Ch. 124 – The Story of Johnny Appleseer

Rhys sat down like it was an electric chair.

I didn’t even get a trial, he thought sarcastically, swallowing hard. Even though deep down, he knew he was guilty of every single crime.

The dark figure of Omen started cackling wildly in his mind, the invisible specter lazily sitting right on the center of the table, legs crisscrossed between Serephina and Vespera. “You got two accomplices right here looking like they are ready to speak their piece,” chuckled the shadow with absolute glee.

Rhys did his absolute best to focus on the bowl of soup placed directly in front of him. He dipped his spoon and tried the dish, feeling a wave of warm relief wash over him as he realized it was delicious. At least he didn't have to worry about the culinary skills of Omen's ghostly army of clones.

"Damn, Rhys! This soup is really delicious!" came a loud voice echoing his exact internal praise.

Marcus gave him a cheeky, bright grin from across the table. "I’ve heard stories about this soup for so long, I finally get to try it. It really is the perfect cure, just like Durin and Lira said."

Rhys’s battered mind could only grasp onto the simple compliment right now. "Easy trigger there, I see," Rhys teased, not wanting to take full credit for Omen's kitchen chaos. "If you like that, you will definitely like the main dish coming up—stuffed pheasant."

He said that last bit looking over at Serephina completely by accident.

The Aasimar woman’s face was an absolute glacier, her untouched soup getting just as cold as her expression. "You know, Rhys... I seem to have lost my appetite," she said, breaking the icy silence she had personally formed.

"I don’t know what you mean, I’m loving this soup!" Ging piped up, aggressively funneling spoon after spoon into his mouth. He was clearly doing it as some sort of petty attack aimed squarely at his angel wife. "As a matter of fact, I would be happy enough... to never eat ANY other soup than this one!" he added in a manic, humiliated huff.

This is completely fucking bonkers, Rhys thought plainly.

Beneath the table, he felt a soft hand grip his tightly. It was Lira, sitting steadfastly by his side, also noticing the deeply bizarre, tense behavior between Ging and Serephina.

"I’m sorry to hear you lost your appetite," Lira said, her voice entirely lacking any genuine sympathy. She kept her focus on Serephina, deciding the angel was somehow the more sane option at the table. "I think you should get some more rest these days, Serephina... especially since you have such a lovely mountain house, right?"

A sudden, giddy feeling lit up inside Rhys’s chest. Look at my wife! he thought proudly, marveling at her subtle, lethal jab.

Serephina tilted her head slightly, her lips curling into a stiff, false smile. "I haven’t had an appetite because I’m still waiting on a certain answer." She turned her sharp eyes directly onto Rhys. "You know what, Lira? I think the best thing is to just get it all out on the table right now."

The angel was, in fact, not the more sane option. She took the obvious branch of peace Lira offered and snapped it cleanly in half.

"I want to hear... from Rhys... if he will do me the honor of being the donor to my child," Serephina said, her eyes fixed adoringly on Rhys. "OUR child, I mean..." she finished hastily, motioning toward her husband.

The baffled tiefling was caught completely off guard by how absurdly brash his wife was being, his mouth frozen wide with soup dripping from his chin. Rhys didn't say a single word.

Can I call a time-out or something?! he thought dumbly.

Lira’s grip on his hand tightened so hard he felt his knuckles nearly crack under the pressure.

"AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!"

A sharp, hysterical laugh shattered the suffocating tension at the table. For a split second, Rhys could have sworn it was Omen, who usually cackled at the most unfortunate moments. But to his utter surprise, it was Shula—the ifrit woman now turned a violent, terrifying shade of deep purple, her eyes glowing a menacing, slit-like yellow.

"That’s how you do it, girl!" Shula boomed, sloshing her wine glass as it slammed back onto the wood. "Just get it all out there! That’s how I got the one and only—"

"Shula!" Darius barked loudly, cutting her off before she could blurt out far too much. The man had finally summoned the nerve to speak up, forcefully quieting the overbearing genie. "I think... the clouds are starting to get dark, honey," he added as a stern, caring warning.

“And that right there would be the secret code,” Omen chimed in. The shadow had completely stopped laughing, floating intently over the table to focus on the real threat looming before them.

The code? Rhys thought dumbly again. All I can see is that she is trippin' way more than usual and she's literally turning purple!

Vespera was the one to break his frantic thoughts. The Tabaxi-elf woman smoothly used her sleek leopard tail to glide up the left side of his inner thigh beneath the tablecloth. Rhys flinched instantly... but then he noticed the soft, deliberate touch of her fur. It wasn't in her usual predatory, prying manner; it felt surprisingly comforting and assuring in a strange, grounding way.

Rhys squeezed Lira’s hand back and looked straight at Serephina. "I already gave you an answer—AND a full breakfast this morning to make it crystal clear," he said with a forced, friendly calm.

"If I might..." Galen offered, raising a hand for the first time.

No, you might fucking NOT! Rhys thought bitterly, still nursing a deep, quiet grudge over how close Galen had been chatting up his wife earlier.

"So you’re telling me this angel lady here wants to get in bed with lil' ol' Rhys?!" Arthur blurted out, beating the gray-haired man straight to the point. The towering retired knight had been quietly eating his meal the whole time, but couldn't hold back any longer. He let out a long whistle. "I don’t know what to say, honestly... how does a man like that hit the lottery that many times?!" he added, chuckling heartily.

ZAP.

The glowing crystal chandelier hanging directly above their table flickered violently.

Lira clearly did not appreciate the silent war waged between her and Serephina, nor did she care for the unhelpful peanut gallery granting the angel more momentum. "Sounds like the conversation was already had, and it doesn’t need to be discussed anymore," Lira stated coldly, glaring straight at Serephina while addressing the entire table.

For a few blessed seconds, a uneasy ceasefire fell over the group. The only sound was the awkward, rushed clinking of spoons as Marcus, Darius, and especially a sweating Ging scarfed down the rest of their soup.

"Have you ever heard the story of a mage by the name of Johnny Appleseer?" Shula asked suddenly, her voice dripping with playful, unhinged venom.

"Why, no... I haven’t heard his tale yet," Vespera chimed in smoothly. She knew precisely how to poke the bear at the absolute worst times, her leopard tail still resting reassuringly against Rhys’s thigh, its comfort proving to be a complete farce. "Why don’t you tell us all the story? You look VERY excited to share."

You are NOT fucking helping here! Rhys thought darkly, glaring across the linen.

The ifrit woman continued in her glowing, deep violet state, her bright yellow eyes narrowing into feline slits. "The story of Johnny Appleseer goes... he was a wandering mage who planted enchanted apple orchards that healed corrupted lands. Unknown to anyone, his orchards formed a continent-wide magic circle meant to stop an approaching supernatural blight."

Shula abruptly stopped her story right there, leaning back to pour herself another overflowing glass of wine.

That’s it? Rhys thought, letting out a subtle breath. Okay, not too bad then.

"So... that’s it?" Marcus asked with pure, innocent curiosity, tilting his head. "How does the rest of the story go?"

Brother! Marcus, you are REALLY not helping right now! Rhys’s internal frustration reached an all-time critical high.

Shula downed the entire freshly poured glass of wine in a single, terrifying gulp, slamming the empty goblet onto the tabletop with a sharp, satisfying exhale.

"Well, my dear Hyperion... let me tell you!~" she sang out with mischievous, volatile cheer.