“You’ll dowhatexactly?” He smirked as he glanced back at the Harpy, who currently looked nothing like himself, but still very obviously pissed off, based on his clenched teeth and the tick in his jaw.
The Perm Shadow Shells were genius. They hid the person but were also undetectable. And if he’d still been in the Bureau, he’d be worrying about how much of an added pain in the ass it would make tracking Cryptid Means’ movements. As he was not…he was slightly jealous that he hadn’t thought about investing in such an idea first.
“I amnevergoing shopping with you again!” the Cryptid ground out.
As his smirk widened, with an exaggerated sigh, Cyrus mused, “So impatient. It’s a lot to decide, you know. I have to make sure that what I get are things Killian will actually wear.”
“What’s your excuse for shit that is clearly for your own ass?!”
“I have to make sure that the things I pick will be something I will wear more than once as well.” He chuckled.
“You are fucking ridiculous.”
“Yes, well, I’m only about halfway done, so…get comfortable.”
Soren’s voice took on a full southern twang, as thick as Ender’s, as the man squawked out, “Comfortable, how?! By standing?! Wait?! HALFWAY!? How in blue blazes are you only fucking halfway done?! You literally only need underwear and socks!”
With probably a bit too much smugness, he kindly informed the man, “Well, yes, but Killian prefers a variety of pretty, and often silky, things. Also, I wanted to check out a few home décor stores after this.”
“For fuck’s sake, why?!” the Harpy roared, his accent still out in full force.
Ender’s gaze flicked to the clock on the wall as the oven timer went off. It was nearing 8pm already, and they’d managed to not only make seven lemon meringue pies, but also seven chocolate French silk pies, seven chocolate cheesecakes, and they had just finished up seven meat pies. The meat pies were mostly all for him, because he was pregnant and he said so.
The majority of their time went into mixing the ingredients, and pausing for work and actual food. Baking-wise, they had enough ovens, not to mention they were large enough to do each batch at once. But then, they needed that amount with how many people lived in the compound and just in his house. Evenif they all didn’t eat with them for every meal, or any meal, baked goods always drew them in.
They had, of course, already cut out and set aside a small slice of lemon meringue, while hiding the rest of the pies in the back of one of the large fridges, so they could taunt the Fate a bit.
“You know, I didn’t believe you at first, but the man sure is slow as molasses when it comes to shopping,” Ender said with a laugh as he set the last meat pie on the cooling rack with the others.
The smell was making his mouth water a bit. He was so eating part of one…or possibly all of one, as soon as it wouldn’t burn his mouth.
Killian hummed, “I mean, yes he's slow, but he has good taste. As in, he tends to buy things people would actually wear.”
That was a plus, he supposed. Not that it would exactly benefit him much. Ender wasn’t particularly hard to shop for. He was a simple man who wore simple things, and would usually go for comfort over fashion. Aside from his jeans, boots, and hats, the clothes he bought tended to come in packs. Killian, he noticed, was not much for simple, based on the often flamboyant clothing he wore.
He pursed his lips. “That’s good to know, but I have to say, it’s great to know that it’s best I never step foot into a store with him, or I risk having to find a spot to hide his body.”
“Yeah, I’ve made that mistake more times than I’d like to admit. And it’s not fun when you aren’t in the mood to spend all day walking,” Killian snickered. “Let’s just say, I’ve left his ass alone in a few shopping centers before.”
“I’m sure you have. Toddles has to be about to explode, if he hasn’t already.” He paused, smirking as his ears picked up a door slamming and the sound of arguing in the distance. “Ohh, looks like they are no longer missing in action!”
“No, no, and no! There is zero explanation for it taking that FUCKING long for you to pick out shit! NONE! ZIP! ZERO!!” Soren angrily roared. His brother’s accent was out, and his words were clear, even though the two hadn’t made it to the kitchen yet.
“I mean, I got everything and more. It will all be used, so I’m failing to see the problem,” Cyrus drawled. The man’s voice was more muffled as he wasn’t screaming.
“Ahh, yes, as that one bag is just what we fucking needed!” the Harpy sneered, as he practically slammed the double swinging kitchen doors open and walked in. The Cryptid’s arms were loaded with brown shopping bags, making him wonder why they hadn’t just brought a cart.
“It’s all necessary,” Cyrus snickered as he walked in behind Soren, the Fate carrying just as much.
The two must have removed their disguises before they came in, as they looked like themselves. Soren’s hair, however, was simmering slightly and producing a trail of smoke, as if giving out a warning to stay away, while the man’s eyes flickered with flames. There were also feathers peeking out from beneath the collar of his sweater. The Harpy was clearly on the edge of transforming and fighting it.
Cyrus looked happy as can be, and Ender couldn’t say he didn’t appreciate the way the man’s white sweater hugged his muscles, not to mention how it looked against his tawny bronze skin.
“You break my doors and you will be replacing them, Toddles,” Ender warned, before cheekily teasing, “Ain’t you two a sight for sore eyes. Thought we’d lost y’all for good.”
Soren let out an angry chirp, a small burst of fire coming from his mouth and hair, before he deposited all of the bags he was carrying onto the floor and stormed back out of the kitchen without another word.
The Fate watched the man go, before saying with a shit-eating smile that flashed his sharp canines, “Wonder what his problem was?”
