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In the town of Hanavan's Harbour, on the shores of the Thorned Bay, on the coast where the kingdom of Avenar met the Saltless Sea, there was a small café called, simply, Esmé's. It was known mostly to locals; what adventurers came through Hanavan's Harbour tended to congregate either in the outskirts or along the docks, inns catering to travelers mingling with the warehouses where imported goods waited for merchant caravans to carry them through the kingdom and goods waiting for export were held for outgoing ships. Sailors rarely traveled further than the dockside inns as well, carousing and sharing stories with the adventurers, each tale taller than the last, neither party knowing that, no matter how strange and fantastical their experiences, life in Hanavan's Harbour had, of late, become even more strange and more fantastical than either group would believe.
Esmé's was a relatively new establishment as these things went; certainly many of the other shops and inns and businesses in Hanavan's Harbour had been around for years, if not passed down through generations. By contrast, Esmé's had been opened a mere three years before, sudden opportunity and an unexpected partner -- along with the support of her delighted, encouraging wife -- pushing the eponymous owner to pursue a long-held dream. In that time, the café had established itself as a local favourite, hot soups and hearty sandwiches a particular specialty, with an occasional outrageous item ending up on the menu as ingredients became... available.
Of course, the biggest secret about Esmé's, the secret which the locals kept closest to their chests and furthest from the ears of the passing adventurers, the secret that made the outrageous menu items possible, was that in the back, past the kitchen and between the well-kept privies, was a door that went to nowhere.
Nowhere on the Material Plane, that is.
A quiet shimmer of music, as of an arpeggio upon a carillon, played from nowhere, just as a glimmer of light traced out the edges of the door, and it opened; from the other side, K. P. Hob, formerly a Major of the Goblin Court and recently named ambassador to the Court of Craft, stepped through, adjusting the lay of his coat with a sharp tug. A glance around him showed no one in the immediate vicinity: no threat, no friends, no waiting companions. With a sharp nod, he walked down the hallway and into the café proper.
"Uncle Knick!" With a delighted cry, an eleven-year-old whirlwind launched herself across the café. Hob braced himself, long arms going wide to catch the youngster as she threw herself into his embrace.
"Now, Lady Phillipa," Hob said, giving her a tight squeeze before setting her on the ground. He knelt, holding her by her shoulders at arm's-length. "What have I told you about rushing at people all higgledy-piggledy?"
Peep giggled, grinning at him slyly as she shifted her weight back and forth. "That it's more effective if I don't announce myself first! I'm sorry, Uncle Knick, but I just got so excited! It's been forever since you've visited!"
Hob grinned at the girl, releasing her as he reached for the satchel slung across his torso. "Indeed it has, Lady Phillipa! Three whole months, and may I say how delighted I am to see you sprouting up so quickly! I had no idea that fledglings such as yourself would grow with such alacrity. Indeed, I believe you have a-- what is the term? Ah, yes, a 'birthday' approaching, isn't that correct?" From the satchel, he withdrew two small packages, one, soft and lumpy, wrapped clumsily in brown paper and tied with string, and the other, a solid, rectangular box, finely built and tied with a ribbon. He handed them to Peep, who accepted them eagerly.
"Now, don't you be opening those until the day." From behind the counter, Esmé was grinning at the two. "It's not your birthday yet, young lady."
"Awww, Mom! Can't I open just one?"
Hob got to his feet and gave a slight bow to Esmé. "Indeed, it would be entirely in the spirit of the Goblin Court, whence comes the one gift," he suggested, indicating the softer, lumpy package, "to ignore the rules and open the gift at once!"
Peep stared at her mother, eyes pleading, and with a laugh, Esmé nodded. "Well, I can hardly argue with that, now, can I?" she said, holding her hand out for the other package; Peep passed the box over before savagely tearing the paper away. She squealed gleefully, her voice reaching pitches audible only to Hob -- and perhaps one or two other patrons of the café, for it was popular amongst the Fey who traveled through the portal as well -- at the hand-stitched, stuffed Yeth Hound. Esmé made a face at it -- she had met Grandpa Dog on one or two occasions and, Hob knew, been creeped out by him horrendously, nor did he blame her for it -- but said nothing about it. Instead, she nodded her head at the corner, where a large figure sat at a table, engrossed in a ledger. "I'll just bring over your usual, shall I?" she said, and Hob nodded gratefully.
He approached the table slowly, giving every opportunity for the person at the table to acknowledge him, until finally he sat down in the chair opposite. Even that did not cause the person to look up. "One might think," he said, laughter tugging at the edges of his tone, "that you were more interested in your bookkeeping than in our lunch date."
Startled, Delloso de la Rue looked up from their work, beak falling open first in startlement that quickly shifted to delight. "Knickolas!" they exclaimed. "I thought you weren't due in until first bell!"
Hob tilted his head at the timepiece ticking away on the wall above the counter. "And, indeed, it is--" A small door opened on the clock, and a figure of a cuckoo popped out, just once. "--First bell. How very unlike you to lose yourself in your work."
"What? No, I..." Rue met Hob's eyes, and he chuckled at them. "Oh, of course. You're teasing me."
"Only because of how much I love you," Hob assured them. "Now, come. It may not be quite the same as military logistics, but surely I can be of some assistance in the ledgers of a café. I do like to think that I am not completely useless, after all."
Rue shook their head. "No, no, you didn't come here to do work," they insisted. They rushed to close the ledgers, to put away the quill and ink, nearly knocking the inkpot over in their hurry. Hob caught it before it could spill, setting it aright, and then, gently, laid his hands over Rue's to still them.
"I came here," he said, affection inundating every word, "to spend time with you, and I can think of no better way to pass an afternoon then quietly in your company."
A coy, sharp look passed over Rue's eyes, and as they reordered their materials, they asked, "What, no better way?"
"... Perhaps one or two, but it may be best if we leave those for... other environs."
And so, in the town of Hanavan's Harbour, on the shores of the Thorned Bay, on the coast where the kingdom of Avenar met the Saltless Sea, in a small café called, simply, Esmé's, Knickolas Pnackleless Hob and Delloso de la Rue did, indeed, pass a quiet afternoon in each other's company.