his fork again, to which Ryoshu simply scoffs and shakes her head. Not waiting for an excuse, the beautiful woman makes way to the kitchen sink where she begins washing her hands. Flicking off the excess with a fluid flicking motion, she returns to Sinclair’s side. He was standing there patiently, not that he had to wait long.
“What did you have in mind?” Sinclair couldn’t help but ask. A few ideas came across him, yet he reigned in his thoughts.
At the posed question, Ryoshu’s eyes lit up dazzlingly, a purity in their teasing maliciousness, as a slight smile curved her lips. Wordlessly, with her dainty but strong fingers, she pinches the smaller part of a chicken thigh. Lifting it, she offers it to Sinclair’s mouth.
“Eat.”
Sinclair’s expression crumbles into something between the horror of his expectations coming true and the joy, along with the cringeiness of being right about being teased this way. Ryoshu’s patient in the moment, letting him thankfully reel himself in.
“N-now? With…?” So many of the other sinners were still around.
“I.D.C.”
Her replies are always so succinct. Sinclair couldn’t help but sigh, meeking forward to clench his teeth into the chicken drumstick. It’s an awkward bite, as expected. Probably the same amount as eating it off a fork. It seems Ryoshu simply wanted to amuse herself at his expense. Quickly taking the meat off the bone so as to draw the least attention, Sinclair chews thoroughly before swallowing, and then gives a sheepish, thankful smile to Ryoshu.
“Y.W,” the beautiful woman said, casually flicking the bone, which lands effortlessly into the nearest bin. “Another?” she muses, her other hand reaching down into a pocket.
Sinclair shakes his head a few times, and before Ryoshu could reply, slips away with his plate and utensils.
Ryoshu doesn’t give chase, letting him off as her eyes wander towards the ceiling and its lights.
Not long after leaving Ryoshu behind did Sinclair stumble upon the other blonde, Don Quixote. He had heard her boisterous voice from the middle of the room for a while now, but in the recent few minutes, a realization dawned that it had gone quiet. Now, the reason was present in front of him.
Don Quixote was seated upon a chair, a plate in her lap with her cheeks fluffed up from a stuffed face. As Sinclair drew nearer for a chat, panic seemed to well up in her eyes. Before she could do anything drastic, he held out his arm with his palm towards her, signaling to stop or calm down. She did so, thankfully, resuming her intense chewing motions. After a few seconds, she swallowed, then greeted him with a beaming smile. The cute blonde expressed visible joy as she greeted him.
“Young Sinclair!”
“Don Quixote,” Sinclair replied in kind, yet with less vocals.
“Art thou enjoying thou self?” she proceeded to ask. As Sinclair took time to consider, the cute blonde resumed her meal.
“I am, I am,” Sinclair answered a few moments later.
Affirming his answer with a nod, Don Quixote’s smile turned into a smirk. “Verily, no doubt you are with THAT one hand-feeding you, hm?”
“Wait, what?” Sinclair was caught unaware by such a line of questioning. “W-what do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb, Young Sinclair.” The cute blonde was shaking her head, as if she disagreed with his ignorance. “I know thou art closest to her, yet, tsk, tsk, tsk. Such open-ness. Have thou no shame?”
“Oh, c’mon,” Sinclair replied with exasperation, letting out a sigh soon after. “Alright, alright.” He can guess why she’s being this way. “Wait for me here.”
As if choosing to ignore him, Don Quixote remained animated upon her pile of food. Sinclair drew away, his eyes lingering upon the cute blonde.
Reaching the sink, Sinclair removed his right glove, letting water run over it under the sink. After a few seconds, he considers taking off his left glove. No sooner did he think so, did a pair of elegant fingers enclosed upon his right hand. They were already lathered with soap, making their way around every inch of his hand. Soon enough, his hand was thoroughly scrubbed with soap. The dainty yet firm fingers guided his hand forward, letting water wash away the excess.
“Best N.K. her,” the beautiful woman purposefully whispered into his ears. A shiver ran down Sinclair’s spine. When he turned around, she was already gone, chatting up with another sinner. Letting out a sigh, he returned towards Don Quixote’s side.
Don Quixote, who had been solely focused on consumption, abruptly paused as a chicken thigh was raised in front of her eyes. She drew the line, working her way up to Sinclair’s exposed hand.
“Would you like one?” Sinclair asked, coughing into his other hand. Don Quixote replied affirmatively by taking a few bites out of the thigh.
It was only the first of many items which Sinclair would hand-feed to her. Her voracious appetite was a sight to behold. She finished off not only her plate, but Sinclair’s as well. When his stomach began growling, their roles switched. After gathering a couple food items, she began to feed him while he compliantly ate. They ignored the others, lost in their own world.
Only when they were both full did they part, leaving each other to their own devices. Sinclair somehow found himself with Ryoshu once again.
It was a thankful day.