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Hecate on Roman Halloween
When Henry approached him, Asher was biting into a BLT sandwich messily, mayonnaise and tomato juice spurting onto his chin through the bread as Henry spoke. Startled, Asher made a sound somewhere between a cry and a muffled oink, struggling to wipe at the errant juices that had escaped him while simultaneously trying to work his jaw fast enough to answer the other boy's question - or more declaration, really - without doing so around toasted rye and strips of crispy bacon.

"Muh," he started, judged his food still not chewed enough, and held up a finger as he swallowed somewhat painfully, half forms of grainy bread scraping down the sides of his throat.

"Uh," he said with a slight rasp, "sure. I hadn't really-" here, a cough "Hadn't really planned on playing, but I can stick around if you need."

If Henry was observant enough, he'd notice the second glass across from Asher's, filled with water too close to the brim, the ice having long since melted. He'd also notice the slight hesitation in Asher's gesture of him to take the vacant spot across from him, and the slight furrowed brow when he did it.

"Henry, right? You go to Cochise?"