FFM7: Muffin Time

We were supposed to be tracking down the stolen Eye of Oberon, but my fearless leader, Mortimer Tweed, insisted on making a "quick" stop. When he finally emerged, it wasn't from the pawn shop he'd gone into, but the faery owned and operated bakery three stores down. Mortimer was red eyed and entirely too pleased with himself.

"Surprise," he said, handing me a slightly mangled, brown box of blueberry muffins.

"I love surprises as much as the next jerk but that's not what this is."

"Don't be silly, you had no idea---"

"I saw you leave the store and I can smell the blueberry. How many times have I told you not to go to that bakery? Faery dust is not something you want to mess around with."

He started down the street, still too pleased with himself. He waddled in between each parking meter as though his life depended on it. I carried his stupid muffins. If he could sense how deep my irritation ran, perhaps his haste was justified.

"If you want to be an adventurer, you have to develop a tolerance, even a taste for the local food," Mortimer said.

"Faery dust isn't food. It might as well be a narcotic for all the harm it does."

"Only to the uninitiated---"

"What is that supposed to mean? You're an addict. You need a program to get you off that crap."

"I need no such thing. You're just a victim of your pathetic public school system's anti everything propaganda. What was it called D.R.I.P.?"

I mentally counted to ten.

"That's D.A.R.E. and it helped a lot of people. Don't be an asshole."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Tell that to the faeries you just robbed," I said.

"Well, I certainly don't know what you mean by that---"

"So we're going to pretend you forked over a wad of actual money for a dozen blueberry muffins sprinkled with enough fairy dust to waylay a rhino. What's the street price for that much dust? 2,000?"

"Yes, we are," he said, "And depending on the salesman, it's closer to 4,000."

"I hate you."

Behind us, I heard the sickening flutter of faery wings.