The tub of cream set down onto the table with a thud. Tallis had carried it from a pastry shop he had encountered earlier in the week. The idea that had been set into his mind had all week to formulate. He had Marx had worked hard all week doing odd jobs here and there in order to have enough money to leave Ravok. It was time that they had a little fun.
He had been fortunate not to encounter anyone of his contacts from Ravoks notorious organized crime gang, namely Gilroy Sardis. For the majority of the week he had kept his nose clean. There were only a few times that he picked a few tourists pockets. It had gained him enough coins to be able to afford dinners for the two of them, and the bucket of cream he now had in his possession.
It would take some work but if he beat the cream with a whisk a light fluffy cream would be the byproduct of his labor. As he stared at the steel pasty instrument in his hand he wondered if Marx had ever seen whipped cream before. Normally one would see it on top of pastries and deserts, but tonight he would have a little fun with his love. He set to work whisking the cream all the while wondering what Marx would look like covered head to toe with the white fluffy stuff.
He let his imagination roam and within a half hour he had enough cream to cover both of them. Now he just had to wait for her to come home. He hoped that she had a pleasant day. It would be horrible to waste his fun idea if she were in a bad mood. It would not matter she was never in one that he could ever tell. She was his ray of sunshine in a world of chaos that he had known.
The chaotic world of Ravok was considered normal to all who lived there. Rhysol was their protector and The Voice was there to guide them. As he set the whisk into the sink he looked over to his shine. He remembered now what had happened in the Temple of the Black Sun. With the money from the job he was going to do for the man he had met there would provide for them on their journey. In the back of his mind he had grave concerns about it. His concerns were not about the journey, but about the man he was doing the job for.