Welcome To Corona
Be slow to fall into friendship, but when you are, continue firm and constant.
– Socrates
He was surprised at how sad he felt to finally throw away his noble disguise.
Holding the fancy overcoat in his hands, Flynn found he couldn't help it. He had enjoyed being 'Count Mathis Gladstone'. It felt liberating to play the role of a proud man who was set for life. There were certain parts of Count Gladstone that he wanted to keep as souvenirs and keepsakes: his clothes for one, his respected standing. His bearing. A better man who did not need to steal to survive.
Except that kind of wealth didn't bring real freedom. It would just tie him down and everyone would tell him how he was allowed to spend it, even how he was allowed to think. That kind of life came with strings attached. Too many nasty things involved, like 'expectations' and 'responsibility'. Instead of going and doing what he wanted, how he wanted to live. All his time would be spent just like at the Duke's ball! Standing in a stuffy room, gossiping about the most inane things, bickering over balance sheets and legislation? Oh no, he had plenty enough of that when dabbling among the squabbling nobles back there! Okay sure, he did make off with a fortune by ripping them off — wait, what was the difference again? — but to have to go through all that again?
… Every day?
"Gyaah!"
Flynn recoiled at the image and quickly flung the outfit away from him like it was a diseased animal while he ran in the opposite direction. A lifestyle of paperwork? Politics?! With a capital 'P' which rhymed with 'T' which stood for Trouble! And not the fun kind! No! Nix, nein, nyet, na-uh, no way, never!
All of those nasty little things came from the rules most people imposed upon themselves. An ordinary man had more power, independence, and free will than any noble! Who needed a title to have his own form of wealth or freedom? This was what it meant to be your own man, because here Flynn was, beholden to no one. As a common man, he possessed his own sovereignty, he was his own master and lived more freely than any noble! And in a way, that made him more powerful than any of them!
At last, the heavy noble authority and deep bureaucracy of Weselton were now leagues behind him. Here in Corona, everything was different. Back in a civilization that actually felt civilized! As he walked the streets, Flynn basked in the feeling of a brighter, simpler and happier community, pleasant energy as merry as the weather. All around him were hand-carved and painted signs hung above shops and bakeries, their wares on display in glass windows. Grocers and farmers selling fresh produce lined the streets. Men and women went about their business as children ran laughing between them. What a breath of fresh air!
Indeed, the air was so much better than in Weselton's thick industry. Flynn had no idea he was being deprived of oxygen back there. He had stepped off the ship onto the Corona docks, breathed in and oh my god, I can do math!
The kingdom of Corona was fascinating. Throughout the cobblestone streets and stone bridges overlooking rivers with the occasional gondola, most of the buildings were built with a similar fashion to old Bavarian style, complete with overhanging upper stories and brightly stained shutters. Some had thatched roofs while others had actual shingles. Flynn briefly wondered if it was a financial choice or tourist attraction. The latter seemed more likely since merchants and traders came from all over the lands for Corona's crops and cuisine. Everything was lavishly decorated but not opulent or extravagant. The city was so clean, charming and colorful it practically cried out to be made into a canvas.
Indeed, kingdoms like Corona could inspire even the poorest of artists for generations without fail. It was a truly wondrous place, and if the hospitality their reputation spoke of matched the aesthetics then he was in for a real treat during his stay.
The smell of baked goods hit his nose, making his stomach growl again. Right, he was hungry. He had already stored away the bulk of his loot from Weselton in his growing stockpile for his future private island, but he always made sure to keep a decent amount on his person. Thieves knew better than anyone what it was like to have so little if anything— it was why many of them became thieves. He knew how to be smart with his 'allowance'.
Flynn was going to be in Corona for a while before he could finally head to Arendelle. Nearly every ship at the harbor would be staying until the end of the upcoming annual festival with all the visiting tourists and merchants. Aside from keeping himself fed, he'd have to find a place to stay. Not to mention that he ought to help Opal with starting her life over. With the surge for the festival, there should be a few decent opportunities for her. He might as well enjoy the festival himself if he was going to be staying until then. Perhaps he might even pass the time by finding a juicy mark to pinch a decent profit from?
But for now, his stomach was still filing complaints. Many complaints, and to any and all departments that might care. Alright, alright.
Without even trying, Flynn's sharp eyes reflexively took everything in and noted the best potential target in the area: a merchant atop his horse-driven fruit cart was already making to slow down to allow a group of school children pass by. He became invisible with a seamless shift in his stance as he moved in, and the bump from the cart stopping in place masked any slip as he smoothly swiped a yellow apple without a break in stride. He then discovered how tasty Corona apples were.
His thoughts were interrupted minutes later, however, when he passed by a tavern that gave off aromas that smelled delicious. Was that a hint of Brittany Sage glaze? And just like that, his appetite returned with a vengeance.
The tavern was a rectangular building two stories high. Simple and modest in design yet extremely well-maintained, enough to express good business. There were a few amber tinted windows along the sides, where one could see the shapes of people enjoying a good midday meal, drink and conversation. The muffled laughter and music sounding out from it sure made it seem inviting and merry.
Flynn glanced at the sign. It read "The Honeycomb" in ornate gold lettering.
Something about the name made him take note of how the tavern shared a similar design as most of Corona's architecture yet the style still seemed to possess a unique touch. The name seemed oddly familiar somehow.
Heeding his curiosity as well as his stomach, Flynn ventured inside and a bell rang from the top of the door.
The tavern was massive and rather bright inside, with glass windows in the ceiling rafters to let in just the right amount of Corona's bright and healthy sunlight. The ambiance was lavishly decorated, with some truly beautiful wooden furniture and patterns woven into the elaborate designs. Pristine yet homely, it emanated a warm and friendly feeling for its guests.
A moderately-sized stage had been raised in the far-left corner, where several musicians played pleasant tunes for the guests. A long ironwood bar lined the right side of the large tavern, where there were shelves of washed glasses, metal mugs, and brightly colored bottles. In the corner behind the bar was a wooden door that no doubt led to the kitchen, where the sounds of cooks could be heard hard at work. A set of stairs opposite the entrance led up to a second floor overhanging the ground floor, where he was surprised to glimpse more patrons at their own tables. A tavern with two entire floors of serving tables! This establishment was certainly an innovative one.
Once again, something in the back of his memory stirred, picking up something about the subtle touch that seemed vaguely familiar, like noticing the minute and otherwise imperceptible details of a sculpture by a certain artist. He couldn't quite put his finger on it though.
And the entire place was packed! Tables were scattered across the room, guests sitting around enjoying food and friendly games of cards, backgammon and dice. Serving girls wearing flattering yet decently appropriate outfits were running to and fro between tables to take orders and deliver food and drinks. They had a genuinely friendly nature to them much like the rest of Corona's atmosphere, chatting happily with their customers like old friends.
Then there was the food itself. There were few signs of conventional meals like meat, biscuits, fish or anything expected of a customary tavern. On one table, there was instead a salver of warmly served banana bread and golden croissants, next to several glasses of mango drinks and a plate of creamy cinnamon rolls. Throughout the establishment, there were all kinds of sweet and rich but healthy desserts. Baked pineapple with vanilla ice cream, mixed berry vanilla cream tart, salted caramel fudge, fruit crepe with brown sugar and strawberries, peppermint chocolate truffles, yogurt, and custard pudding adorned with sliced melonberry and peaches, and there was hot cocoa with bean cream and cinnamon sticks. Not to mention a number of pies everywhere made of apple, cherry, boysenberry, gooseberry… the list just went on!
True to its name, the Honeycomb appeared to serve a 'sweeter' variety of food for its guests. In a place where you could have such creative and healthy confections, along with the sweet scent of candy floss, molasses, maple syrup, barely sugar and toffee apple, who would want something as banal as sandwiches? Bleagh.
Flynn's practiced mind had taken everything in about the tavern in barely a second. And as soon as he stepped through the door, it seemed that every female waitress in the place turned to look at him as he entered. As one particularly attractive brunette quickly stopped another hostess about to approach him and darted over herself with a poorly disguised interest in her eyes, he immediately knew he wouldn't be allowed to leave anytime soon.
"Um… hi…" she breathed, smitten and already forgot what she wanted to say.
"Hello there," he greeted, putting on the charm.
"… Hi." She said again.
Flynn raised an eyebrow with a hint of amusement. She shook her head and quickly recovered her wits.
"Hello and welcome to the Honeycomb!" She eagerly greeted as she kept her bright blue eyes locked on Flynn's. "May I get you a place to sit?"
He gave his natural smile, which caused her heart to race. "Well, I had just wanted to peek inside, see what the place is like and maybe place a reservation for later?"
"Reserva—? Oh no, I'm not letting you out of my sight until you're absolutely satisfied. W-with a full stomach!" She quickly added as she blushed, taking him by the arm as she led him to the bar. "I haven't seen you around before, are you new to Corona? Do you know anyone to show you around for the festival?"
It was clear that she had very different questions in mind and was far more interested to know if he was single. He silently mouthed 'no' with a knowing smile. Her eyes lit up with glee and she glanced at the other girls and gave a vigorous nod, which many of them were excited to see. As he sat down, he couldn't help but feel amused that the brunette immediately wanted him to have the best seating spot instead of asking the potential customer where he might prefer to sit.
"I'll be just a minute, hon." Her hands stayed on his toned shoulders a moment longer than necessary before she left to fetch something for the new arrival.
"Do you know him?" another girl asked her.
"No, but I want to!"
His keen sense of hearing easily picking up their exchange, Flynn glanced over his shoulder at the group and flashed another smile, which caused more than a fair number of giggles and blushing.
Settling in after a long journey, he had a clear view of the entire place and he sat on the edge seat so the counter wouldn't catch his legs if he had to run. His sharp eyes didn't find any signs of repaired damage around the Honeycomb to indicate the tavern was a home for barroom brawls, but it was still always a good habit for a someone like him.
When the brunette returned, he was rather surprised when she handed him a glass of water with a lemon and… whoa, ice? This place has ice?
"I, uh, didn't ask for any water," he said tentatively.
"Oh, don't worry," she reassured him as she brought an entire pitcher as well. "Fresh water is always free. That includes refills, so help yourself."
He quickly took a generous sip, feeling the refreshingly cool water wash down his dry throat.
The ice was a pleasant surprise. It was the only way to keep food cold and properly refrigerated, and desserts such as ice cream were rather expensive. Outside of the upper class, few taverns or restaurants had any cold meals or desserts. For this place to offer it so freely with water and even refills? He hadn't even ordered yet and it already appeared that the stories of Corona's generous hospitality with food were true.
"And this," she slid him a new drink with a pearlescent shade of pink, "is on the house. Lucky you."
Oh, I like this place already.
"Well, you have my thanks, miss…?"
"Oh, Giselle!" She smiled. "My name's Giselle."
"A kind name for a kind face," Flynn nodded before glancing at the new beverage. "Now, what sort of drink is this one?"
"A Banana Fofana, one of our specials," Giselle elaborated. "A number of pressed fruits and ice cream mixed thoroughly with ice and a single drop of hard cider. It's delicious, like drinking happiness!"
Flynn couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at her excited description. How good could it be? He slowly took a sip of the fancy drink, and his eyes went wide as a rush of incredibly well-made flavor swept through him like a flood that left his skin tingling. He suddenly snapped his face away from the glass in surprise. It was even better than any of the ridiculously expensive dishes at the Duke's ball!
"Sweet Mama from Yokohama, that is good! Woo-hoo!" Much to Giselle's amusement, he immediately began to down the rest of the glass with abandon, savoring every drop. "Mmhmm... mmhmm... mmhmm! Oh, that's like drinking tropical sunshine! Ah, thank you! My compliments to the chef!"
"Well just you wait, he's making a special palate of breakfast today." Giselle chuckled, apparently quite accustomed to such reactions to their food and drink. "He's the one who founded the Honeycomb. He came here to Corona three years ago, built this place from the ground up and poured his soul into making good food. Most of our dishes are his own invention, and as you can see, we're one of the most popular establishments in the kingdom!"
"Hmm, sounds like a man after my own stomach!" Flynn looked at his now empty glass, already eager for another.
The brunette smiled, and then pressed a little closer to him with a hint of sensual suggestion. "If you would like, I can ask him to make something special… just for you."
Her face tautened even further when he smiled so smoothly at her, he looked like some house-cat who just licked the cream from a puddle of spilled milk and spoke in a low, pleased voice. "Now that, Giselle, would be delicious."
The woman's composure slipped as her breathing became labored and warm desire rushed to her lower regions. "Oh wow…" she exhaled.
Still trembling, Giselle quickly turned and rushed herself off to the far back of the bar and called through the kitchen door. "Capocuoco, get out here!"
"What is it, mia rosa?" a light Italian accent wafted back.
Flynn went rigid, the charm disappearing from his face immediately. That voice…!
The girl glanced excitedly back at Flynn. "There's someone here you really need to meet!"
"That doesn't narrow it down! I am a very popular fellow, you know!"
Shock overtook the thief. There was no mistaking it, that voice had to be him! All the clues finally caught up to him; the Honeycomb's name, the familiar design style, the unique food… He knew of only one man with this kind of special taste! His fingers clenched, his senses now on high alert. You idiot! How could you not realize whose tavern you waltzed right into?!
"Just come out here!"
"Oh, alright! Tianna! Watch the cherries!"
Giselle stepped aside as a tall man with a lean yet firm frame strode into view.
He wore a white double-breasted chef coat with long sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His black pants and leather boots were just as pristine as the rest of his attire, which was somehow spotless even after emerging from a busy kitchen. A towel hung over his left shoulder and a red neckerchief was expertly tied around his stand-up collar. His features put him in his mid-to-late twenties, with well-groomed blonde hair and a shaved goatee over his strong jaw. He looked every inch the master of the establishment.
"We've got quite a demand for citrus fruits today," he said to Giselle, rubbing his hands with his towel. "Now, what's all this about? Please tell me that Zelinsky's performers have finally arri—!"
The man froze when he saw the thief sitting at the bar as if he couldn't believe who was sitting right in his own tavern. After a brief moment, his eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened enough to crush bricks. He swung his towel onto the counter with a loud thwack and marched straight over to him with a serious stare.
"Rider."
The man in question slowly rose to his feet to meet the deadlock stare of the other man who was several inches taller than him.
"Flint." He responded evenly.
The music stopped abruptly as all eyes turned to the sudden commotion. A sudden hush had fallen over the tavern as the mood went from pleasantly vibrant to uncomfortably tense. The waitresses turned pale. Patrons forgot about their meals as all their attention went to the standoff, tentatively wondering if they should make an early exit. The Honeycomb had turned as still as granite.
The two men just stared each other down in complete silence.
A moment passed.
Then, not even a second later, their faces suddenly split into wide smiles before they broke into elated laughter.
Grinning like mad, Flynn spread his arms out wide as he advanced. "Norris! Come here, you old such and such!"
Norris clasped Flynn's arm and brought him in close for a quick, camaraderie hug; a bump of their shoulders and a solid pat on each other's backs.
"Cinnamon sugar on toast, how are you doing buddy? You old sly boots! So good to see you!"
"Oh, I'm doing fine these days, despite my best efforts!" Flynn laughed. "I've got this funny habit of breathing."
By now, the tension in the tavern from before had vanished as everyone returned to his or her own business and the musicians started playing another number.
"What's it been, four years?" Norris asked, still grinning. "I haven't seen you since both you and Lance had to skedaddle out of that mess in Albion!"
"Yep, how could I ever forget being chased by an angry housekeeper wearing enough makeup to cover a sea serpent's head, and the biggest Adam's Apple I've ever seen?" Flynn chuckled. "We lost him on that trawler across the Dembe river. My god, the humidity! But forget about me, look at you! Far more fit than the last time I saw you! Let me guess… jumping jacks?"
"Heh heh, close! I lost nearly forty pounds by swimming!" Norris proudly rapped a hand against his stomach. "And bread! I really cut back on the bread."
The man raised a hand and gestured around with a clear look of pride in his smile. "Flynn, allow me to welcome you to my fine establishment, the Honeycomb, where there's no flavor like home! That's our motto!"
"So, you finally got your own place after all? That's fantastic!" Flynn answered, looking around the place with a new appreciation. "And I swear I'm not just saying that for bar privileges."
Norris shook his head with a smile, already familiar with his old friend's witty remarks.
"You don't have to worry; you're always welcome here. Now come on! I know to recognize someone that's fresh off the boat, and you wouldn't have come in through an actual door unless you were really hungry. Let's see what I can fix up for you!"
At the memory of his friend's masterful cooking, Flynn's stomach woke up again and started telling him it wouldn't mind having something delicious to eat—no, not in the slightest.
Norris called over to several of the hostesses as he got Flynn settled in. "Ladies, this is an old friend of mine here for the festival. As my personal guest, he eats without charge whenever he visits here!"
Flynn did a double-take. "Whoa, what?"
Before he could say anything more, the eager waitresses started bombarding Norris with questions about their attractive new guest, with Giselle at the forefront. "You know him? No, of course you do. What's he like? Will he be staying close by? Where's his address?"
Norris looked at her, mildly stunned. "…Who are you and what have you done with Giselle?"
The woman blushed before giving the head chef a sheepish smile. Behind her, several of the other waitresses were still just as excited.
"Just look at the toned muscles on his arms!"
"I bet he works out a lot."
"Now that is what I call a man; he's exactly my type."
"I think he's every girl's type!"
Norris stared incredulously at the group that made up over half his staff. "Oh, for the love of soup, not you lot too! Just get back to our other guests! Hungry stomachs wait for no one!"
"Awww, do we have to? He's so cute!"
Norris' left eyebrow twitched. That tiny motion seemed to break the spell as the hostesses suddenly scurried back to their routine duties. The man sighed and turned back to Flynn with a flat look.
"Don't give me that look!" He placated. "All that female attention gets pretty strange after a while."
"Really?"
"Nope!"
"Ah, to be you." Norris drawled.
Flynn chuckled before going back to his prior question. "Anyway, about payment…?"
"Don't worry," Norris waved him off. "As I said, no charge for you."
The handsome rogue was still surprised by the act of generosity. Normally, Flynn wouldn't try to talk his way out of free stuff, let alone food, but Norris was one of the very few people that he considered a true friend. He even knew Flynn's 'other' name. They went way back, and he knew how much his old buddy had always wanted his own place to cook, just like his own dream for an island free from the reach of kings. It lifted his heart to see that Norris had achieved his dream, and he wasn't about to take advantage when his friend had slaved so hard for this amazing place.
"Norris, no, you don't have to do charity for me. I appreciate the thought, but I'll be happy to pay for your business. I'll even do tips!"
"Nonsense, you already have!" The chef firmly refuted. "Thanks to you, I was able to get the money to build my own restaurant in a fraction of the time. We've been through a lot together, and you've saved my bacon more than enough times. I'll especially never forget about that thing with the guy in the place, and I'll never forget it!"
He chuckled and patted the thief's shoulder. "You'll always be welcome here at the Honeycomb. It's free to you, Flynn. Always!"
It was a rare day on Earth when Flynn Rider was left speechless. He couldn't help it; Norris' act of generosity shook him. How could even his own silver tongue argue with that?
No matter the trials of life, you must never abandon generosity. The heart yearns to return in kind a good deed that means so much for them. Many are often surprised at how much another will gladly repay kindness and loyalty. Whether they be a friend or a stranger, care for others as much as you would yourself, and they will never leave you wanting. You will never be alone.
His idol's wisdom never failed to amaze him.
After a moment, he shook himself out of his reverie and shrugged in response. "Well, when you put it like that, I love breakfast when other people make it!"
"That's the spirit!" Norris smiled. "Anything special in mind?"
"How about another of those Fofana drinks and also…" Flynn nodded his head towards a nearby table where he had noticed a loving couple sharing a very familiar treat that made him salivate just from the memory of it.
"One plate of my jam paczki coming right up," Norris nodded in return. "And a Fofana to follow."
Flynn wasn't surprised when Norris pulled out a few ingredients from under the bar counter along with a bowl and cooking utensils. The man always liked cooking in plain sight before moving it to a kitchen oven, especially when he kept everything squeaky-clean. It also gave them a chance to catch up after so long.
"So you've really gone legit, huh?" Flynn asked while Norris cracked a few eggs, making sure no one could overhear. "Is this what peace of mind looks like? Could have sworn it looked better in the brochures…"
"I certainly have," the chef chuckled. "People may forget what you say and forget what you did, but people will never forget how you make them feel. And good food goes a long way towards that! The world always looks much better…"
"… with a full stomach," Flynn finished, recognizing the line immediately.
"Alright," Norris rolled his eyes, "Guess I did learn something from all your damn quotes."
"I told you that there was something to be learned from them!" The thief playfully shot back. "They aren't make-believe, like chores."
Norris laughed as he added yeast and butter.
"Well, despite my best efforts, you actually made a believer out of me to enjoy a life made from what I'm good at. And with how people are always hungry, I realized that it didn't feel right for only a few to enjoy my food. Besides, a good meal can change a person's attitude, and in that moment, you can change their entire day."The man paused, giving a blissful sigh of complete contentment. "Getting this place was the best idea I've ever had. So yes, I don't need any less-than-legal means to make that happen. I'm out of that business."
"Then could you tell the three boys upstairs to stop eyeing me up? It's making me uncomfortable."
Norris paused, then made a discreet wave of his hand. A group of figures relaxed and settled back down in their seats. "… It's almost scary when you do that."
Flynn simply shrugged. His inner hawk had immediately noticed the three men with hidden weapons on the second floor, who had been watching him carefully since the apparent standoff. Their table was spotless with no sign of a recent meal, yet they made no move to make an order. In turn, the otherwise hospitable staff never approached them to offer service yet seemed to move around them with a rather comfortable familiarity. Those were only a few of the subtle signs that told him they were incognito security.
Norris may have gone legit, but some things didn't change.
Flynn's mind drifted to memories he hadn't thought about in a long while. The two of them had been through a lot together. While Flynn usually went solo these days, he hadn't always worked alone. Aside from the occasional one-time associate, there were only two people that he counted as his true-blue partners-in-crime. The first was his childhood friend, Lance Strongbow; a fellow orphan and a brother in all but blood. Although he was just as skilled in sleight of hand and pickpocketing as Flynn, the big guy was nowhere near the same level in stealth and discretion, even blowing their cover a number of times. But what Lance lacked in sense of tact, he more than made up for with sheer muscle and quick reflexes. He always kept the worst trouble off of Flynn's back when things got too hot for them. They were a classic mix of brains and brawn.
While they had a few differences in style and methods, they both had hearts of gold and were the closest thing each other had to family.
And then there was Norris Flint. Just like how Flynn ranked among the very best thieves in the business, he doubted anyone in the tavern knew that their chef was, in fact, one of the most successful smugglers and influence brokers alive. He was the son of a merchant lord who lost everything but managed to survive and even prosper by putting his business savvy into 'less-than-legitimate' affairs. In only a few short years, he built a vastly successful network that dealt with information, procurement, and favors. Norris had deep connections with eyes and ears everywhere; he knew all the players and all the angles, legal or otherwise. He was one of the very best at hearing things through the grapevine, knowing who to talk to, the right palms to grease and to get whatever they wanted. He was the dealer who knew what to say and always had something to trade. Anything a person wanted, he could provide.
As an admirer of the old 'Mister Mysterious Mastermind' gig, he employed a different kind of covert discretion than Flynn did. He used dead drops, proxies, and multiple middle-man contacts. He made sure his system was untraceable by applying several different cutouts between himself and the money and facilitated goods, not to mention roundabout and other convoluted methods of having everything gathered and distributed. To top it off, Flynn could never understand the web of accounts the man used for finances, how he managed paper trails and made his money invisible to prying eyes.
Norris Flint was highly capable but never did anything too high-profile or too dirty. He was determined to keep from ever getting in too deep, with less than five people in the criminal underworld that knew his real face. The money and connections he made through his dealings were solely as a means to an end, to ensure the successful civilian life that he always dreamed of as a master chef.
"So, what's the verdict?" Flynn teased as he leaned forward. "I'm curious what this 'normal' is all about."
"Peaceful, yet still invigorating," Norris answered, still mixing ingredients. "Work isn't work if you love it, and cooking is my lifeblood! And still quite profitable, of course. It's been a simple matter of using my talent for finding the right information to figure out everyone's tastes, then the rest is just following my instincts to make their taste buds sing with delight. I'm quite a favorite of the locals now."
"I see you haven't lost your touch," Flynn nodded. "No one else comes close?"
"Well, there's Monty," the chef shrugged as he added powdered sugar. "One of the friendliest people I've ever met and also quite popular with the people. He runs his own Sweet Shoppe not far from here and I have to admit that he really knows his sugary goods. But while we both have a penchant for desserts, we're hardly competitors. Monty's trade is focused solely on candy shopping whereas I manage a restaurant with full meals. We did clash a few times early on, but I got to talking with him one night with a bottle of fine wine. Turns out that we have quite a few common interests; we swapped stories, had some laughs and even shared a few treats. I've got quite an addiction to his bonbons now, and he can't get enough of my fruit pies! By morning, we were fast friends and now we share drinks every Friday night. And the cherry on top? Our little 'friendly competition' with one another multiplies business from the locals like you wouldn't believe!"
"Then congratulations, you're a bona fide celebrity!" Flynn chuckled.
"And here you are," Giselle appeared to their side with a drink in hand. "Another glass of Fofana, with ice."
"My thanks," Flynn smiled, causing the hostess to giggle as Norris handed her his mixing bowl to be finished in the kitchen. The thief returned his attention to the chef, gesturing to the new glass. "A celebrity with a lot of open doors, I might say. You even have fresh ice!"
"Delivered straight from the mountains of Arendelle, carved by one of their finest ice harvesters!" The chef proclaimed. "No one else knows how to keep their ice as fresh and frozen cold, even through shipping, as well as my supplier does."
"In fact…" Norris leaned his head in close to whisper. "I've got enough surplus ice to work another of my little experiments. My pies are the most famous dish of the Honeycomb, but I'm also working on a special batch of ice cream. It'll be the next big idea! Vanilla and chocolate are delightful, certainly, but I've had this idea for an entirely new flavor: strawberry. Just imagine it, Flynn! Strawberry! A third flavor for ice cream everywhere!"
As a big fan of the dessert, Flynn's eyes doubled in size at the thought. "That… that would be incredible!"
"It'll still be a while, I've been trying to get the process right for the past six months. But I know I can make it work, and I've got plenty enough ingredients, especially the ice. I don't know how Mr. Bjorgman does it, but he always comes through on getting me the best ice for my desserts and drinks."
"You do always know just the right hand to shake."
"Don't I always?" Norris smiled. "One new friend can indeed open many doors. I may be out, but my little network of sparrows and gophers is still active for information as well as a nice little sideline in… procurement. Not only do I get quality ingredients for less, but from time to time, I'm still inclined to do a little bartering on the side."
"Being a local celebrity that has his own restaurant isn't enough?" Flynn asked wryly as he sipped his delicious drink.
"Oh sure, business is usually pretty good, but why not? I help a lot of the people around here get whatever they need, business or personal, for a pretty generous price. Helps my reputation, brings in a little extra income and customers, and there's no shortage of grateful people around that are happy to help out a friend in need. I've also made good friends with the city guards. I know almost every one of them on a first name basis, and it always pays off to be a favorite of the authorities. Best of all, it's perfectly legal."
Flynn nodded, knowing how 'independent civilian 'contractors' worked under a different jurisdiction when bringing side goods. Tariffs didn't apply as much and there were far fewer restrictions on what they can order and deliver. For example, royal guards and navy sailors could only order basic essentials through their own channels, such as toothbrushes and the like. Civilian contractors on the other hand, much like Norris and most of his network, usually offered a more robust selection of goods, services, and favors for the men. Whiskey and cigars, gentlemen's literature, custom boots, extra blankets, silk pillows, chess, and Fanorona board games, you name it.
And it was indeed legal, so long as you didn't order anything labeled as contraband.
"So, bottom line? Sales up, business is good and I'm quite happy. You'd be surprised how satisfying the smaller things in life can be. Sure you wouldn't consider honest work someday?"
Flynn looked perplexed. "I-I'm… I'm sorry, I don't understand. What do you do mean by work? Wait, am I pronouncing that word right? Work?"
Norris blinked. Then he snickered. "Right. Forgot who I was talking to."
Flynn dropped his feigned look of confusion as a genuine shiver crept up his spine at the thought, the serious implication of him being 'employed' in any manner was rather terrifying. Restrictions, limitations, parameters, all big nasty things that he abhorred. He wasn't much to abide by most rules anyway.
"You have no idea, Norris. I've already had that nightmare before, about actually having a… uh, you know…"
"You mean a jo—?"
"Don't say it!" He frantically hissed.
The chef only laughed.
"Well, as I was saying, Corona is a kingdom that appreciates the skillful touch of the culinary arts more than anywhere else. There's no doubt about it, old friend, this is where I belong," Norris let out a long sigh of content before getting a cheeky smile. "But I guess I'm still a bit like you, Flynn. The difference is that I'm successful."
The thief didn't miss a beat. "Like at cards?"
Norris was suddenly thrown off. "Wha—I-I… I've gotten better!"
"Yeah, now you know that a Three doesn't beat an Ace!" Now Flynn was the one laughing, enjoying the spot of payback for teasing him about actual employment. "What was it you said during our first game? 'Read 'em and weep'. And then you did!"
"I'll beat you one of these days and sweet revenge will be mine," the other man groused. "I've even hired a professional player from Weselton for lessons. The only problem is that he ironically lost all his money at the local gambling ring about a month ago. Apparently, the entire place got cleaned out by… some hotshot… newcomer…"
Norris trailed off.
He slowly turned his eyes back to the thief.
Who was bearing an unrepentant smile.
"Yeah, I'll be here… not holding my breath. Flynn Rider doesn't lose at cards. It's a rule of nature, mind you."
The chef could only roll his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he shrugged in resignation before changing the subject.
"Hey, why am I the only one reciting tales of success?" He playfully pointed an accusing finger. "You're always working to do something, Flynn. Even my own network can barely keep track of you until the next time you do something that makes the papers. You redefine the meaning of 'elusive', you old sly boots."
"Me, elusive?" Flynn laughed. "You've obviously never tried to catch a dancing girl after drinking too much Vorhaven willek juice! Anyway, I'm sure you've heard all about the party last month in Nasaltown?"
"Nasaltown? Ha! I need to remember that one! But first, you still have to tell me how you and Lance get out of that fiasco in Albion. The impazzendo magistrate there had a crocodile – an actual crocodile! – as his idea for a guard dog. What happened after we split up? I couldn't make sense of what my contacts were trying to tell me."
Flynn chuckled as he leaned back in his seat. "Believe it or not, Lance remembered one of the times we got in trouble back at the orphanage. We had read about ice skating and got this fine idea of trying it out ourselves by attaching wheels to our boots. Caused quite a mess that day."
"Wait, are you saying you escaped by… skating?"
"Over those smooth tile floors? You'd be surprised just how amazingly effective it was at outrunning the guards!" The thief laughed at the memory. "They couldn't keep pace with us at all! Although it didn't work as well once we hit the dirt roads. As for what happened next, let's just say that, at first, it involved a beautiful merchant's daughter, a backward pirate and a soldier with a musical instrument fetish."
"At first?"
Flynn nodded. "And then it got weird."
...
...
...
"I just had to ask, didn't I?" Norris stared at him blankly. "I swear Rider, before I met you, the strangest thing that ever happened to me was when I once saw a swarm of bees chasing a yellow teddy-bear carrying a honeypot."
Now it was Flynn's turn to look confused. "Wait, what?"
"That was a real thing, I saw it once!"
The thief held up a placating hand. "Alright, alright. So anyway, speaking of odd trouble, what's the word on Lance? We lost touch with each other a while ago."
"Lance? Oh… he got arrested. But then-"
"WHAT?!" Flynn nearly leaped out of his seat, almost spilling his drink before honed instincts kept him from drawing too much attention. "My buddy's in jail? Where? What's the quickest route?"
The mental image of his oldest friend trapped behind bars seized his entire attention and lit a spark inside him. It was a mistake for them to have split up. Arendelle would wait, nothing else mattered. His inner hawk rose up with determination, ready to spread its wings; he would leave Corona today, his sharp mind already going through half a dozen escape plans and a list of the needed tools.
"Whoa whoa ragazzo, easy!" Norris quickly put a firm hand on Flynn's shoulder. "I already got him out. Now do relax, your paczki dish isn't even ready yet. Good boy."
The thief went still. "You… he's alright? You got him out?"
"Please! You're not the only mastermind here, just like you're not the only friend that Lance has. I made a few arrangements, and he's been a free man for the last four months."
The weight left Flynn's shoulders quickly as it arrived. The tension sloughed off of him as if he settled into a warm, soothing bath. "I forgot how fast you work. How'd you manage it?"
"It's like I always say Flynn, it's not who you know but how 'well' you know them." Norris reminded. "You see, the warden had a son who was conscripted last year right off the streets into one of Strihaven's silver mines, nasty place, and wasn't allowed to leave. With all the pirate attacks in Alliance waters, King Willard was pushing his workers even harder than usual while keeping their budget funding down to a tight minimum. They could barely afford materials and their cheap equipment was falling apart under the increased demands. So, I reached out to the chief foreman and got him a boatload of top-quality tools and materials, along with putting him in touch with a good supplier for even more. All in exchange for letting one single miner go home to his family. Overjoyed to have his son back from that deathtrap, the warden was all too happy to expedite Lance's sentence as much as legally possible, and even a little further! He got released a week later for 'good behavior'."
Flynn couldn't help but give an awed smile. While he was a master silver tongue himself, Norris was an artist when it came to making quick friends and striking a bargain. "That is beyond impressive. I'll never understand how you know to do these things."
"It's what I do," Norris replied, holding up one of his glasses with faux drama. "I drink, and I know things."
Both men laughed.
"Anyway, Lance is no doubt laying low for now, but that won't last for too long with his impulse control."
"Well, thanks for getting him out." Flynn was indeed thankful, and it showed on his face.
"You can thank me by helping him to fix his table manners!" Norris was suddenly serious. "Until then, you can bet that he will still have to pay full price in my restaurant!"
The thief had almost forgotten how high Norris' standards were when it came to the art of culinary perfection, as well as your eating behavior. Then again, Lance was certainly a messy eater once he got hungry. He still remembered how the big guy preferred eating pork with his bare hands, like a ravenous beast tearing into a helpless gazelle.
"H'ppy burf-tay!"
Norris jumped when a ball of white hair suddenly tumbled out of one of the bar cabinets. A closer look revealed that the ball was, in fact, a surprisingly short man that was less than four feet tall with a long white beard and an oddly round nose.
"Shorty?!" The chef was both shocked and dismayed by his presence. "How'd you get i— wait, what were you doing inside the cupboard?"
The man sat up, his head swaying with a loopy smile that showed several missing teeth. It didn't take a genius to see that the man was drunk.
"Whooooaaaaa...'s morn' lredy?"
"Shorty," Norris said in a resigned voice. "Did you sleep the night in there?"
The man in question promptly fell on his back again with a slurred chuckle. Then he belched loudly.
Norris reached into the open cabinet and pulled out several empty jar glasses, where he then let out a sigh of long-suffering. "And what happened to my store of honey mead?"
"I did n'sush 'hing! Ooo got n'thin 'n me! *Hic*!" The hiccup was enough to make the small man's entire body lurch. Then he pointed aimlessly at the ceiling. "…Heh, heh...flying coooo-*hic*-ooookies."
"I rest my case," Norris said simply. "Nalia! Little Shorty snuck in again!"
Flynn was holding a napkin to his face to keep from laughing too hard as a blonde waitress easily carried the small man away. "Friend of yours?"
"Hardly. Everyone calls him Shorty, but there's no way he was born with a name like that. Nobody knows his real name, even I can't find out. Anyway, I can only assume that's he's either always drunk or a complete gavia. He usually stays at the Snuggly Duckling but keeps popping up everywhere all over the kingdom and no one can tell what he's up to."
"I'm th' vil'ge crazy! Thaz m' joooob!" Shorty happily called from the other room.
The two of them went still at the mildly unsettling notion that he somehow managed to hear them from another room and over the noise of all the Honeycomb's patrons.
"Erm… so, what's this 'Snuggly Duckling'?"
"I'm actually glad you asked." Norris perked up again. "It's this old and rundown pub out alongside the path down in the woods. People say it used to be a nice place until the bandit leader called Ruthless Ruth and her gang ran everyone out and took the place for themselves. I hear that Ruth died about six years ago, but the Snuggly Duckling is still overrun by brutes and other ruffians down on their luck. It's now known as the place where you go if you've lost everything. They're more depressed and drunk than actively hostile, but I'd give them a wide berth all the same."
"Heh, no problem." Flynn shrugged. "Why would I ever want to go to a place like that?"
"With you, who knows?"
Their conversation was put on hold again when an excited Giselle emerged from the kitchen with a large dish of fresh pastries. "Here you are! A nice plate of our rum-soaked, ruby jam paczkis!"
Flynn's eyes went wide as he unconsciously licked his lips. He gently picked one up and breathed in through his nose; the heavenly aroma sent a shudder through him. It had been so long since he had one of these. Too long.
"Enjoy! Just be sure you don't… inhale it, too late." Norris sighed. "Wonderful. Now it's all over your face-don't use your… sleeve."
"Sorry!" Flynn chuckled as he wiped the rest off with a napkin. "I've just been dreaming of tasting these again one day. You always make the best."
"My pleasure!" Norris laughed. "This jam is one of my finest batches yet. So well done, in fact, that it's actually quite flammable if you take a match to it."
"Jam with an explosive kick? Ha!" Flynn took another in one hand. "I tell you, buddy, I tried to curb my craving in this little shop in the western region of Vorhaven, but they fill them with prune jelly."
Giselle put a hand to her mouth as she glanced at Norris. The chef looked like he had been slapped. His face went from shock to horror to downright sour. Even as a former underground dealer, few things could upset Norris Flint as much as the thought of botched food and improper cooking.
"P-P-Prune jelly? In paczki?!" He slammed his fist against the counter. "Those mountain brutes! Follia! A cosa sta arrivando questo mondo?!"
As Norris kept ranting, Flynn was snickering like crazy as he sank his teeth into another delicious pastry. His friend also only went full 'Italian' when he was either truly happy, or in this case, or extremely affronted.
Giselle, quite used to Norris' standards of culinary perfection, quickly calmed him down by changing the subject.
"Capocuoco, Zelinsky's crew were supposed to have arrived half an hour ago. Do you have any idea when they'll be here? I've been asked by two more people already about our annual events for the festival."
Norris had an unreadable look on his face, tapping his finger thoughtfully on the counter. "His ship was due last night, they're only half a day behind. It might be cutting it a little close, but my contact has always come through before. I'm sure it won't be long now."
"Well, if you need to look into it, I could take care of your friend." Giselle's hungry gaze turned to Flynn. "After all, a special guest needs to be well-cared for, especially one who could need help learning his way around. I'd be happy to show him the more exciting things in Corona. Maybe even show him where he can find a room for his stay, to see that he's… comfortable."
Even someone as drunk and absent-minded as Shorty would be able to see the subtle invitation Giselle was making, and Norris quickly interjected before Flynn could answer.
"I will take care of his accommodations myself, Giselle! Might I suggest you return to your duties?"
"As you wish." She smiled as she walked away, swinging her hips just slightly.
Norris looked as if he couldn't believe what was happening. "How? How do you do that, Flynn? Women are supposed to be complicated! I mean, Giselle there is studying to become a governess."
The thief's eyebrows went up in surprise.
"Exactly." Norris continued. "She's very well-educated and even taught herself to read before she first went to school. Giselle is usually more well-spoken than most nobles. I also know for a fact that she hates how her natural looks get more attention than the other girls, and as a woman of education, she doesn't want that as the only thing that others would care about. Not once have I ever seen her show more interest than professional courtesy with a customer, and now it's like she's an entirely different person. How do you do that just by walking in through a door?!"
"What's wrong with that?" Flynn shrugged. "If anything, women should leave me alone! Being this good-looking gets very distracting!"
"…Damn it, you storybook adventurer." The other man deadpanned. "I can always count on you to give me a devastating headache."
"Hey, that was one time! And I told you to watch out for that branch."
"Never mind, weren't we talking about something important?"
"Of course," Flynn agreed solemnly. "The beauty of the female form is always important." He cast a glance at Giselle who had hardly taken her eyes off him. He always did have a thing for brunettes, and especially women with a proper sense of wits.
Norris followed his gaze. "Flirt if you want, but please don't chase after my staff."
"It will probably be the other way around!" Flynn laughed. "In which case, it would be their own choice, right? I could pay her a visit in the afternoon—"
"And will be there until morning, I'm sure."
"Hey, gotta prove the beds are soft enough for their skin, right? You should be more considerate of women, Norris, seriously."
Norris really sputtered, with spit flying and everything. Then he pulled himself together and let out a long sigh. "I give up. Alright, fine, but not while they're on the clock. You want private time, and I want to never know what 'happens' in your private time. Win-win."
The tavern door opened, and the bell rang to signal a new arrival. Norris automatically glanced over and smiled as he recognized the new guest. Then again, he probably knew almost everyone. "Ah, hello Cassandra! Beautiful morning we're having, isn't it?"
A young woman wearing a blue and white handmaiden dress gracefully approached the bar, giving Norris a small smile. "As much as it can be, I guess. Everyone's getting pretty wound up lately."
"I can imagine your father is driving everyone up the wall with the festival coming up."
"Much more than usual. It is the eighteenth anniversary after all." Cassandra sighed. "Which means I really need one of his favorite treats to cheer him up, for the sake of everyone's sanity. Is it ready?"
Norris already had a tasty-looking plate out on the counter before she finished her question. "Here you go, piccina! Cheese blintz with squeezed cherries on top, and a dusting of powdered sugar."
Cassandra smiled with relief. "Thanks, this always works perfectly when my dad has long days."
Norris couldn't keep the smirk off his face as he put a metal cloche over the dish for takeout. "Not even Ludvig's dishes can do the trick?"
"No. The royal chef doesn't even come close." Cassandra gave a tiny chuckle. "But you didn't hear that from me, there was no order for cheese blintz and I was never here."
"What dish? I would never dream of offending Ludvig's delicate sense of— Merde!" Norris had suddenly glanced at something from the corner of his eye and then his face became red with embarrassment before he hastily ran off. "Shorty, no! That is not a toilet!"
A startled Cassandra's eyebrows shot straight up as she watched the chef frantically grab a rather tiny man with a beard and then promptly disappeared through a door.
Flynn was left sitting at the counter casually eating another paczki, doing his very best to keep from laughing. He had no interest in drawing attention as he carefully studied the young woman standing four feet away from him. She was rather decently attractive with alabaster skin, full dark-pink lips, hazel eyes and finely groomed black hair with gray highlights. This 'handmaiden' was certainly elegant, poised and reservedly charming. Yet for all her ladylike manner, Flynn recognized the signs from Cassandra's stature just as he had with Norris' incognito security earlier. He recognized the grace that came from a trained body. Her breathing was exceedingly natural and fully composed. Her eyes were careful and attentive, the gaze of a vigilant watcher. Even her walk was perfectly efficient.
His sharp eyes took note of the familiar calluses between the thumb and index finger of her right hand that only came from the handle of a sword. Flynn recognized them because he had the same calluses himself. And when one of her boots had peeked out from under the hem of her dress, his hawk had also glimpsed a concealed knife. This young handmaiden was a trained fighter.
Ah, a woman of mystery.
Quite frankly, Flynn was impressed. There weren't many women around with the hard will to commit themselves to such extensive and unforgiving training or were even allowed to be trained at all. Women were often expected to keep to cooking, sewing, and all that other nonsense. Not that he ever cared for such bias. Seriously, did anyone think that Flynn Rider of all people cared for what society 'expected' you to be? With the hard life he once lived and then deciding to make his own fate, he never could stand prejudice.
And now here was a young woman not only willing to commit to such training but was trained well. Better still, she was disciplined in it. Very impressive, and very dangerous. Even so, the manner in which she did nothing to conceal her warrior's gait indicated a minimal amount of critical experience, as any serious fighter could spot her. Skill and training were one thing, but real experience was what taught you how to make the best use of it. Trained or not, only a fool would underestimate someone who had been playing the game far longer than you. In the real world, experienced outranked everything, and Flynn had amassed abundant experience across the lands through his numerous adventures, brushes with danger and bold exploits.
Regardless, Flynn knew he had no reason to worry. He had long since learned how to know when someone was after him or not. There was no danger, especially with one as well-informed as Norris Flint welcoming her as a friend.
When Cassandra soon turned her gauging eyes towards Flynn, he returned it with both a nod and charming wink. That hadn't been anything that she expected and was thrown slightly off-balance as her cheeks turned a light shade of pink.
The side-door suddenly flew open again as an exasperated Norris finally emerged.
"Wha's th' pr'blm?" Shorty's slurred voice called after him. "I le'cked it, it's m'ne!"
"That's not a thing! Quit licking all my stuff!"
The final word was spoken, Norris closed the door shut, blew out a resigned sigh and returned behind the counter to Cassandra. "Sorry about that, I'll work it out with him later. So then… Cassandra, would you also care for a few sandwiches to go?"
"That would be splendid, it's going to be a long day." Cassandra nodded thankfully as she handed him a few coins. "Which means I might be back in the evening."
"Anything special?" Norris inquired as he handed her a pair of sandwiches.
Cassandra thought for a moment before answering. "Maybe some omelet rice and banana bread. Oh, and some Pudding a la Mode!"
"I'll be sure to get everything ready by then." Norris chuckled. "I'll see you later then, and good luck today!"
After she hurried out the door with a delicious meal in hand, Flynn finally turned back to the chef. "So, who was that?"
"Cassandra, a handmaiden from the palace. She has a father in the royal guard."
Her family was part of the guard? That explained her training and the knife. Well, that wasn't important anymore as Flynn gave his friend a rather incredulous look.
"Okay, I shouldn't be surprised, but what did she mean about saying you're better than the royal chef?"
Norris couldn't help but stand a little straighter. "Well… I might have been offered position a while ago. But I turned them down."
"Wait, you turned down the job of the palace cook?"
"Don't get me wrong, Flynn. I was certainly flattered, and I take pride in knowing I can cook better than whomever a rich noble could hire. But I won't ever work exclusively for a noble or rich family, no matter how much they paid. Not when I could have a place all my own, to cook the way I want it and where I can share my food with everyone. The people love my food, and I won't leave them just to feed one giant house. Plus, my staff down here would then be out of work. And if that wasn't enough, I would be expected to adopt the proper 'attitude' and behavior for the royal palace, to do everything by their own conceived standards every day."
A look of horror swept over the thief's face. "Oh… oh lord. Gag. Yeah, buddy, you made the right decision. Otherwise, I'd have to come and break you out! I had enough of that Second Estate nonsense back in Weselton to scar me for a lifetime."
Norris winced in sympathy, remembering their shared dislike for the arrogance of the upper class. "Oh yeah, I've heard quite a bit of how bad they are over there…"
"No no, you don't get it!" Flynn was actually starting to look frazzled. "Everything we've seen, all we know about them? I was in the thick of it back there, right inside the belly of the beast! Oh sure, it turned out to be exciting in the end and I made off with a fortune but masquerading as one of them was still one of the worst ideas I've ever had! And yes, this is me we're talking about! I thought I knew how bad the upper class could be. But I was wrong, I was horribly wrong. It wasn't just those moron's idea of witty chatter, their overly-fancy behavior or even that arrogant elitist snob attitude! No, in the Duke's ballroom, I discovered my worst nightmare… businessmen!"
Norris blinked at his friend's bizarre behavior, even for him. "Businessmen?"
"Yes, noble businessmen" Flynn's eyes were the eyes of a shell-shocked war veteran. "They would want me to 'straighten up' and 'fly right'. To 'act my age' and 'respect authority'."
"Flynn. I run a restaurant and I manage a secret network that reaches everywhere. How bad could it be?"
Whatever response Norris expected, it certainly wasn't for the thief to abruptly grab him by the collar, pull him in eye-to-eye and speak so fast that his words blended together. "They-wanted-my-assistance-in-developing-a-synergetic-process-for-actualizing-potential-and-capitalizing-on-untapped-assets!"
The chef was left stunned even after Flynn released his coat. "I didn't understand a word of that!"
"Nobody can!"
He was plagued by nightmares for over a week after he escaped on the ship. Sometimes, when it was quiet, he could still hear the voices...
Mr. Rider! Let's expound on the results of these reports!
Time to discuss our quarterly earnings!
Are we exploring mint revenue streams?
"Oh, sweet and sour chicken, that is terrifying!" Norris paled as the full implications dawned on him. "Sometimes I forget that I chose an extralegal line of work to avoid that kind of bureaucracy!"
Flynn was unresponsive. Instead, he shivered from a nonexistent cold as he stared off into space as if he were in a trance. His vision was beginning to black out as alien words appeared in his mind, threatening to overtake him and drag him into the abyss from which none ever returned.
Corporate compliance!
"Flynn?"
Six Sigma!
"Flynn."
TPS reports!
"Rider!"
The thief was snapped back to planet Earth when a pastry was shoved into his mouth.
"Grmmpfh! Whraffh gh—*cough*— Gah, what was that fo…" Flynn stopped when reality caught up with him and he realized what had almost happened. He shook himself to clear his head before he visibly sagged in relief, as though he were shedding a heavy coat. "Whoa, whew… thanks, mate."
"You were thinking again. I had to save you."
…
…
… Of all the…!
The pair burst out laughing, startling some of the Honeycomb's staff and patrons, they laughed so hard they cried. The years had fallen away. This was the man Flynn was proud to have as a friend. Someone that shared his zest for life, had a good heart and would even go out of his way to get a friend out of prison. He could always be counted on to get what you needed; whether it was his delicious food, goods, information or just a comforting shoulder. Moments like this were just as wonderful as his adventures and made the most golden memories.
Making friends gives you a reason to be alive. It gives you more reason to stand up for what you believe in. Having friends and loved ones by your side, it's like having a family before you realize that you cannot live without them.
It was times like this that Flynn understood the deeper true wisdom of his idol about the true joys of living, and was reminded of why he had wanted to pursue such a wonderful life. To live with the mightiest heartbeat. Adventure, treasure and good friends. Now wasn't that the life?
As he and Norris poured new drinks and clinked their glasses together, Flynn began to wonder. This place was already turning out better than he had imagined. It was a beautiful and welcoming city with wonderful people, delicious food, cute girls and good friends. Perhaps he could stay in Corona for a little while longer after all?
~o~O~o~
It was him. She was sure of it. The nose was off, but it was definitely him!
Cassandra peered through the Honeycomb window, observing the man as discreetly as she could. She could hardly believe who she had actually stumbled across this morning, it was like catching sight of Santa Claus landing on the roof. And yet there he was, just sitting there! Poor Norris, did he even know who he was serving drinks to? How much danger those people were in from that deceitful cutthroat?
Her instincts were already in full drive, her trained focus now assessing the situation from every angle. Could she take him? Probably. The man was drinking, he was unarmed, and she was a better fighter than half the men guarding the king. Her body quivered at the priceless opportunity. A young woman succeeding where the men failed, capturing the legendary outlaw would wash away all doubts. She would finally prove beyond question that she was worthy of a place among the royal guard. Maybe even a position of rank!
However…
Cassandra bit her lip and scowled at her dress. The blasted thing always restricted her movement and offered pitiful protection. And instead of a proper weapon, she could only carry a simple knife to be used in a pinch, and even then, she was told to conceal it. She always felt exposed without the reassuring weight of a sword at her waist, except that 'women didn't carry swords'. She had been called a harlot by the more unsavory individuals just for when she wore pants or all the accusations for "not carrying herself like a proper lady," and all that. She soundly ignored them, but such sentiments still hindered her position. Especially now when she needed it.
But more importantly, even if she brought the wanted criminal in, Cassandra knew her father would still be disappointed in her. Not just through his over-protective sense as a parent, but for tackling a dangerous challenge when her advantage was far from certain.
Duty before pride, Cassandra. That is the life our family chose. It's our job to protect the king and the people, to keep the kingdom safe however we can. The royal guard fights and protects because they love the kingdom more than themselves. That is the definition of duty, and whatever we want for ourselves will have to come second.
If she wanted to become a member of the guard, then first she had to act like one. Worthless vagrant or not, this man was infamous for being harder to corner than a pack of frightened squirrels on caffeine. She needed to be positive that he would be apprehended, and if there was even one mistake he'd slip away and disappear. This had to be perfect, and she wasn't going to ruin it for the sake of personal ambitions.
Her mind made up, Cassandra turned and ran for the palace as fast as she could. She had to warn her father, the Captain of the Royal Guard, to sound the alarm. Flynn Rider was in Corona!
Sadly, with time being of the essence, she needed both hands to lift the hem of her gown in order to run. And to do that, she was forced to throw away Norris' cheese blintz. By the sea and sky, she hated dresses!
This took a little longer than first expected. But Norris Flint is my most prominent and most developed Original Character, and as first impressions are always important, introductions must be done properly. And thanks again to DarkDragonFires12, my dear friend and beta-reader!
Flynn Rider has taken his first steps in Corona and has been welcomed warmly by its hospitable people and by an old friend. It is a time to relax, eat well and make merry as the Festival of the Lanterns draws near. But not all welcomes by Corona hospitality will be friendly, for there are those who intend to make his stay a permanent one.
Thanks to all who have to come to see this, and an especial thanks to any who review, fave and follow! Those are what inspire me to keep going. As always, your comments, thoughts and constructive criticism are appreciated and welcomed. Til next time, and Happy New Year!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Disney franchise, nor the Tangled films nor the TV series. Everything original you will see, such as OCs, are mine.