It didn't take long for Stanley to pick up on the fact that something was wrong that day. He had a keen eye, and a real feel for people, the ability to detect when even the slightest thing was off.
That, and Fiddleford had spent the last three hours wearing oven mitts.
"You know." Stanley says casually, through a bite of afternoon cereal, "This isn't the strangest thing I've come into contact with in my short time here, and yet I feel compelled to ask."
"I was hoping you wouldn't." Fiddleford says with a sigh, and Stanley replies pointedly.
"But you knew I was going to. What's up with the oven mitts?"
Fiddleford half slouches, taking them off his hands. It would have to be brought up with Stan sooner or later anyway. The green glow had long left, but he still retained so much nervousness that now and again there'd be a spark crawl across his fingers.
Stan takes a moment to chew another bite of cereal, thoughtfully pondering on this, before gesturing and finally settling on a response.
"What the hell is that?"
"Magic apparently. You're unusual friend gave it to me last night befo--"
Stan spits out his cereal and milk back into his mostly empty bowl, which Fiddleford eyes with a distasteful look.
" Magic? And I don't suppose you had to give up your good night's sleep for it?"
"Well. No, I don't suppose there was a catch at all aside from the fact that I certainly don't want nothing to do with it."
"Are you kidding me?" Stan huffs, leaning back in his chair and looking rather cross, "Oh I am going to have a bone to pick with him tonight."
"I'm sorry Stanley, I'd offer some comforting thought, but I'm afraid I'm a bit lost on all this." Fiddleford says. "If it helps, Stanford is still in town doing damage control. Though it's been quite a while, I hope it's going well."
"What do you mean damage control?" Stanley demands, leaning forward.
"Well, I mean I reckon they actually liked your, uh, friend. But he was pulling quite a few tricks last night, last one left us quite shaken up and we thought it might be for the best."
"I can't believe this." Stan says, shoving one last spoonful of cereal in his mouth much to Fiddleford's disgust.
Stan stands, taking the bowl up to the sink and dumping it in there before grabbing up his jacket-- briefly slipping his arm through the burned hole in the back of it before correcting himself.
"Well come on then!" He says, and Fiddleford raises his eyebrows.
"Excuse me? Where are we going?"
"Into town of course." Stan says, "Make sure Ford hasn't gotten himself up into an angry mob. I've got to get some food anyway."
The town was far quieter than they had anticipated. Everyone was going about their day as if it were any other day, and no one so much as gave Stanley a second glance.
Instead of being relieved, Stanley was more irritated than anything.
"I thought you said he was causing trouble last night." He demands as they near the general store.
"He was." Fiddleford says, "I'm as about as perplexed as you are."
"Well," Stanley huffs with irritation, " maybe this wouldn't be so hard to figure out if I wasn't so out of the loop here."
Fiddleford pauses outside the door, giving Stan a sympathetic look.
"Y'know Stanley." He says, "I'm not going to say I know the feeling because we both know I don't. But I can only imagine the fuss you've gone through. Do you mind if I ask?"
Stan pauses a moment, somewhat confused. "Ask. About what?"
"Well." Fiddleford muses over how to properly phrase this, "I suppose I'll be frank. You don't go and let someone walk around in your skin willy nilly without a good reason. And I know it's not my place to pry, but I've been getting the implication that you've been having a lot of fuss a good time before we ran into you."
"You what? Want to know my life story of something?" Stanley huffs, and Fiddleford clears his throat embarrassed at the fact that his awkward attempt at reaching out had come off as being nosey.
"I reckon I was only curious." He says, "I get bits and pieces now and again with you two. Like I said, it's not my place to pry, but I guess I'm just concerned."
Stan, confused by the prospect but calming down, gives a thoughtful sort of frown before brushing it off.
"I don't see why." He says, "It's done and over with now."
"Hm. You know you two don't really act like it's over." Fiddleford says.
"Why wouldn't it be?" Stan says, moving on inside with a shrug, bell ringing lightly as the door opened, "Stanford's out here having the time of his life exploring all this weird stuff he's always had a thing for. He's just left over angry about it. He'll stop holding a grudge when he realizes he got what he always wanted anyway."
"I'm not sure I understand what you mean." Fiddleford says. Stanley continues on as if he hadn't heard him.
"I'll admit, it's not out sailing the seas, beaches babes and adventure like we planned." He says, rubbing his chin. "But, well, backwoods Oregon, the seven seas, it doesn't make a difference to me anymore."
He pulls a loaf of bread off a shelf, glancing at it briefly.
"As long as he's happy, then it may as well be the seven seas to me."
Stan looks up and quickly clears his throat. "But, I mean, he'll probably hold a grudge for a while still. We haven't seen each other in so long it probably seems fresh. Just this please." He says putting it on the counter.
He drums his fingers, a little awkwardly as the old lady at the register rings it up. He was almost certain Fiddleford was staring at him, though he refused to look and be sure. In a further effort to avoid eye contact, he quickly digs into his pocket to pull out some change. Er. Pocket lint, button, and a nickel…
Fiddleford lays down a few dollars on the counter.
"And a bit of beech nut, thank you." He says before turning back to Stanley, "I think maybe it's something you ought to talk out. I won't go pressing when it's none if my business. But maybe if you tried to talk things out, explain how you saw things, and let him get inside your head a little it might save you a bit of miscommunication in the long run."
Stanley tucks his 'change' away. He didn't much like talking about any of this, and normally he certainly wouldn't have liked someone butting their nose into it. But he liked to think he knew Fiddleford well enough to know he meant well with it.
"Mmm. Guess it couldn't hurt. Probably." He says. "Yeah, I don't know, I guess if it'll make you feel better I'll talk to him. Whenever he shows up anyway. "