This particular car lot was famous for an additional reason to its memorable sign post; it was one of the foremost dealers of Classic Cars in the area. Row upon row of automotive history stretched in both directions.
“They’re my fruit enzymes!” Brett proudly beamed as he took another swig. “Here, try some man, they’re really good for you!”
Conor took the proffered container; a re-purposed convenience store water bottle. He then took a sniff of the orange concoction. The acrid fumes made him wince, and he’d smelled some of the foulest reeks dreamt up in the Nevernever.
“Jaysus, Mary, an’ Joseph, your what?!”
Conor immediately looked skyward, held up his right hand and said “Sorry… force o’ habit.”
He had it under pretty good authority that God Almighty was actually around and actively meddled in the affairs of mortals (albeit through agents). Since he wasn’t entirely sure anymore about where he fit anymore in the whole “supernatural vs mortal” dichotomy … he figured it would be best to hedge his bets.
He went back to examining the cloudy orange liquid as Brett continued talking.
“Yeah, they’re awesome. They give you energy and help your immune system, plus lower cholesterol. Not only are they good for you on the inside man, but outside too. If you wash your hair in it, it’s gets really silky smooth. It’s great for you skin. Plus I wash all my fruits and veggies with it now and they stay fresh longer.”
He couldn’t quite place it, but Conor had smelled something similar to this before. He glanced over at Marisa with a cocked eyebrow, “That’s highly impressive Brett, so these em… enzymes… they do all that then?”
She looked back at him with a shrug that seemed to silently say, ‘I have no idea what he’s talking about.’
“Yeah man, totally.” Brett was beaming as he went back to examining one particular vehicle on he lot. He was under the hood doing whatever strange arcane … Ferromancy … that he did best with cars.
The male werewolf was a member of Marisa’s pack, and was the mechanic / wheel man / and general Mr. Fixit. He was a kind-hearted sort, and generally loved by the group, if sometimes picked on for not always being the brightest bulb.
The vehicle he was inspecting was gorgeous and though some might not recognize its name on sight, most knew it by look … a fully restored 1958 hard-top Chevy BelAir.
Conor’s curiosity about this wonder draught was piqued, "So where’d ya get it?
“Oh that’s the best part man! You make it.”
Marisa and Conor exchanged looks.
“Yeah, you take a bunch of fruit, like melons, kiwi, oranges, apples, pineapples, whatever and blend them up. Then you mix in some honey and throw the whole batch in some water. Store it someplace cool for a month or so and poof man, enzymes. I can get you the recipe if you need it.”
Conor was grinning, yep, he recognized the smell now… fruit wine. Actually, a batch of fruit wine that went bad (or was in the process).
He looked like he was about to say something when Marisa caught his attention. The expression on her face now translated approximately as ’Don’t you dare be mean, he’s being sincere plus he’s helping you.’
He returned a look of his own which was something along the lines of ‘Oh come on now, you can’t be serious, or he can’t… can he?’
The arched eyebrow he got back in return, plus the body language was clear. ‘Yes he is, and be nice.’
Conor shrugged, “Well that does sound fantastic Brett, though I think I’m good. Glad these … em … enzymes are workin’ out for ya then.” He set the bottle back near to Brett, carefully, since he didn’t have a cap.
“Yeah man. I really am happy about this batch. Since I started taking the enzymes, I’m like… way more mellow these days.” Something clattered under the hood.
Conor saw that Marisa was doing everything in her power to stifle a laugh, her shoulders were quivering and she took a few steps down the line of cars walking away.
He cleared his throat, “Of that I have no doubt; no doubt at all mo bhuachaill.”
Brett stood up and closed the hood. “Well man, I tell ya, this thing is restored to the elevens. It’s about a good a job as I’ve ever seen. The only thing high tech is the transistor radio and even that is late ’50s.”
As they started the walk back to the office and the waiting salesman, Brett took another swig of his orange brew.
“Well I tell ya true, fifty-five thousan’ is a bit outside me range. I’ve got to think on it. Plus it’s not exactly inconspicuous ya know?”
Marisa nodded in agreement, clearly still not trusting herself to speak out loud.
“Yeah totally man, I hear ya.”
Yeah… so this conversation more or less happened in Real Life with another person, as a witness my wife Jaelie (the player of Elena) was there … I just changed the names and location to protect the innocent.
ps – mo bhuachaill = You’re probably more used to this as “my boyo” or “me bucko” or similar … I just couldn’t bring myself to type the Anglicized version, even when my character would actually say it.