An empty household.

It was almost 6:00 pm when John got home, so he was surprised to find he was the first one home. His mom often worked long nights, but she usually told him when she was staying late, and he hadn't received any messages indicating that. Odd, but convenient. He still had no idea how he was going to explain all his recent absences.

Without any reason to stick around the ground floor, he left the kitchen lights on and headed up to his room. It was still an utter mess and John resolved to clean it up... eventually. Right now, he had a few higher priorities. First, he unloaded the mundane items from his schoolbag and transferred all the magical resources he didn't need to carry to his Storage Chest. He tossed a few things, like the lighter he'd stolen off Conroy. Second, he cleared off enough of his desk to give himself some writing space and dropped a journal down on it. Lastly, he flicked on his desk lamp and reclined in his chair, pulling out and thumbing through The Master and Margaritas.

Bulgakov wove a compelling tale of mystery and morality, a challenging task when your lead characters included Satan. When he closed the book, a rather short affair, the sun was setting outside, and the last flicker of daylight barely reached his window. John set The Master and Margaritas on his desk. Truthfully, he couldn't remember what had compelled him to buy a copy and read it, but he didn't regret the two hours he'd spent on it. Although... he was getting hungry. He decided to take a break and make some dinner before getting tied up with something new.

Strangely, his mother still wasn't home, the kitchen as empty as he'd left it. Her absence worried him, and John uncomfortably remembered the disappearances that'd been all over the news. If she hadn't returned by 9:00, or called him... he'd contact her and just check in. He really hoped it was just an especially busy night at the office.

As he opened the fridge to try and figure out what edible things they had in the house, John's attention was drawn to the window near the sink. Something was incessantly tapping itself against the glass. He walked over. It was probably just a tree branch...

It wasn't. Outside, battering her tiny fists against the window was the redheaded fairy girl he'd met the day before, Adorabelle. Whatever she was yelling at him, or yelling in general, it was muffled completely by the glass. John waved at her, but she only punched the window harder, more frantically. He was half tempted to ignore the rude pixie, if not for the glint of a tear running down one cheek.

John unlatched the window and opened it, letting in a blur of red and green.

"Oh, thank Summer's warmth, that mangy asshole was going to rip my wings off and use them as toothpicks! Quick, close it, you stupid idiot! Do you want it in here with us?" Adorabelle babbled as she flew into the kitchen. Although he had no idea what she was talking about, John closed and re-locked the window. Seconds later, a black cat walked past the window, halting just outside of it.

John raised an eyebrow, "You're scared of a cat?"

The animal's head turned, and he stopped thinking about it as a mere cat. The creature's three eyes glowed with a haunted orange, illuminating a mouth of wretched fangs that stretched far past where they should stop. Like a horrific smile, the corner of the feline's jaws reached where its throat began. The thing tilted its head and looked directly at John, then it vanished. He blinked and rubbed at one eye but couldn't see anything outside the window.

Jesus Christ, what the fuck was that?

"I am of the Malkins," the cute, wavering voice drew his attention back to the diminutive girl. She sat on the table, arms wrapped around her knees. John noticed she was shaking. "One ate my sister."

...Oh.

Adorabelle glared up at him, "You left me out there for almost a minute, you cuntwaffle!" The colorful insult took some of the tension out of the moment, the rest fading as the pixie ripped a napkin out of the dispenser on the table and wiped her face clean. When she tossed it aside, a pitifully short distance, the abrasive fairy he'd met in the Path had returned. She scowled at him rather cutely and put her hands on her hips, "Well, aren't you going to offer me something? Hint, it's called Hospitality."

John didn't fail to notice the way she held herself rigidly, as though to prevent trembling. He shrugged and turned around to open the fridge, "Yeah, sure. How about a couple raspberries?"

"Boring..." a light weight settled on his shoulder, legs kicking against his collarbone. "What about bourbon? I'd do anything for a drop of liquid gold." She bounced up and down excitedly.

"Anything?"

The fae reached up to tug on his ear painfully, "No, fuckboy, I didn't mean literally," Adorabelle pushed off his shoulder and hovered just in sight. She leaned over and wiggled her hips with a wink, "...but I'd do a lot."

John leaned against the open door to the fridge and smiled softly. He had no idea what a drunken fairy would look like, but hell if he wasn't going to find out. "Alright, I think there might be some in the top cabinet. Give me a second here," he said, going back to digging around in the fridge for a package of sausage and some bread. It wasn't an elegant meal, but John wasn't exactly a master chef. If it didn't involve a microwave, or similar, he was useless. He cut the sausages into discs and stuck them in the toaster oven with the bread, then searched around for Adorabelle's drink.

After what happened with his dad... Brenda had initially turned to drinking, but that had been fortunately been short-lived. She'd **** herself to quit within a week and disposed of most of the house's liquor cabinet. Not all of it though. She wasn't immune to the temptation of intoxication. John had discovered her hidden stash a couple years back and the small variety of bottles that had gathered dust since her last indulgence. He had to brush away some cobwebs and pull the aged drink into the light.

"This good?" He wiped off the label for Adorabelle, who returned his question with a look of distaste.

"Don't you have anything better? That's tequila. So bitter..."

John ended up pulling out every bottle for the fae to examine. He'd just set them on the table when the toaster oven dinged. Withdrawing the baked toast and checking the sausage slices to ensure they were crispy, John separated out two portions. His was easily five times larger than the fae's, but she didn't object or demand more. Instead, Adorabelle picked up the salt shaker and dragged it over to her plate, before knocking it over to use as a chair. A bit of salt scattered across the tablecloth, but John ignored it.

It was fascinating to see how someone so much smaller than he was interacted with the world. There were no utensils small enough for her hands, so Adorabelle treated her food like a sandwich or picked off bits to munch on. She seemed to enjoy the sausage, at least. Partway through her next bite, the fairy pointed at one of the dusty bottles and said something unintelligible.

John picked it up and wiped off the label, 'Creator's Seal, 1971'. The bottle was older than he was... that meant it was good? He held it up and gestured with one hand in a pouring motion, to which Adorabelle nodded happily. The seal was still intact, wax dripping all the way down the neck of the bottle, but John easily got to the cork with a knife and popped it free. Hopefully his mother wouldn't notice, but then... she hadn't touched the stuff in at least two years. He probably wouldn't get in any trouble.

Finding a glass for the small girl was a lot harder. She was only barely taller than most of the cups in the house, and John had no idea if they had any shot glasses or espresso cups. He settled for a measuring cup, selecting the smallest size and filling it up with the sweet-smelling liquor. Adorabelle took it, a bit awkwardly, and drank deeply. She downed half of it before he could blink.

"Ah... that's the stuff," the fairy set the rest down and returned to eating her sandwich, a look of utter bliss on her face. "You have no idea how hard it is to get good drink in the Court. Half the nobles are drunken biddies and the rest are cuntish snobs. One half demands you bring them fifteen bottles of champagne by summerset, the other tries to have you 'martialed for even thinking about touching a glass. Makes a girl want to try a change of season..." she continued to ramble cheerfully, interlacing casual profanity with names and ideas that John had no context for... but he wasn't really listening. Adorabelle was background noise, not unlike a cute talk-radio host. One thing she said caught his attention though, "I owed the crone five eves of services for that; a drop, just a damn drop. Titania be praised it didn't cost me more! Nectar peddlers and their stupid ambrosia..."

Wait a second. There was that thing with fairies and accepting gifts, but did it go both ways? I know she was mostly joking about doing 'anything', but...

"Hold on," John interjected, stuffing the last bite of his toast into his mouth and chewing before he finished his thought. It gave the pixie time for her brain to wind down and realize he'd spoken. "Since I gave you that," he gestured at the now-empty measuring cup, "does that mean you owe me? Erica warned me not to take anything in the Path, something about 'favors', but she never said if it went the other way around."

Adorabelle kicked the handle of the cup lightly and shook her head, "Normally, yea, but not in this case."

"Why not?"

"Hospitality." When it became clear that John had no idea what she meant by that, the fairy continued, "Right, ignorant fuckboy," she ignored his protestations. "It works like this: The fae, that's me, obviously, don't have much use for any of your mortal currencies... y'know, since we're immortal. Most of the snobby nobles do like art and gold, but that's a different matter. And before you ask, we're not demons, you asshat. We don't have much use for a handful of souls. At least we Summer don't.

"So, you’re wondering what we value? Spoilers, the answer is favors. Well... and Winter has a habit of making deals for children. Never really understood that."

"What?" John blinked, the casual attitude of the fairy beyond him. So... some of the fae were human traffickers?

"Titania stopped taking changelings last season, sometime after that mess at Theseus' wedding. Thank warmth for that, I was so sick of her baby fixation. Adorabelle go get me the rattle, Adorabelle go fetch the wet nurse, Adorabelle change his diaper. I'm the size of it, you insensate biddy!" John had trouble following the pixie's line of thought, but the mental image of the foul-mouthed fairy trying to deal with a human baby was pretty hilarious.

"Anyway, since all your money is pretty much worthless whenever a new civilization rolls around and the courts are both filthy rich, we make those stuck up Brightons look like beggars... heh, oh, right, point is we prefer the best kind of currency. Power. Money can't buy everything, but when the right person owes you, there is little you can't get."

John thought about it, the logic made sense and he said as much, "Alright. I think I understand. There is something I still don't get though, what's 'hospitality'?"

"I was getting to that. Can you be fucking patient for one goddamn second?" she gave him a frustrated look, and John decided not to point out the way she'd been rambling. "A long time ago, a long-ass time, seriously, I wasn't even around when it happened... you hairless monkeys and both courts were murdering the hell out of each other, and Titania got the genius idea to broker a peace agreement. Well I don't know what they signed it on, probably magic moon rocks, but we've had the laws of Hospitality ever since."

"Moon rocks are magical?" John asked, curious.

"What?" Adorabelle scoffed, "No they aren't, you idiot. Everyone knows they're antimagic. Seasons, I figured you knew at least that much!"

For a second, he believed her, but there was a subtle sign of a smirk on her lips, "You're joking."

"I'm totally fucking with you. Moonstone's magic as fuck. Don't ask me why. So anyway, things work like this. When a human invites a fae into their home, the law applies."

Adorabelle gestured at him, "The host is obligated to provide food, drink, entertainment and shelter," she turned the indication on herself; "Likewise, the guest is magically compelled to be non-hostile and respect the privacy and sanctity of their host's affairs. That means that while I'm bound, I can't trick you into owing me anything, but I'm also not obligated to repay your generosity. Don't worry though, I won't go sneaking around your underwear drawer or anything. Not that I'd want to..."

"So in other words, I can't trade you another cup of bourbon for you to take that off?" John gestured at her dress, a sarcastic smile on his lips.

Adorabelle's cheeks pinked slightly, but she returned his smile with one of her own, "Perv."

"You said 'anything', not me."

The fae's smile broadened, and she seemed genuinely pleased, "Well... I might. If you let me stay the night too." She tried to stay cheerful, but John could see the uncertain fear that shone in her eyes. It came to mind that in the laws that Adorabelle had outlined... there was no mention of how long the guest was permitted to stay. In this situation, he could have a lot of power over the **** pixie. He looked at the fairy, whose smile was fading with uncertainty. If she was as terrified as he suspected, this would be a fantastic opportunity to demand a few favors...