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"But that game was fun," Jack complained as he caught up. Then he lifted a hand out of his coat pocket and snapped. "I get it now. You were upset because I managed to beat you at your own game, literally. While drunk." He grinned triumphantly. "Way to have a sporting attitude, Craft. Just count what's in the bag as compensation, then. Way more useful than a diamond."

Feigning shock, he cupped a hand to his ear. "I'm sorry, what was that? Did you mean the scene you couldn't even physically watch?" he asked with a teasing smile. "I saw you. You were interested in my feet. I literally had to let you know when the scene was over. Forget diamond rings," he said as he lightly crossed his arms back, "you can't even handle them passing off a necklace."

He paused, pleased but almost, almost guilty for it. This was starting to hit slightly dangerous territory. So Jack scoffed and continued to look superior about it, but he watched his words; as fun as it was to tease Chel, he didn't want to push it too far for once.

"Easy for you to say, you wouldn't care about immortality or special Elven powers," Jack said, then turned thoughtful. "Huh...You don't think there's an artifact out there that could literally do that, maybe?"

He snorted a laugh. "Yeah, well, fuuuuuuuck youuuuuu," he called after her as she went ahead. Jack let her be for a few seconds, eventually uncrossing his arms and letting them swing at his side rather than stay hidden in pockets.

"Did you sneak a Red Bull in or something?" he had to ask. "Chill out, you've got..." He consulted his watch. "Ten minutes until your shift. Relax. Talking about statistically improbable objects is important business, you know."

Jack understood what that was like: coming back from the Sahara wasn't just killer on the condensed jet lag but on the inability to process real food for a long while. Even now he didn't eat meals with as large portions as he used to.

Screwing his face up in concentration, he stopped walking for a moment, closed his eyes, and made a few theatrical motions at Chel. "Through the sheer force of my mental acuity, I can divine the answer...Yes, I think I can sense something..."

Pause for effect.

"The answer is...oatmeal."

Bursting into laughter, Jack stumbled from the shove, his arms wobbling like he was trying to keep balance. He wished he had his phone out to capture the face Chel made.

"More like what's right with me," he corrected her, still completely amused with himself and his brilliant joke. "Look, at this rate I'll have to make a ******** buffet like or something, and you don't want that. Unless you like Jimmy Dean stuff. Microwaves and all." Since it wasn't cooking, he didn't have much chance of screwing it up.

He matched her slow pace without question; even recovering from the stumble was stretched out as he left himself have a few more cackles.

"Weak?" Jack made an affronted noise. "s**t, with that attitude I'm just going to make what I want and you'll have to deal. Hope you like spicy scrambled eggs and cinnamon toast. And orange juice with pulp."

Little by little it was becoming more clear that this was a point of pride for him: no outside help, even if asking would make things so much easier.

"Actually, you know what, let me have another go. Donuts? Everyone loves donuts."

An obnoxious groan left him. "You and that ******** ring. You know what, I'm starting to think you're messing with me." Jack gave her a suspicious look, only vaguely aware that they were at their destination. "Either I said it already and you're being difficult, or it's something crazy specific I'd never get on my own which isn't very fair."