Chapter Text
"And that would be 10 silver pieces for the three of them. Coin or Card?"
"Good stuff! Thanks again Mr. V! See you next week!"
The customer walked away with a full canvas bag slung over his shoulder. Emmrich lifted one gloved hand in a small, satisfied wave, then turned back to his stall. He adjusted the melons—rotating one a quarter turn so its pale stripe faced forward, nudging another until the spacing was even again.
Emmrich's Big Naturals have been a mainstay at Nevarra City's farmer's market for several years now. The name had initially caused a great deal of confusion. Then amusement. And soon, people learned to crave his produce. He sold only one product, but it was a product he was unshakably proud of.
His award-winning melons, officially named Rook's Melons, have been crowned year after year for their consistency of size and weight, their exceptional sweetness, and their remarkable juiciness. Judges often spoke of its mouthfeel. Of a flavour which lingered longer than other melons in the market, at how honeyed and floral it tasted without ever tipping into excess.
For Emmrich, they were perfect.
The project had begun centuries ago. Long after Lenore's passing. Lord Eichler, one of the few lichlords who were empathetic to Emmrich's grief, had urged him to find a calling. Or a hobby. Something grounding, he'd said. It was unbecoming, after all, for a lich of his stature to live through his days so filled with remorse.
Purpose, Eichler had insisted, will guide him to a better place.
He had lost interest in gardening after she passed. Flowers bloomed too brightly, too fragrantly, as if unaware they were being wasted on a sad, lonely man. Without his beloved to admire them, to press her face close and murmur approval, each blossom felt pointless. Excessive even.
He might have abandoned it entirely, had it not been for the fruit stand.
He remembered it clearly: a warm sunny afternoon. The melons were stacked high in wooden crates. Lenore had loved them once, loved the way the juices would run unrestrained, sticky and golden, down her fingers and the corner of her mouth. She’d laughed when he scolded her for the mess, unapologetic in her pleasure.
Against his better judgment, for he did not eat, and had no need to.
Emmrich bought one and took it home.
The disappointment was immediate the moment he cut it open. No aroma at all. Much unlike his own flowers despite his dampened sense. The flesh was pallid looking. Whatever joy Lenore had once found in the fruit was nowhere to be found here.
Then thought came unbidden, sharp and absolute.
I could do better.
The first attempts were failures. Which led to refinements. And more refinements. Seeds were planted and tended with tenderness. Vines were trained to grow upwards to prevent disease. Fruits were supported in careful slings. Protected to keep birds and unwanted pests away. Any melon that deviated; too large, too small, too heavy, too dry, too fragrant, not fragrant enough, were removed without hesitation.
Not once did Emmrich use magic as he weaved generations of melon genetics together to create the best fruit. He would wait for the plants to flower, wait for the bees to do their jobs, then removed plants which bore unacceptable fruit and tried again.
Over time, he would tell a perfect melon from how it felt in his hands. A certain heft. A certain symmetry when two were held. A size that felt right. Substantial without excess, comforting without overwhelm.
Today was much like any other weekend at the farmer’s market: bustling, sun-warmed, and pleasantly loud. Emmrich’s stall was doing brisk business, a fact that filled him with quiet satisfaction. People queued patiently, canvas bags in hand, eager to try his fruit. He liked that. It meant his work had meaning beyond the garden.
Ren leaned against the back of the stall, phone in hand, thumbs moving with alarming speed. Once merely his assistant, Ren had somehow become his “social media manager,” a role he took far too seriously.
“You know,” Ren said, not looking up, “your business would do even better if we… changed the name.”
He pointed at the sign.
Emmrich frowned. “What is wrong with ‘Emmrich’s Big Naturals’?”
Ren stared at him. Then threw his hands into the air.
“What is wrong? What isn’t wrong? It’s a meme!” He stood, jabbing a finger at Emmrich’s chest. “You—YOU—YOU ARE A MEME!”
Emmrich blinked. "I still don't know what these 'me-me's are. But the name works perfectly well." He ticked points off on his fingers, "I grew them. They are large. They are entirely free of growth magic. Hence, they are natural!"
Ren opened his mouth. Closed it. Rubbed his face.
"…Yeah. Sure. Whatever, it's your account."
He sighed and scrolled. "Did we really need to post this image?"
Emmrich tilted his head, "What's wrong with it, it received many likes."
Ren pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes but—you are holding a pair of melons like boo—you know what, it's fine. It's fine. You are fine with it. I'm fine with it."
Emmrich raised his brow but said nothing.
Silence settled between them, as Ren returned to typing vigorously on his phone. He took a sip of his matcha, then spoke again.
"Oh right, did you look over my notes for your interview with Nevarra times?"
"Yes." Emmrich nodded. "Though I fail to understand why you objected to my proposed response."
Ren's froze. Then slowly looked up, deadpan.
"You really want to tell the general public that your melons are based on your wife's tits? Dead wife to be exact."
Emmrich shrugged. "Why not? It is the truth."
"NO!" Ren stood up, slamming his hands on the table. "NO. Absolutely not. Do you want to be cancelled? Do you want ME to be cancelled?"
Emmrich rolled his eyes. "Surely Ren, the followers cannot remove you and I from existence without incurring a legal consequence."
Ren looked like he might scream. Instead, he inhaled deeply and sat down.
"That's not what being 'cancelled' means—whatever. The point is, no. Do not talk about your wife's boobs. Do not write about your wife's boobs. PERIOD. Alright? Another word and I quit."
Emmrich lifted his hands in surrender. "Very well. I will not mention her breasts."
"They were perfect—" Emmrich mumbled under his breath.
Ren shot up. "What did I just—"
"Excuse me?"
Emmrich and Ren teared away from each other.
Emmrich's mouth hung open in shock, closing and opening several times like a fish out of water. Ren raised his eyebrows, "What wrong Emmri—" and stopped when Emmrich sat him back down in his seat firmly.
It was her. His darling Rook. The love of his life. The muse of his undead life.
Lenore.
But it was not Lenore.
She stood there with a canvas bag slung over her shoulder, expression polite and curious.
Emmrich plastered the biggest smile he could manage on his face.
"Why hello there! How can I help you?" He said, voice a touch too bright.
The woman blinked. "R-Right," She cleared her throat.
"Uh, I was hoping you could help me pick a melon? They look good but they all look kind of the same so I don't—"
Emmrich thrust two melons into her hands.
"Here!"
The woman blinked again. "Uhh…thanks?"
She examined them, weighing each one thoughtfully. "Oh wow! These are so round!"
"Yes!" Emmrich responded instantly, "Like your breasts!"
Silence.
"…What?"
Ren slapped a hand over his face.
If Emmrich could sweat. He would be sweating right now.
"I mean they look like breasts!"
She continued to stare at him like he just revealed that he is an undead.
"I MEANT TO SAY YES, THEY ARE ROUND."
"…Smooth." Ren muttered. Emmrich shot him a look.
She glanced back down at the melons, "…Right. Cool. Very…melon-y. Very round." A beat. "So—uh, how much are these?"
"They are on the house."
She blinked, surprised, "Oh—are you sure—I wouldn't want to impose—"
"Quite certain!" Emmrich said, panicking. "Please! Take them! I have many!"
She hesitated, then smiled. "Thank you! Uh—" She looked down, glancing at the sign, a brow raised.
"Emmrich, right? My roommate wouldn't stop talking about your stall."
"I am pleased you came," he said sincerely.
"Yeah! If they are good, I'll definitely be back." She waved and walked away.
Emmrich watched her go. Panic crashing down on him all at once.
"What THE FUCK was that—" Ren began, but Emmrich was already moving.
"EXCUSE ME!"
He wove through the crowd, shouting apologies, dodging customers and vendors alike. From a distance, he yelled.
"HEY!"
She turned.
"Oh! Melon guy! I mean—Emmrich!" She looks surprised. "What's up—"
"WOULD YOU LIKE TO HAVE COFFEE WITH ME?!"
The market went silent.
She blinked. "…What?"
Emmrich jogs over and stops in front of her. "Would you…liketohavecoffeewithme?" He says it too quickly.
She blinked again. A blush slowly growing on her face.
"…Sure."
Emmrich stared. Then shoved a business card into her hands and ran. Ignoring the cheers and high-fives from the vendors who witnessed the scene.
Before he got too far, she called out.
"THE NAME IS NORA!"
Emmrich skidded to a stop. Smiling. "HOPE TO HEAR FROM YOU SOON, NORA!"
Before he disappears back into the crowd.
Back at the stall, he stood motionless, smiling faintly, until another customer approached.
“Hey,” the man said. “You got bigger ones?”
“No.”
“I just want to share them with my family—”
“Then buy two. They are better in pairs anyway.”
The man blinked. “…Yeah. Okay.”
Emmrich beamed.
Ren whistled. “Damn, Emmrich.”
Emmrich said nothing. He adjusted the tablecloth.
What a day of unexpected splendour.
Nora barely makes it through the door when her roommate was already peering into the bag.
“Ooooh, melons!” she says, immediately reaching in. “You’re an angel.”
“They were free,” Nora says, kicking off her shoes. “The vendor insisted.”
Her roommate lifts one melon, weighs it in her hands, then lifts the second. She squints.
“…Why are these the exact same size?”
Nora snorts. “I don’t know man, but they do smell nice.”
Her roommate presses the melon lightly against her chest, then the other, then bursts out laughing.
“I swear to god, these weigh about as much as your boobs.”
Nora groans. “Heyyyyy. Leave my boobs alone.”
“Your beautiful, perfect tits?” her roommate says cheerfully, already wandered toward the kitchen with fruits and shopping bag in tow. “Neverrrr.”
“I’m changing,” Nora says quickly, waving her off. “Show’s starting in five.”
She retreated to her room and shut the door behind her, leaning back against it as a breathless laugh escaped her.
Ridiculous.
She shrugged off her t-shirt and caught her reflection in the mirror.
She hesitated. Then, feeling a little stupid, cups her chest experimentally.
Pause.
She adjusts her hands. Tries again.
“Huh,” she murmured.
"She's right. Whatever." Nora lets go immediately, shook her head, and tugged on an old shirt and soft shorts.
As she reached for the door, she remembered.
Oh.
The business card.
She fished it out of her jean pocket and inspects it carefully.
Thick paper. Gold Embossing. Clean lettering. Simple, but a little old-fashioned.
EMMRICH'S BIG NATURALS
ALWAYS FRESH. ALWAYS NATURAL. NEVARRAN CROWN AWARD WINNER
FREE OF GROWTH MAGIC. PESTICIDE FREE. 100% ORGANIC
INSPECTED BY THE HEALTH AGENCY OF NEVARRA
Nora huffed a quiet laugh. She pulls out her phone and added a new contact. Her thumb hovered over the nickname field.
Then she typed:
Melon Guy 🍈🍈
And sent a text:
"Hey, its Nora (:"
Nora snorted at herself, locked the phone, and tucked it away.
Her roommate called from the living room. "You coming or what?"
“Coming!” she calls, flicking off the light.