The Way Back Home's
Volcano Pies
A plate floated closer and one of the pies rose above it. This plate brought itself to Farrell. Unable to resist, Farrell accepted awkwardly. Next, a fork came up to him and landed on the plate. This study made him silence and sculpt on the spot. At least a minute.
“Excuse me, I also want to take it.”
Farrell was shocked.
Seeing Farrell's reaction, the young man behind Farrell was taken aback. He circulated a glance before asking, “Is something wrong?”
“Ng— Nope. I just... new first time... see something like this.” Farrell stammered over his feelings at that moment.
The young man laughed. “I have one suggestion for you. Be careful when cutting the pie, you don't want the lava in it to jump out and punch a hole in your shirt.”
Farrell frowning. “Hole?”
“Maybe they used real lava when making it in order to taste typical spicy. Safe and good for the tongue, but not for clothes. Just cut it slowly.”
“OK. Thanks infonya.” Farrell pressed the edges of the pie very slowly. When the fork sliced the pie, a small explosion appeared accompanied by a soft hiss. A thick red liquid flowed out. The inside contains pox and corn as well as carrots. Farrell stuffed the liquid-stained fork into his mouth. Very spicy. His tongue felt a mixture of spices as well as heat. The heat rises to the nose quickly.
“Pedas, right?”
Farrell. “Yes. Very spicy, but tasty.”
“Do not try to eat this in hot weather. Hahaha.”.
“You stayed here?” Farrell continued the conversation.
“Yes, room 207. I saw you when I came yesterday.” His interlocutor had also already picked up the pie and started cutting it.
“You drove here?”
“Absolutely. The white SUV is right next to you. Oh yes, I'm Vincent Elioscavea.” The young man extended his hand. She has dark brown hair painted bright blue at the ends.
“Yeah, where's my manners.” Farrell hurriedly greeted him. “Farrell Eden.”
“Eden? You...” Vincent let his sentence float.
“My uncle who runs this hotel,” Farrell continued.
“Oh, what a coincidence! I'm here for—”
“Excuse me, please don't chat in front here! You guys are blocking the other guests.” Another man came to them. He was wearing a green suit over a matching vest and a black shirt. His name's plaque reads ‘Christo’. “There is an empty table there.” Christo waved at the table in another part of the room. The previous person had just left him. Now the dirty dishes were piling themselves up against each other to fly together backwards.
“Ups, sorry.” Vincent began to leave.
Before Farrell moves, Christo catches his arm and whispers, “You shouldn't be here, Farrell Eden.”
“Au—”
“Cute with me.” Christo let go of his grip and stepped away. He never looked back or let Farrell respond. “Cute me!” he asked again when he realized Farrell had not walked behind him.
Farrell turned his head towards the young man he had just met. Vincent doesn't seem to mind if their conversation breaks. So, he hurried to follow Christo. His hand was still holding the plate filled with pie. “Can you explain what—”
“Continue.” Christo did not intend to answer. He stepped out of the room regardless of anyone around him. As he was used to it, he lowered his head when a flying spoon passed by and dodged as the dishes approached.
Farrell only watched the hotel clerk from behind. Christo is higher than him. His fingers were thin but felt so strong when gripping earlier. Guess Farrell, Christo was older than him, maybe around thirty or even more. His haircut is neat, trimmed to the bottom. He could see a plain silver earring on his left ear.
“Wait—”
“We get to.” Christo again did not give him a chance to talk. He stopped in the hallway where Farrell had entered.
“Wait a minute..” Farrell wants to continue protesting. However, he suddenly forgot his initial sentence when he saw Christo's face. That face she had seen somewhere even though she could not remember where. The sentence changed, “Do I know you? Have we met before?”
Farrell wasn't sure if he'd ever met Christo at the inn, even if that was the most likely answer. Last time I went there, Farrell was still in elementary school. He wasn't sure he was meeting Christo at the time. If it is true, it means Christo was working when he was young. Farrell watches Christo closely and begins to guess how he looked when he was young. Perhaps that way, he could remember where he had met Christo.
“I think we've met before,” said Farrell again.
However, instead of remembering, Farrell's eyes instead found another interesting thing. Christo did not button his suit, so Farrell could clearly see the accessories behind it. There's a chain hanging from the vest button into the bag. Farrell wondered if it was a pocket watch. He had never seen the real one in person.
“I think it's a good time for you to get out of here. This is not your place!”
“Hah?” Farrell didn't expect Christo to talk like that. The sentence not only sounded unfriendly, but an expulsion. “What do you mean? I'm staying here. In fact, my uncle owns this hotel. I'm just looking for my sisters.”
“They are in the restaurant front. It's down there. You should be there too.”
“I didn't see them earlier.”
“Trust me, they're already there now. Waiting for you.”
Farrell feels that Christo's starting to suck now. Not only did he expel Farrell, he urged Farrell to agree to his nonsense. That's much more annoying. Christo might not really understand who he's talking to, Farrell thought. He may not be a complainant, but the uncle should know that one of his employees is being disrespectful. “Let me set this straight, you want me to go?”
“Ya!” Christo took the plate from Farrell and again pulled his arm.
“Wait—” Farrell doesn't intend to fight even if maybe he can. It'll just make a fuss. Christo was being very rude and he didn't like it. Farrell swallowed his irritation. “Wait! Can't you be better? I think the hotel staff should be friendly,” the protest.
Christo opens the door for Farrell. Half pushing, he let Farrell off at the door. Before any further protests, Christo spoke one last time before slamming the door. “Trust me. I'm doing this for your own good.”
BLAM!
Farrell gawked for a few seconds in front of the door. When his mind finished compiling the chain of events, he could only sigh. “What's with him?”
THE CLUCK!
Farrell was surprised again. The door is back open. Christo's right there. His hand still carries Farrell's plate. Without saying much, he thrust out Farrell's plate, still complete with pie and fork.
“Now what?” sahut Farrell was quick before Christo cut his words.
“Wasting food is not good. So, you should have spent this!” Christo waited until Farrell accepted. “Don't worry, I'll clear up later. Just put it anywhere.”
“Put this anywhere?”
“If you feel too spicy, just say wattalovovi.”
“Hah? Say what?”
“Dan... don't try to go through this door once in a while! I warned you!”
BLAM!
This was the second time Christo slammed the door in front of Farrell. Farrell could feel the irritation rising into the crown. With his right hand holding the plate and his other hand clenched, Farrell swore. “Uncle will hear about this!”
