Franky listened to Jiaya's words nodding, "Yeah, that old goat certainly likes to stay busy. Us old folks are like that, I suppose, I'm supposedly retired, after all." He laughed a bit at his own joke, "It's always safe, you just never know what you'll get in her stew. A bit of a lottery that one."
Franky smiled brightly at her, genuinely, "Anything to drink with that stew?"
On cue, Chestnut poked her head out from the kitchen, her eyes sparkling and her mouth wide, as she did each and every single time she heard someone mention her stew. Her hearth she worked on was quite close to the door. She disappeared quickly, and reemerged with the bowl of piping hot stew, setting it gently on the counter in front of Naila as careful as if it were the crown of the Dragon King himself. She giggled, and the little Fae with her big, curly red hair disappeared back into the kitchen.
"Sandshrew, bearmoths, rainy tubers, fire onions, and a hefty bit of anise." One of Franky's daily routines was trying to figure out what was in Chestnut's daily stew. Helped keep the mind sharp.
Still, something was nagging him in the back of his mind. He was forgetting something. He'd missed something. A small detail. He wasn't sure why he was feeling this way, but it was his instinct kicking in. Franky knew people, he was great with people, never forgot a face nor a name. Something was off.
He turned, shaking his head. Maybe it was nothing. He was on edge lately, spending a lot of his time planning and prepping for heading back to the Imperium, as well as his plans here. It was a lot. His wife was incredibly supportive, but now that she bore the burden of Foresight, she required some extra care as well. He didn't know just how much of a toll it could take on her. He needed to finish this business sooner than later, for her sake.
He reached for a wine, one he was going to offer up to Jiaya, a good pairing for the stew. But as he did, he saw a bit of something white and powdery on another bottle. That was odd, none of his bottles were ever dusty. Bob cleaned everything perfectly every single day. Franky reached out, feeling it, bringing it to his tongue. Flour?
That's... odd.
He looked at the label on the bottle. Zaichaeri raspberry red. Always trust the signs. He plucked the bottle, turning, presenting the bottle to Jiaya, "Some raspberry wine? It's grown and made by this old codger and his fifteen daughters south of town."
