The question was ever-present, and one that Kenny loathed that it plagued him so often as he made his way through the dirt streets of his village, lined with dying grass and pastel peonies limping on their stalks from the light rainfall thus far. It was a query that he imagined everyone stuck in their quiet little nest of the mountains came across: Was this really it?
Kenny couldn't imagine it being so, he'd heard stories from travelers of their adventures to distant cities, telling of a multitude of crafted buildings, a plethora of people, how even walking down the street was a chore with all the activity. Kenny grimaced as a rogue chicken ran across his path, clucking its little heart out before a strung-out woman with frizzy hair stumbled after it. He watched her nearly trip and turned on his heel, taking long strides towards the runaway. He ducked down and scooped under the bird, hoisting her up in his arms and standing to face the panting woman as she smiled gratefully. "Thank you," she said kindly, Kenny smiling and handing her back her poultry. "Little troublemaker pecked right through the coop," she laughed.
He snorted, "Well it ain't much of a life just sittin' 'round layin' eggs, I'd guess."
She shrugged, hushing at the chicken's clucks and looking at Kenny again with tired hazel eyes. "We all gotta serve a purpose," she said casually. "Thanks again."
"No problem," he nodded, watching her as she turned and weaved her way back between buildings out towards the northern fields of the town. Kenny sighed, scratching through his hair listlessly and continuing back on his path. Serve a purpose? Maybe. But there had to be purpose he could have somewhere else, not confined into his little fabric shop, spending his days balancing his tumultuous family and needy customers. Even taking his business somewhere besides here could be his purpose for all he knew. After all, this town was all he'd ever known, and he fancied listening to travelers spinning their tales as they made way back home and plopped down in the alehouse to unwind. It was hard to picture just what it was that people had seen, only able to mentally increase his own town's population and make their buildings just a tad bit less run-down.
But there was a flipside, he'd been warned with other listeners: Their kind wasn't meant for that kind of life. No neighbor was going to give you a helping of crops if your family fell into hard times. No one was going to go out of their way to help you rebuild your roof when a tree collapsed from a nasty storm. No one would even go so far as to catch that runaway chicken, far too busy living their own lifestyles to take the time to lend a hand. Given, that flack had its own criticism from other wanderers, claiming that they'd just went to an awful place to be, that some cities were kinder than their own homegrown charms.
In all honesty, Kenny didn't care. They could be the sweetest bunch of people walking around like the ethereal glow of the sun or they could shove him down and use him as a rug and he would take it either way or somewhere in-between. Because it wasn't here. Was there a certain degree of affection he held for his neighbors knowing him by name and valuing him as a member of their community? Sure, he'd never deny that. But there was only so much that simple mediocrity could overshadow of his confinement. His village was a net; he could so clearly see that there was more than what he was in, but getting there was damn near impossible.
It was disheartening and tiring to say the very least.
He glanced over at the sound of laughter, smiling crookedly at a group of young kids hauling a cart of mismatched toys over the road and onto the grass. A boy, the oldest by the looks of it, reached his hands into the pine and dug around, various items clacking together in muffled sounds. He grinned, pulling out a sloppily stitched leather ball the size of his fist, rolling it around in his fingers, the soft dirt inside giving way to the pressure, and beckoning the others to follow him further into the green. Kenny watched the five of them standing in a large circle, gently lobbing their hands upwards to let the toy soar through the air to another of them.
The blonde shook his head in amusement, remembering himself and his own group of friends playing the same way. He remembered quite vividly how many bruised eyes had come of that game as well, usually a direct result of one of them hitting the edge of their short temper. If living in this clustered village had taught Kenny anything throughout the years, it was that it didn't exactly breed the type of never-ending patience that the lessons of Tavin declared to be so important. Kindness was abounding, but self-control was always pulled taut and ready to snap should something go awry. Kenny could only figure that it was what led to his father's habits, he being within the fourth generation of their family to stay forever bound to the town.
Though, according to his mother, Stuart wasn't always like this. She told the kids that he was just like Kenny when he was younger, something that horrified the blonde to no end, seeing a future of himself stumbling into the house at all hours of the night and screaming at whoever was in his path. Carol had recalled it almost dreamily, how they'd talked for years of getting out into the big, open world. How when she'd become pregnant with Kevin, those dreams weren't halted, just delayed. But that delay lasted long enough for Kenny to be born, and they watched their aspirations going up in smoke. What she didn't say spoke volumes to the three kids, that Stuart blamed them for his dreams going astray. Not as though they could change that, and now he'd be so lost without an ale in his hand, it was doubtful that they could make the journey towards another town, even if they could afford it.
But poor towns don't breed rich folk, the only ones with any semblance of more than ten haithins to their name at a time were passer-bys who happened to fall for the village of Canirem's quirks and decided to settle. Only a handful of citizens fell into this category, and Kenny couldn't help but wonder what it was that made the area so appealing. Perhaps it was just a need to escape hustle and bustle. But, deep down, a part of him had always suspected a bit more of an egotistical agenda. After all, just because they were rich here didn't mean that they were in other towns. Perhaps they were the lower rungs of poverty just as Kenny was wherever they wandered in from, but here, they were considered high class. They were the untouchables, the ones that people went far out of their way for on the off chance of procuring a particularly high favor. Kenny was in high standing with one of the handful of people scattered within the town in that ranking, but even then he'd never questioned them for anything more than he'd ask the companions down on his level.
He didn't want to come off as too much like his father, after all.
The blonde sighed, turning the corner onto the main drag and glancing at the cob buildings as he passed them by. Tiny shops much like his own lead the way, each with their own carefully engraved wooden signs, beaten asunder by the elements and the hand of time. Not much had changed in his 25 years, nothing but businesses being passed off to others and a few cases of shifting brands. Not too much excitement to say the least.
He came to a stop outside the store he so loathed to frequent, but swallowed his pride; Reminding himself as he had for the last four years that this was an absolute necessity, regardless of his standing with the shop keeper. A deep breath rushed through his throat, followed by another before he pressed against the shoddy wooden door, wincing as the iron hinges scraped against gathered rust. He poked his head inside, seeing a boy of nearly fifteen scurrying about, trying to organize inventory.
The boy glanced back at the sound, blinking at the intrusion before smiling. "Hello, Kenny!" he greeted cheerfully.
Kenny spared him a smile. At least he wasn't Ken's problem with the shop. He allowed himself to finally cross the threshold and gently close the door behind him. "Hey there, Will. Fatboy around?"
"Mr. Cartman's in the back," he informed him, wincing at Kenny's casual insult. He wasn't exactly fond of his boss berating him for things that Kenny would say, and unfortunately, with the tailor's constant visits, it was a little all-too-common. "Hang on just a moment," he requested, turning on his heel and heading through another door at the back of the building.
Kenny crossed his arms and sighed, eyes drooping in boredom as he glanced around the merchant's shop, eyeing different items of all varieties strewn about in organized chaos. It was always much sparser before Cartman had come into possession of the ownership at age twenty, stocked with only what was deemed necessary for people to procure. But now? Now everything from bakery leftovers to half-broken knickknacks filled the shelves to the brim. Kenny stepped over towards a carefully crafted metal figure of Tavin, gracefully picking it up and tilting to stare at the base, smirking at a carefully inscribed C.D. etched into the charcoal coloring. No doubt one of Clyde's from his side-hobby that Feldon allowed when there were bits of scrap left around the smithy. Somehow Clyde had convinced him that it helped hone his skill at minute details, not bothering to mention that it actually had much to do with a certain on-again, off-again girlfriend of his looking at artists with palpable yearning.
He tipped the sculpture back upright, fingers tracing over the figuring with quiet admiration. This one was much more stable than his family's, always sitting at the helm of their door as was tradition; "For Him to greet us into our home and bless us as we venture out," his mother had told him. Years had worn the wooden statue down and faded the paint, an accidental crash from Karen's toddling days had chipped the base and made it wobble far beyond what would be considered proper considering just who He was. But there He stood regardless, forever opened amethyst eyes watching over the lot of them. Kenny had always questioned the eye color, being informed time and again by his mother and the head of their andell that it was to always separate Himself from the common man, so one who looked upon Him would know in an instant who it was they were in the presence of. Kenny twisted his lips, tilting his head a bit at the metal figure. His eyes weren't purple here, a pure dark shade just as the rest of him, but he knew just who he was looking at. An everlasting element in his life, something just as typical as the path to the merchant's.
"If you're not gonna buy it, put it down," a voice bellowed, Kenny's spine stiffening right off in annoyance.
He turned to see Eric Cartman leaning against the front desk with his arms crossed, a thick brow hiked superiorly. "Not like I can break it," he muttered, placing it back onto its spot and glancing at the price, face scrunching. "Who's gonna buy this thing for three drestil?"
"Not very nice to poor Clyde," Cartman smirked.
"Look, he's good, but not that good," he scoffed, turning on his heel and facing the man walking over to stand beside him and lean next to him. "Need my order," he informed him dryly.
"No, really?" he mocked. "I thought you just wanted to drop on by and say hello to me." He stepped away and back behind the counter, struggling a bit to bend down and sort through the recently delivered orders. Kenny watched him and shook his head. The brunette was a grown man's finger length shorter than himself, but a stocky build derived from a gluttonous appetite certainly made him seem much larger compared to Kenny's poorly fed lithe frame. Kenny leaned onto the counter, crossing his arms beneath him and watching him sort.
"Anyone ever buy one of Clyde's things?"
Cartman snorted, shaking his head. "Noooope. Who wants shoddy metal pieces of shit?"
His face contorted in distaste, "You realize that's a statue of Tavin I was holding, right?"
"Just because it's Tavin doesn't mean it's a well-made Tavin," he shrugged.
Blue eyes rolled dramatically, "More respectable to make a 'shoddy' god statue than to charge three drestils for something you claim to be inferior," he reminded him dryly.
"Not my fault taxes are so high," he said innocently, finally finding his crate and pulling it out of place. "Have to pay not only Clyde but my shop and my seller's tax."
"Your seller's tax is a pittance," he spat. "Token does your accounts, Fatboy, I know how much a season you spend on that tax of yours."
Cartman scoffed, "Just because you have the luxury of not having to pay it doesn't mean it's nothing, Po'Boy!"
"Ugh," he groaned, rubbing his temple. He just had to antagonize him. Couldn't just get his shit and get out. He knew so much better than this, but he supposed there was no stopping it at this point less it be brought up again at the alehouse when Cartman followed him back to his shop and then along the way to meet up with their group. Why he remained best friends with this man, he honestly would never be able to know, he figured. "I don't get taxed for that because everything I sell is essential," he reminded him for the umpteenth time, hand directed at him sternly. "People need clothes. They don't need fuckin' decorative plates," he gestured to an array of etched glass platters resting delicately leaned up against narrow shelves. "And besides, I have far more taxes than you do as a whole, and I'm not straight up robbing people."
Cartman rolled his eyes, "Oh boo-hoo you have to pay odor taxes," he drawled. "Not my fault your fuckin' grease concoction stinks up the town."
Kenny frowned darkly. "Yeah, I have to pay that. Plus the draper taxes. Plus the extra dough I have to spend for making my own dyes-"
"Not my fault you're robbing people in the city of their job," he smirked.
"Plus," He said through gritted teeth. "The fucking taxes you tack onto everything!"
The brunette held up his hands defensively, "Whoa whoa whoa, not by choice, Kinny," he said, Kenny's eye twitching at that damn constant mispronunciation. It was only mildly irritating outside of their arguments, but when locked in debate, it was akin to Cartman begging to get his face punched in in Kenny's opinion. "You know how much it costs me to get you your special orders?" he demanded. "It ain't cheap, Kinny, I'll tell you that much."
"Well it's definitely not as much as you charge me," he glared. "Funny how these taxes took a hell of a jump right after you got the shop, ain't it?"
"Must we do this every time you come pick up an order?" he sighed in annoyance. "Look, I've told you, tax laws changed when that old broad kicked the bucket."
Kenny shook his head, "Bet yer mom is real proud of how ya call yer grandma."
"My mother is too busy handling other orders to care," he said.
The blonde snorted mockingly, "Yeah. Bet she's got her hands nice and full with some of them orders, huh? Keeps her up and out all night-"
"Keep it up and your fucking silks get thrown into Clyde's forge," he snapped, amber eyes sparking with promise.
Kenny's lips quirked up in the slightest. Always a dirty move, but always the one that made him the winner. "Fine. You gonna show me my cloth or what?"
Cartman rolled his eyes, opening up his crate and grabbing the bundle of white fabric to set on the counter. Kenny narrowed his eyes, sifting through them one at a time. "What the fuck where's my green silk?" he demanded, looking up at his friend for explanation.
"Won't get in until next week," he shrugged.
"Oh my god, are you fucking kidding me?" he groaned, rubbing his forehead in frustration. "I have a fucking wedding dress due in two weeks! I need that silk!"
"Then make it with the fucking white silk?" he raised his brow, staring at him like he was a fool.
He glared, "I can't. Because someone didn't get me my elder leaves!"
Cartman pointed to himself, "Do you think I grow the fucking plants?" he demanded. "I just make and bring in the orders, Po'Boy! I can't control how fast your damn leaves pop up! I told you, they should be in by next month but I can't make it go any faster than that!"
Kenny sneered, looking back at his inventory and sorting through materials, taking mental count. Two yards of cotton, four yards linen, one of silk, and five of tiretain. He sighed, "Fine, but you better not charge me for it," he growled.
The brunette rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah, I didn't, calm down. Gonna be four haithins."
His spine locked, eyes shutting and a deep, angry breath seeping out of him. "Four. Fucking. Haithins?" he repeated.
"It ain't cheap, Bud," he smacked his lips in boredom, gathering the fabric and haphazardly throwing it back into its crate. "Most of it traveled from Iresa."
"What, is Iresa fucking paved with gold?!" he questioned exasperatedly. He looked down and snatched his coin pouch from his hip secured beside his small tailor's kit that he'd been carrying since Levick first took him under his wing. "Never a bad idea to always come prepared", the man had informed him. Kenny spread the drawstring of his leather wallet and dug through, sighing through his nose.
"May as well be gold," Cartman shrugged, watching him sifting through his coins. "I ain't exactly happy with 'em either. They almost doubled their import tax on me, and I take the brunt of that, not the people I sell to."
"And yet somehow you manage to stay fairly wealthy while the rest of us are just barely above poverty level with your business," he flickered a dark stare up at him before finally finding a fourth and final haithin, tossing them onto the counter, the tense silence filled with their bouncing clatter.
Cartman kept their stare locked, not even looking at the money as he grabbed the coins and shoved them into his own pouch. "Look, Kinny, you sell one thing. One. I sell whatever comes my way. It's not my fault you're a one-trick pony."
"My one trick keeps people warm, Fatass," he reminded him steadily. "You have a shop full of never-ending junk."
"Keeps me and my mother fed," he raised his brow. "That's all that matters to me. Now are you done playing victim or can I close shop and we can go fuckin' drink?"
Kenny sighed tiredly, grabbing his crate and shrugging dismissively, not willing to deal with this fight yet again. "Yeah, fine. Hurry up."
Cartman nodded curtly, looking back towards the back of the store. "Will!" he barked, both of them watching as the young boy bolted out into the main shop, looking at him with frightened eyes. "We're closin' up. Go home."
"Thank you, Mr. Cartman," he nodded, placing his inventory log on the desk. "Goodbye, Ken-"
"Will…," Cartman warned.
"Mr. McCormick," he corrected hastily, waiting for Cartman to give him a sharp approving nod before smiling meekly and heading quickly out the front door.
Kenny watched after him before turning back to Cartman and shaking his head. "I hate that you make him call me that. No one else does, why should he?"
"Because, Kinny, he's my apprentice," he reminded him. "I'm teaching him respect for the customers, even if it's for pieces of shit like you," he scoffed, snagging a heavy padlock and key from under his desk and following Kenny towards the front and out of the building. Kenny shifted the heavy material in his arms, waiting for Cartman to finish locking up his shop as he glanced up at the sky turning hues of rose and lavender, sighing through his nose.
"How much do you pay him, anyway?"
He shrugged, "A dristil a week. More than he'd get from most apprenticeships."
"That what you started on?"
"Yep," he confirmed, pulling on the lock to check it before straightening back up, the both of them heading back towards Kenny's store. "My mother made sure that's what Will started on, too," he rolled his eyes. "Don't know why, he's been nothin' but trouble since he started."
"He started when he was nine," he drawled. "Nine year olds ain't known for bein' proper businessmen or whatever it is you were expecting. You ever gonna up his pay?"
A smirk crawled up thin lips, "When he asks for it, yes."
Kenny glared at him, "Yeah. Little meek Will is gonna ask for somethin' like that. You're cheatin' that poor kid."
"Well what did you make when you were fifteen?" he demanded. "I was only making about three dristils a week. And I worked for my grandmother," he reminded him flatly.
The blonde looked up in thought, "I think I was makin' about two livatts by that point. But it was also just me n' Levick. Didn't have the three-way split you have goin' with your shop."
"Exactly," he drawled. "When William asks me, I'll bump him up to probably a dristil and four tempets. I think that's fair."
"Wow. How generous," he muttered, grunting as he repositioned his hands on the wooden slats as they made the turn off the main drag and back the way Kenny came.
Cartman rolled his eyes, "Look, the rate it's goin', Will's looking at inheriting my shop if I don't get hitched, or at least running it if I do have a kid."
Kenny visibly shuddered, "God do not let me imagine a little spawn of you running around. One of you is goddamn too much already."
"Anyway," he growled. "He's makin' plenty with his brother out in the fields to keep their family fed, they're almost doing better than you are, Po'Boy."
"Yeah, well, they don't have an entire week's profit paid over to you like I do," he rolled his eyes. "And they have two sources of income, not just one like my family. Pops doesn't seem to understand that business can only go so well. More hands make it easier but it don't necessarily mean we're makin' more money."
The brunette snorted, "Well, I think anyone could tell that your dad isn't the best at keepin' money around." Kenny sighed in defeat, nodding his head shamefully. It was certainly true. His family wasn't exactly known just for the shop, but for being only one step above the homeless, each of the other townspeople pointing out Stuart while he stumbled through town. It was an awful thing to be associated with, but Kenny supposed that so long as that didn't affect his sales, he really couldn't do much about it.
He glanced out towards the trees, staring at the sky bleeding beyond the leaves and shifted the weight of his crate once again. Didn't really matter if he could, he supposed. Not like it would be the first thing to finally change.
The alehouse had always intrigued Kenny, ever since he was a little child. Stuart would bring him in with him now and again, knowing that cute, inquisitive children could buy him more than just attention, but a few on-the-house rounds if Kenny played up his wide-eyed stare well enough. Nowadays? That wide-eyed stare got saved for himself, and rarely did it make headway, but it was always good for a laugh at the very least.
He and Cartman pushed into the busy tavern, glancing around before landing on three figures sitting and laughing with one another, making their way through; Cartman pushed other patrons out of his way while Kenny remained light on his feet, trying not to slam into people and twisting awkwardly to do so. They shimmied their way to the table, greeted by three wide smiles.
"There you are," Clyde smirked, "The fuck took you so long?"
"Pops lost the shop key," Kenny rolled his eyes, waiting for Cartman to slide into his chair beside Clyde before settling down next to Wendy, the girl smiling sympathetically and patting his arm.
"Did you find it at least?" she asked, voice soft but still audible over the ruckus surrounding them. Kenny glanced over as Cartman signaled across the way for the both of them to be brought their drinks before turning his attention back to her.
"Yeah, it was in his damn coin pouch," he scoffed. "Idiot."
Token twisted his lips from the other side of Wendy, wrapping an arm around her waist "I'm amazed he hasn't burnt your shop to the ground by this point."
"It'd go up quicker than anything else in this shithole," Cartman smirked. "All that fabric must make some strong kindling."
Kenny held up his hand, "Can we not jinx my only chance of survival? Please?"
Clyde nodded in agreement, "Let's keep the fire in my realm, huh?"
"And Cartman's," Wendy said flatly, "From the burning rage of all his business partners."
"Oh my god," he rolled his eyes dramatically. "Are you still pissed about the fucking wicks?"
Token cocked his brow, looking at her confusedly, "What wicks?"
She crossed her arms, settling back into his shoulder and keeping her glare on the bulky man. "He bumped up the price of my wicks by three tempets. My father is livid."
Cartman scoffed, "Well tell him to take his anger out on a pig and chop its goddamn head off or something it's not my decision, it's the goddamn draper. He's fucking over both you and Kinny," he gestured towards the blonde who sighed irritably. "I'm not always the bad guy, you know! I'm just as blindsided as you are!"
She frowned deeper, "That's why you were laughing when you told me the price, right?"
He shrugged innocently, "I was just remembering a joke that Clyde told me, that's all," he claimed.
Clyde brightened up, putting his cup down and licking his lips. "Which joke? The one about the girl and the donkey, right?"
"Clyde. He's lying," Token sighed, rubbing his temple and shaking his head. "And please don't tell us the joke," he stopped him before he opened his mouth again, Clyde pouting and going back to his ale. He turned to Cartman and his tiredness fell in lieu of a sharp glare. "The draper only bumped your tax up by a tempet, he delivered some velvet to my mother and we discussed it. Stop overcharging Wendy and Ken, Fatass."
Cartman scoffed, "Excuse me for trying to make a living and not wallow in poverty like three out of four of you," he waved at them dismissively. A young woman came to their table and slid two drinks in front of Kenny, shooting him a wink before heading off. He snorted, passing Cartman his drink and taking a long sip of his own.
He glanced up at Token, "So. Velvet huh?"
He nodded, rolling his eyes as he did so. "Wants a cushion covered with it."
"I can do that if you'd like," he suggested.
Token eyed him warily, "Have you ever worked with velvet before?"
Kenny pouted, "Well… no. Because fuck me if I can afford it. But I think I know how to sew, and Levick told me it ain't much different than workin' with hemp, just a lot softer. I can get it done in an afternoon if you'll let me?" he asked, voice right on that cusp of begging. Any extra money was good for him, and he could charge them just a tad more for working with such delicate, expensive fabric.
Wendy elbowed Token, "Hon, come on. Let him sew it."
He smirked, looking between her urging expression and his hopeful eyes and nodded. "I'll talk her out of attempting it herself. I'd rather you do it right than her botch up an eight haithin order."
"Holy shit, eight?" Clyde repeated, brown eyes wide with astonishment.
"For a half yard, yeah," he nodded casually, taking a slow sip of his drink and sighing in contentment.
"There's a reason I don't keep a stock of it," Kenny smirked meekly.
Cartman rolled his eyes, "And you're yelling at me for three tempets." He gestured at Token, "Why not have your boyfriend pay for your wicks if it's such a hassle, Wendy?"
She glared, "Because my family makes its own money, Cartman. We don't need a handout."
"You might soon," he shrugged, taking a gulp, chest rising with a soft belch. "Soon enough you'll have to share on Kinny's odor tax."
The girl narrowed her eyes in confusion, ignoring Token fiddling with her long black hair nonchalantly. "What are you talking about?"
"Well you work with pork fat," he stated bluntly. "It's atrocious."
She gritted her teeth, long nails rapidly clacking against the wooden table. "The smell stays in-shop, Fatboy. It's not that potent."
"Oh, I didn't mean the shop," he smiled snidely. "I meant it'll be a personal tax for how it stays on you."
"Cartman, knock it off," Kenny warned.
"Don't tell me you've never noticed, given, how would you know what pork smells like?" Cartman flicked his arm. "The fact that you know make enough to know what bread smells like is miracle enough."
"Knock it off," he repeated, jerking his arm away from his touch.
Wendy shook her head, reaching over and clasping Kenny's opposite forearm reassuringly. "At least my family uses all the animal," she said coolly, keeping her temper from rising out of her control. "I'd rather that than be like you and waste half a plate of food while my neighbors are starving in the streets."
"Well aren't you just one of Tavin's perfect little nalies," he cocked his brow. "Is that your future plan? Get out of candlemaking and settle in Mapols training to be a naly? Pretty sure what you n' Token have done would get you kicked out of the sisterhood," he said bluntly.
Token glared, "You don't know what we've done so back off."
"Guys, come on," Clyde whined. "We've all been working all day why do you do this every goddamn night?"
"Because Cartman starts it every goddamn night," Kenny muttered, taking a long swig of his drink and sighing. "And let's fucking face it, nothin' ever changes in this piss n' shit town."
Clyde blinked before sinking a bit in his seat, staring at his half-gone drink and nodding solemnly. "Yeah. That's true."
Token sighed, looking up towards the ceiling and smacking his lips. "I heard a rumor from Iresa. Well, got a letter from one of my correspondents."
"Oh? They raising more taxes?" Wendy raised her brow.
He shook his head. "The taxes don't get raised by them. They get raised out in Lantrealy by the governing council. But that's not the point," he waved his hand in front of him dismissively. "Apparently they're having a huge festival in Iresa in about two weeks. Makes the entire town profit like crazy, they do it every year. People sell out nearly all their wares."
"Holy shit," Kenny raised his brow, impressed with the notion.
"Why don't we organize something like that?" Clyde asked.
Cartman scoffed, "Because no one here has the money to buy everyone's wares, Clyde. There's no one poor in Iresa."
"Well, no one that participates in the festival at least," Token shrugged. "My family was considering going but myself and my father have too many accounts to iron out before we could do so."
Wendy hummed, tipping her cup and sinking just slightly enough for Kenny to notice. "Must be nice to have the option at least," she mused. Kenny frowned, turning his arm her hand was still sitting up and twisting to grasp back around her own. It was always a challenge for Wendy to be with someone of such high stature. She'd confided with Kenny months beforehand, telling him how going to his house to see his parents was nothing short of humiliating, dressed in clothes reeking of the butcher shop and her candlemaking material, only presentable from Kenny's constant mending of her fabrics. Meanwhile she walked into a home with a servant and Token's parents dressed in silk and fine, clean linen. She was always welcomed and they seemed to take a liking to her, but that seed of doubt always lingered for her. She cared deeply for Token, always had, but that class difference just stood out above all else, made her feel inadequate and small being stuck in the family business while Token had his own sect of his own family's affairs that were under his wing. She glanced up at Kenny, shooting him a small, thankful smile and he nodded, squeezing her arm lightly.
Token noticed the gesture, taking another sip of his drink and smacking his lips nonchalantly. He knew Wendy and Kenny had always been fairly close, coming from similar businesses and families alike. Ever since their childhood they'd bonded over the troubles of wanting to keep their family fed and wanting to burst out on their own, finding comfort in an analogous spirit. "The option is nice, yeah. But just because an option is there it doesn't mean you go for it. You have to be at least somewhat responsible in your affairs."
"Gee. Thanks, Dad," Clyde rolled his eyes.
"I'm only saying that some things are more important than going off and seeing something that sounds interesting," he emphasized.
Cartman quirked a brow, "And we're just saying we wish we had the option. No one was saying 'let's pack up and go'."
"Right," Kenny nodded. "Just the idea of not being trapped here and being able to get to Iresa or Lantrealy or where-the-fuck-ever is nice."
Token glanced around at the four faces now turned somewhat sour, staring down at their cups and his stomach twisted guiltily. "Guys… Guys I didn't mean it like that," he said quietly, cheeks heating up.
"We know you didn't," Wendy assured him, turning and kissing his cheek. "It's just… well…"
"Hard for us," Kenny finished softly, barely audible over the humming murmur of patrons surrounding their locked conversation. "One day though. One day."
Cartman shook his head, "Not with the profits you make, Po'Boy."
"Then one day I will just pack up and go," he said firmly, shooting him an icy stare. "I'd rather be survivin' on berries n' takin' odd jobs to survive than stayin' here the rest of my life and turning into my father."
Wendy squeezed his arm again, "One day," she agreed. "Maybe on that day… all five of us can go see Iresa. We can leave the shops to our families or… well, or Mr. Feldon," she shrugged at Clyde who smirked sheepishly. "We'll find ourselves a wagon and a horse and just go. Come back with neat stories of the city and new wares to show everyone."
The other five nodded, minds spinning with the possibility. Kenny grinned, raising up his cup. "To one day," he declared.
"To one day," the rest agreed, clacking the metal cups against one another and taking long gulps.
Token smirked as he brought his cup back down. "Next round's on me, Guys. And the one after that." The other four thanked him, falling back into a comfortable state with one another as the pattern tended to go. However, tonight was a little different, and each of them could feel it, the backs of their minds each dreaming up possibilities of grandeur and adventure that their parents could never even so much as imagine anymore. But for now, they were pretty happy, just being the five of them as they were most every night, sitting around their table and trading tales of their days, laughing at ridiculous customers and yelling at one another for foolish mistakes. But now, a new promise hung over them like a slice of sunlight beaming through a monotone sky – One day.
