The sun had set hours ago, and yet, that did not lessen his need for groceries. Lucien drew his coat around himself a little tighter and minded not to put the gold coins he'd earned in his left pocket, since it had a large hole in it. The night market's slightly spicy scent invigorated him, and as he roamed to an apple stall, he paused to look around.
The rows and rows of veggies, fish, meat, flowers, honey, tea and other sundries lined the cobbled streets. It had not yet begun to snow in the village of Lilygrove, but with the thunderstorms, the roads were still slick. He took care not to slip as he walked, and he avoided puddles, which was harder than it seemed in the darkness.
On his arm hung a worn, woven brown grass basket. A little checkered cloth covered the bread and jam that he'd bought already, keeping them out of harm's way from the puddles and light drizzles.
Apples were his favorite fruit. He wanted to get some fresh ones from the church's orchard, but in the dark, it was far easier to get them from the man running the stand. He resumed his walk over, picking up a firm red and yellow apple. The price wasn't bad -- 2 gold, and he contemplated it before someone very playfully plucked the apple from his hand!
Startled, he looked up to see Count Chastain standing next to him with a cheeky grin.
"A priest and an apple," The count stated, handing it back, "There's poems about that, you know. Hello again, Father."
"Good evening," Lucien answered, smiling softly.
"I did not think you were the type to come out at night, truthfully."
"Why ever so?" Lucien asked, blinking. He plucked a few more apples from the stand and paid for them, settling them into the basket.
"Priests don't often shop at this hour." Michel explained, "And especially not alone. I come from a larger city however, where there's safety in numbers, and all that. But if you're fine on your own, who am I to judge?"
Lucien's eyes stayed on Michel as he moved from one stand to the next, weighing the bread in his palms, trying to figure out his budget on the go. "Well, I've always been something of a night-owl." He admitted softly, going for his coin purse again – but Michel stopped him, and gave the baker a hefty sum of gold for a heavier loaf.
"You don't have to buy my groceries for me –!" Lucien protested, but Michel only smiled, handing him the loaf of bread.
"I don't have to, but I want to. You've been kind to me; And I have a large sum of money besides. I would pay for all of your needs if you would let me, Father."
Lucien couldn't help but blush, his cheeks blossoming pink. "I could not impose on you so."
"I wish you would," Michel said with a laugh, as they continued to walk among the stalls. Lucien's eyes rolled, he could never understand someone who was so frivolous with money.
"I am done here anyways," He admitted after picking up some salted ham and cheese, "I need for little while I am in the house of God."
"Spoken like a true acolyte." Michel seemed to think about something and as he tilted his head down to look at Lucien, a spry smile parted his lips.
"You should come to my manor for dinner." It was more than mere suggestion, he said so like it was a command rather than an offer. Lucien paused, but even as he thought about the different rules and orders he had to abide by, there was nothing in the protocol about meeting a friend for dinner arrangements, as far as he knew.
"When?" Lucien asked as he trotted up the street alongside his new friend, "I am free all days save Sunday, for that is the –"
"Lord's day. I haven't forgotten." Michel nodded. "Then come Tuesday eve, I will fetch you for dinner at my home."
"... very well." Absentmindedly, Lucien wondered if he had anything else to wear but his thin vestments and fraying pants. Ah, but he could worry about that later. "I shall see you on Tuesday evening, count Chastain."
"I am very much looking forward to it, Father Lucien. I will have much to prepare for you, but the feast will be divine."
Lucien's brows raised yet again. "Divine …?"
"You will see."
As they parted ways, Lucien stared after Michel's retreating figure in the darkness. What an odd man, he thought. And odder still was the description of the dinner, something divine … had he meant it literally or figuratively? Michel was a tough man to read, for all of his generosity and kindness, he sort of kept everyone at arm's length and treated friendship like it was a transaction between businessmen, at least, in his very small observations of the man so far. Lucien wandered to his kitchen to put away the groceries and thought of a divine feast laid out before him in Count Chastain's home, and a shudder ran down his spine.
Do not be tempted into gluttony, he thought to himself, murmuring a prayer. But there was a part of him that was very eager for Tuesday to come, all things considered. He hadn't had many friends that came and stayed, and something about Michel felt … different. Like he was going to be here for a very long time. Or at least, that is what the man hoped. He wondered idly if he should have bought some different clothing at the market, but it was much too late to head back now. Instead he stoked the fire in his bedroom and lay down on the rickety old mattress after saying his nightly prayers.
He was excited. He hoped that Count Chastain was, too. As he drifted off to sleep with the sound of the fireplace crackling merrily, he would find himself dreaming of a large feast, a pheasant, perhaps a large ham hock, some nice, warm tea, and of course, the farm-fresh vegetables … And the bread. The bread that was the divine centerpiece, fluffy, warm, and slathered in butter. His stomach growled just thinking about it.
But in the dream, Count Chastain's smile never quite reached his eyes.
Lucien woke hungry, and as he prepared his breakfast, he wondered:
When was the last time I'd had a meal with a friend?