"I knew a Jenny," Marron said. "On Earth. She was my best friend for years. We used to eat ice cream sandwiches just like this on hot days. Share them and talk about nothing and everything."

Jenny Vasquez smiled gently. "Bet you miss her."

"I do." Marron finished her sandwich, the taste lingering bittersweet on her tongue. "I didn't realize how much until just now."

"That's the thing about home food," Jenny said, plating hot dogs and passing them through the window to waiting customers. "It sneaks up on you. You think you're fine, you've adjusted, you've moved on. Then you taste something familiar and suddenly you're twelve years old again, sitting on your front steps with your best friend, everything ahead of you and nothing figured out yet."

"Yeah," Marron said softly. "Exactly like that."

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, two people from Earth, separated by years and circumstances but connected by the simple fact of being far from home.

"You're a chef, right?" Jenny asked, nodding at Marron's Guild pin. "I've heard about you. The one who organized the resistance against the Merchant's Guild decree."

"That's me," Marron admitted. "Though I mostly just cooked soup and refused to back down."

"Sometimes that's enough." Jenny started preparing mini doughnuts—dropping small balls of dough into hot oil where they sizzled and puffed up golden. "You helped a lot of vendors keep their carts. Including me, actually. I partnered with one of your recruited chefs...a guy named Thomas. He's been great about the whole thing."

"Thomas is a good one," Marron said. "He takes the partnerships seriously."

"He does." Jenny fished out doughnuts, dusted them with sugar, served them in a paper cone. "Here. Try these. Another Earth thing—they're basically zeppole, but simplified."

Marron tried one. Hot, sweet, crispy outside and fluffy inside. The kind of fried dough that existed in every food culture on Earth in some form, universal in its comfort.

"These are perfect," Marron said.

"They're simple," Jenny corrected. "But simple done right is its own kind of perfect." She leaned against her cart, looking at Marron thoughtfully. "Can I ask you something? Off the record, vendor to vendor?"

"Sure."

"Do you ever regret it? Coming here? Choosing Savoria over Earth?" Jenny's voice was quiet, almost vulnerable. "Because I do. Sometimes. On bad days. I miss air conditioning and cell phones and being able to just order takeout without having to explain what a burrito is."

Marron thought about that—really thought about it. Did she regret coming to Savoria?

"No," she said finally. "Earth was... I was stuck there. Going through motions. Working jobs that didn't matter, living a life that felt like it was happening to someone else. Here..." She gestured vaguely at the market around them, at her own journey. "Here I'm learning to care again. Learning to try. Learning that it's worth it to build something even if it might fail."

"That's very optimistic."

"I'm still figuring out how to be optimistic," Marron admitted. "But I'm trying. And that's more than I was doing on Earth."

Jenny smiled—sad and understanding. "I get that. I really do." She pulled out her order pad. "Alright, since you're here and you appreciate the food—what else can I get you? Hot dogs? More doughnuts? I've got lemonade if you want something to drink."

"Actually," Marron said, an idea forming. "Can I buy a bunch of everything? I want to bring some back to my apartment. Share with friends. Let them taste what Earth food is like."

"Absolutely." Jenny started preparing a large order. "They should know Earth food's pretty humble, especially if they've had the stuff from the upper district."

Marron laughed despite herself. "My friends are also vendors in the street market. I don't think I could ever befriend someone from the upper district."

Henrik—one of my instructors at the Guild—he taught me about struggle meals. About maximizing limited ingredients. About respect for simple food done well. Your cart embodies that."

Jenny looked pleased and a little bit concerned. "Your instructor's a smart man. But this isn't struggle food. It's cheap homemade food...since not everyone can afford the fancy meals."

"That's important too," Marron said.

Jenny prepared the order with satisfying efficiency. Four hotdog sandwiches wrapped in paper, 2 boxes of mini doughnuts, and six ice cream sandwiches, neatly packed in a takeaway freezer bag.

Marron found herself relaxing in a way she hadn't in weeks. There was something about being near another Earth soul who understood the homesickness she felt from being world-displaced. It made her shoulders relax--a type of tension she hadn't even realized she carried.

"Here you go," Jenny said finally, handing over two large bags. "Enough food to feed a small army. Or one very hungry bearkin." She nodded at Mokko with a grin.

"Hey," Mokko protested mildly.

"I kid, I kid." Jenny rang up the order. "190 gol--oh, I'll add some lemonade to that, on the house."

Even though she said it was free, Marron was determined to leave a tip.

190 gold was a steal for the amount of food she got.

"But seriously—come back anytime. It's nice to meet another person from home."

"I will," Marron promised. She paid, then hesitated. "Jenny? Thank you. Not just for the food. For... making a piece of Earth exist here. For reminding me where I came from."

"That's what we do, right?" Jenny said. "Us displaced people. We carry home with us. Make it exist in new places. Feed it to people who might need it."

Jenny's smile was warm and genuine, so much like the Jenny from Marron's childhood.

"Come back soon, Chef Louvel. I'd like to hear more about your adventures with Legendary Tools."

Marron blinked. "How did you—"

"People talk," Jenny said easily. "Street vendors hear everything. And honestly? I think it's great. Those tools were made to serve people. You're using them the way they were meant to be used. Keep doing that."

"Even though it's risky?"

"Everything worth doing is risky," Jenny said. "At least you're doing something worth doing."

Back at the apartment, Marron spread the Earth food across her small table—hot dogs, doughnuts, ice cream sandwiches, and lemonade. Mokko had invited Millie to join them, and the three of them sat together, tasting food from a world most of them had never seen.

"These are good," Millie said around a mouthful of hot dog. "Simple, but satisfying. What did you call them again?"

"Hot dogs," Marron said. "Back on Earth, they were cheap street food. You could get them everywhere—baseball games, street corners, food carts. They were universal."

"Everything here tastes... comfortable," Mokko observed. "Not fancy. Not trying to impress. Just warm and filling and right."

"That's Earth food," Marron said. She bit into a mini doughnut—still warm, sugar crystals sparkling. "Most of it was like this. Simple. Accessible. Made to feed regular people on regular days."

"Do you miss it?" Millie asked quietly. "Earth?"

Marron thought about that—really thought about it. "I miss pieces of it. My friend Kai. My mom's diner. The specific kind of comfort that comes from total familiarity." She took a sip of lemonade—tart and sweet, exactly right. "But I don't miss the person I was there. That version of me was... smaller. More scared. Living on bare minimum because she didn't think she deserved more."

"And now?" Mokko asked.

"Now I'm learning to try," Marron said. "Learning to care. Learning that it's okay to want things and work toward them even if they might not work out." She looked at the Legendary Tools arranged in her apartment—the copper pot, the Generous Ladle, the food cart visible through the window. "Earth-me would never have believed she could carry Legendary Tools. Would never have organized a vendor coalition or confronted a Merchant's Guild. Would never have had this life."

"So you don't regret coming to Savoria," Millie said.

"No." Marron said it with certainty. "I don't. Even with all the complications and dangers and uncertainties. This life feels... realer. More mine. Like I'm actually living instead of just existing."

Lucy burbled something supportive and formed a heart in her jar.

They ate Earth food together—simple comfort from a world away, shared among friends in a new place. And Marron thought about Jenny Vasquez, running her humble cart in Lumeria's market, carrying pieces of home forward into unfamiliar territory.

We're all doing that, Marron realized. Carrying pieces of who we were into who we're becoming. Preserving the good parts through continuation. Making new lives that honor old memories without being trapped by them.

"I want to go back," Marron said suddenly. "To Jenny's cart. Learn more Earth recipes from her. Maybe collaborate on something. Bring that humble, accessible food culture to more places in Lumeria."

"That sounds like you," Mokko said with a smile. "Always finding new projects. New ways to feed people."

"It's what I do," Marron said. "It's who I'm becoming."

Outside, Lumeria's evening settled over the city. Somewhere in the street market, Jenny Vasquez was closing down her cart, packing away her Earth-food dreams for another day. Somewhere in the upper districts, Edmund Erwell was probably cataloging his collection, thinking about preservation and loss and the grandmother's spoon he'd given away.

And here, in Studio 3-C, Marron Louvel sat with her friends and her tools and her half-formed plans, eating doughnuts and hot dogs and ice cream sandwiches, feeling more at home than she had in years.

Not because she was back on Earth. But because she'd brought the best parts of Earth with her—the care, the humility, the belief that feeding people mattered—and made them work in this new world.

"More doughnuts?" Mokko offered, holding out the container.

"Always," Marron said, taking three.

Simple food, shared with friends, in a place she'd chosen to build a life.

It wasn't Earth. But it was home.

[New Connection Established: Jenny Vasquez (Earth transplant, street vendor)]

[Achievement Unlocked: Pieces of Home - You've found someone who understands where you came from]

[Note: Sometimes the most important discoveries aren't Legendary Tools or magical abilities. Sometimes they're just reminders that you're not alone in being far from home.]

[Life continues. Choose your next direction.]

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