Shiny New Toy

The Toy Fair, littered with kiosks of both independent artists looking to sell their wares, as well as a welcome den to any intrepid collector of goods of the trinket variety, the event served as a veritable smorgasbord to any would be collator of thises and thats. A place where artisans flourished if they knew how to market themselves right, a mindset the pink greed bun had already been well acquainted with as he drifted his way into the crowd, backpack overflowing with handmade plush and patch goods he had been fashioning for the months leading up to the event as a means to barter his way through the freelancer circuits as he tended to every year. The fellow greed bun that struggled to tail him, on the other hand, was not; Hand gripping to a strap feebly as he tried to not separate from the other like an anemic remora to a shark.

"Kennedy- slow down, just for a second, I have to fix my shoes."

Halting immediately, he sighs, reaching back to take his lagging compatriot by the forearm and pulling him off to the side where they wouldn't interfere with foot traffic.

"Yannow Steph, you'd be avoidin' that if you weren't wearin' dress shoes to a convention." Kennedy murmurs, taking the opportunity to slough the unwieldy bag off his shoulders for the moment, fishing a hair tie out of a front pocket and idly looping his hair into a loose pony that peeked overtop the plaid headband he had fastened across his crown.

 "And what else am I supposed to wear?"

"Got other clothes."

"I- No. I'm not wearing my old digs out in public. What if I come across someone from work? I don't want them seeing-" Eyes snap open as it dawned on him exactly what he had let slip. "No, Ken, no we're not having that conversation aga-"

"Quit your job."

"Ken."

"Wot? You tellin' me you really like parading around in that monkeysuit? Its taken over your whole identity, man. Like I don't even Know you 'times. Flauros doesn't even know why I keep up the lead, man-"

"Oh, right, yeah of course you care about what He thinks."

"I don't care what he thinks. I'm jus' sayin' is all-"

"You know Kennedy for someone who doesn't claim to give a shit about what people think you're Really concerned with keeping up your brand. Sorry I don't fit into that neat little, anti-society pocket you're so Desperate to maintain I'm sorry I Grew Up-" Hands shooting up to cover his mouth and will the words he had just vomited out unfiltered back down his throat. But no, they laid there unceremoniously on the table, and he'd have to struggle to clean that mess up. "Oh murmur Kennedy I didn't mean-"

Jaw tersing for a moment, the punk exhales and his eyes drift shut, attempting to slough off the statement but there remained a forced nature to his demeanor. "Whatever. Glad you gained a spine for once. I'm gonna go do me. Have fun, being a square or summat hope you can let go of the vicegrip the casino got on your carats enough to Enjoy yourself. Or whatever."

"Ken-"

In an instant he was gone, propping the bag back onto his shoulders and melding into the crowd. A pit welled in Stephen's stomach knowing their relationship was already terse at best at the moment, and he'd just Leave if it weren't Kennedy who brought him here in the first place. Stupid, why was he even here? Because he Asked if you'd want to come. This isn't your thing, and the thought of the inevitable conversation on the drive back to his burrow one he dreaded. If he didn't straight up ditch him, that is.

Ruminating in a cocktail of self pity and regret, he didn't even notice his feet starting to pick themselves up. Wandering as his aimless thoughts kept him company, the accountant inevitably found himself stopped at a kiosk, to try and recenter himself more than anything when-

"Something catch your eye, bud?"

Snapping back to reality his attention darted to the booth, a small collection of instruments hanging on the back walls and the bun manning it the one directing his attention. "Oh uh, sorry I'm just passing-" Eyes catch the glint of polished oak, the sirensong of those four seductive strings and how they beckoned to him. It was crisp, classy, and held a shape so tender he could so easily imagine it fitting against him in his mind's eye. "..Actually, do you mind if I take a look at that bass?"

Being graciously handed the bass guitar, his hands melded against its frame like the touch of a lost loved one, as he expected the gentle bows and curves fitting like a glove. He closes his eyes, exhales, and plays a few chords, though exceedingly rusty they still played that familiar melancholy. Losing himself to the moment, he eventually snaps back to reality, glancing down at the instrument in his hands and brow furrowing as he struggled to refuse the call. It's, behind me- besides if I cave, Kennedy's never gonna let me hear the end of it.

"Um.. Thanks." Stephen murmurs, tongue struggling to bark out the words as he lays the bass guitar back on the kiosk's table. "Out of my, price range. Good luck with your, sales. Yeah." Turning on a heel, he's gone before he can think twice about it, just conceding to heading back to the car before he has any other smart ideas. Parting his way through the congregations of other buns to exit the premises, he makes the walk of shame back to Kennedy's ride.

When he arrived at the familiar beast- an old beat up compact that was littered with stickers and patched up beyond repair, something Kennedy had owned since the two of them first ended up in burrowgatory, he also regrettably saw a familiar face a bit too soon. Finishing up a cigarette, Kennedy's gaze darts to Stephen, where he wordlessly puts the ember out with the side of his shoe and camps himself into the driver's seat, shutting the door behind him. Sheepishly following to the passenger side, Stephen crawls his way in, to be met with a prolonged few moments of awkward silence, the air feeling so thick it was almost suffocating.

"I'm sorry, Ken I didn't-"

Holding up a hand to stop Stephen's words in their tracks. "Save it." As he unceremoniously reaches into the back seat, yoinking out a familiar sight and resting it in Stephen's lap. Bug eyed, his hands hesitate to touch the bass, breath caught in his throat as he struggled to process the situation.

"I- Kennedy no you can't be-"

"Get rid'a your old one?" He mutters, not making eye contact with the bun in the passenger's side, the question choked in his throat.

"...Yeah." Stephen admits, looking out the window as he leans his elbow against it, the other hand gently straddling the neck of the bass guitar. "I needed the carats, debt gone bad, didn't want to go to anyone and Admit that and, I wasn't using it anyways-"

"Why didn't you pawn it at my place?"

"Because I know you wouldn't have Let me, Ken."

A few more moments of knowing silence, Kennedy biting his lip as he huffs out a sigh and nods. "Well. Can't pawn this one. 'Cause it's a gift. 'n if I find out you Did I'm gonna be real sore wit' ya. Got it?"

"...Okay. I. Thank you."

"No need. I jus'." Leaning his head back against the headrest, his jaw terses again as he swallows dryly, eyes drifting closed. "Jus' miss you, man. 'N you can't tell me you don't miss You neither."

Brow knitted together, he doesn't acknowledge the statement with a response. Maybe all the affirmation Kennedy needed, reaching out to turn the key in the ignition and rest a hand against the wheel. "Ready to go?" the pink doll asks, coasting his fingers against the ancient stick shift, finally meeting Stephen's gaze.

"Yeah."