With a glance at her blinking phone, Savannah couldn’t help the smile that broke out from ear to ear on her face. There was a text was from August, a quick teasing jab before letting her know that he was on his way. August seemed to almost always have that effect on her, much to the look of confusion on the familiar faces around town. Sure, she was barely twenty-one and known as being a tad more on the wild side in the conservative town, but it was different with August. He was her gateway into adventure. He was her way of leaving Storybrooke when fate and circumstance always seemed to hold her back.
Savannah fired off a snarky reply, before pulling the hot tray of cinnamon buns out of the oven. She quickly placed a second full tray of unbaked cinnamon buns in the oven and then transferred the baked sugary buns onto a cooling rack. With the sweet smell of cinnamon wafting in her small apartment, she took the old baking books off her dining room table, instead tucking them back on the shelf. With a final sweep of her mostly clean apartment, Savannah poured herself a paralyzer while she waited for August and his stories about the world.
Pulling to a stop on his motorcycle just outside Savannah’s apartment complex, August unbuckled his helmet and looked up at the building somewhat apprehensively. What story would he tell today? Maybe the one about China, or perhaps Puerto Rico… He really had no shortages. Some of them true, most of them not. But he couldn’t help from telling the stories. He usually used them for his own amusement, or to convey a message. Apparently the former thief enjoyed his sentiments.
Not that she was just a thief to him; no, he wasn’t as shallow as to only see her for that. She was kind, mischievous, spunky… He quite enjoyed being with her. Walking up the steps, he rapped on her door a few times, folding his arms and waiting patiently for the quirky girl to answer the door. Hopefully he cinnamon buns were ready.
[text] How did you get this number? Nevermind, cinnamon buns. I can give you a few stories for some baked goods, sure. On my way to see you, obviously.
Yeah that would be a big fat no.
But you at least get paid well, right? You’ve gotta make great tips.
Not unless you can get a work hangover. Then yeah, hangover.
I’d guess it’s possible. Waiting tables isn’t all it’s made out to be?
I feel like I got run over by a truck.
Nice try, buddy. *starts to move around him* I can keep my secrets pretty well.
Touche, touche. You might just survive around here. Maybe. But my instincts tell me you’ve already gotten into some trouble. You might need an ally.
Not that I’ll talk about with you. No offense but…I don’t know you.
Well, if it’s something you thought I might’ve heard but haven’t it’s pretty safe to say it’ll get around eventually. And by time it gets to me it’ll probably be extremely exaggerated. You really might as well just out with it now and save yourself some turmoil.
Which situation, coming from a coma? It’s not the most enjoyable, no.
Are there other situations to be heard about that you’re involved in?
Yeah, it is. I guess…I’m just adjusting as well as I’d like.
and you are?
Call me August. Not adjusting, hmm? I heard about your situation. Sounds like quite the pickle.