The Case of the Horrendous Pickle
With @xleafyheartx | continued from here
Atticus let himself smirk a little, happy in his knowledge that he was right about the pickle and admittedly amused by the little twig’s reaction. Was he a twig? Atticus wasn’t sure and hadn’t thought to ask. Before he could, the discussion began again. “Well, actually, it used to be a cucumber, before it was pickled. I have no idea why they call it that.”
He was lost in thought for a moment, sifting through the knowledge in his brain to see if he knew the answer. He had an affinity for pointless facts. Soon enough, he was distracted again, though, and looked up from his forgotten sandwich. “Tasty?” he repeated. “It’s compared to what you mean by tasty. Some people like sweet things, some people like salty things, some people even like spicy things, but I am definitely not one of those.”
He dug around in his satchel, pulling out various items he’d planned on eating at work, later. There was a granola bar, an apple, two wedges of cheese, and a handful of cocktail sausages. “Take your pick,” he offered, and then frowned at the realisation that he was offering his dinner to a strange, little creature, who’d been blowing raspberries at him only moments ago. “Who are you, anyway?” he demanded, a little more forcefully than he’d intended.