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“Anya wants… Anya wants apples!”
“Yes, yes, I’ll buy you peanuts on our way back…” The rather harried Twilight-currently-acting-as-Loid-Forger paused, rewinded. He couldn’t muster the energy to care about drawing the attention of curious onlookers as stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to stare at his daughter; mind slowly processing her words. “…Did you just say apples?”
“Yes!” His daughter exclaimed happily, hands in the air as if not caring about how unusual her request was, or how inappropriate it was to change the terms of his mission without prior consultation. “Anya wants apples!”
“…Do you even like apples? I don’t think you’ve ever tried them before.”
“Anya loves apples!” Little Anya declared, hands on her hips with all the certainty of a toddler who had her life all figured out.
Loid couldn’t help but smile fondly as he reached for her hand again. “Fine, fine, I’ll get you some apples once we’re done with our errands.”
But his happy mood was obliterated as soon as they entered the store, a handwritten sign hanging over the empty space where there should have been apples mocking him and everything he stood for.
Loid gripped the sign hard, as if wanting to extract answers out of its cardboard entrails.
“What do you mean apples are out of stock!?”
“Oh, you wanted to buy apples?” A store clerk had approached them, hand against her cheek. “They’re out of season so we aren’t expecting to restock anytime soon. Is there any other fruit you would be interested in?”
But Loid couldn’t hear her, too busy having his fiftieth mental breakdown of the day.
The fate of the world depended on giving apples to Anya! He couldn’t let something as lousy as nature get in the way of world peace!
(Once more he missed Anya’s wide eyes, her soft, “SHOCK!” as she wondered how apples had become the key to world peace now.)
A man on a mission, Twilight had continued to scour the city, entering increasingly eccentric establishments— sleepy Anya in arms— in the hopes of finding the mythical fruit.
But with the war raging on, and the rising tensions between East and West, something as simple as imported fruit had turned into a luxury only the rich could afford.
And spies.
It would be easy, Twilight thought, to smuggle a few apples as contraband. His boss would approve if it was to further the Styx mission but…
Security had been tightening recently, and apples were delicate perishables and…
Twilight kept thinking in circles as he finally admitted defeat and called it a day and began heading home before Anya woke up.
Maybe he’d ask her if she liked dried apple rations.
“Ah, Miss Anya, Mr. Loid!” The door to their apartment swung open before an exhausted Loid could try to fumble with the key in the dark. His (fake) wife smiled at them, taking a sleeping Anya from Loid and ushering him inside. “Are you both quite alright? I was just about ready to go out looking for you, you had me worried!”
“Ah, Miss Yor, my apologies, I was just… I lost track of time.” The exhausted man collapsed against the living room’s couch with a defeated sigh while Yor put Anya to bed.
“Did something happen?”
“Nothing you have to worry about.” He said as he loosened his tie, “It’s just that Anya wants to eat apples and they’re not currently in season…”
“Oh, I think I saw some apples on my way home from work. Maybe I could swing by tomorrow and buy some?”
“Eh? No, no you must be mistaken.” Remember your role, Twilight, an affable smile, a softer undertone to your words. “I made sure to look all across the city, I rather doubt…”
“Well, it’s on my way to work, it won’t hurt to try, right?” Yor insisted with that eternal cheerfulness of hers, that made some of his exhaustion bleed away.
His smile did not shift, but it felt more genuine for some reason. “Yes, I guess you’re right.”
No longer having to journey in the search for mythical off-season fruit, Twilight-who-is-currently-Loid was already home the following evening, adding the finishing touches to the brisket he had prepared for supper when he heard Yor entering their apartment. He went over to greet her and did a double-take at seeing the blood dripping down his (fake) wife’s face.
“Miss Yor, are you okay? What happened? You’re bleeding!” He took the paper bag from her hands, setting it on the counter as he rushed to get the first-aid kit.
Yor simply laughed as she sneaked her way towards the bathroom, sounding embarrassed instead of in pain. “Oh, Mr. Loid don’t worry about me, I’m fine, this is not my blood. I fought— I mean I found the last apple on sale!”
Loid suddenly had a lot of concerned-husband questions on the tip of his tongue, somewhere between more worried and confused. But before he had time to voice any of them, his daughter darted out of her room, eyes glittering with excitement.
“Anya wants apples!”
With one last glance at the closed bathroom door, Loid retried the small red fruit from the paper bag and handed it to Anya, who promptly started eating it with delight.
“Anya loves apples!” She exclaimed, unaware that the ruse was up as Loid squinted at the fruit in her hands, recognizing the shape immediately.
“…Funny you say that, because that’s actually a pear.”
“SHOCK!”
“That looks like a red Anjou pear. Apples are rounder, and while they both come in different colors, the shade, taste and texture all differ—” Noticing Anya’s glazed over eyes, clearly not listening, he sighed. “Never mind, then. Did you like your pear?”
“Yes!” Anya nodded firmly, clutching the fruit to her chest and doing a little dance. “It was yummy!”
A smile tugged at Loid’s lips. “Well then, I’m glad. I promise I’ll get you an actual apple as soon as they’re in season again.”
“Yay!”