Come Together

10: Exploration (smutty)

"Well, 'ello there," Ringo said with a smirk as Brian walked up to the four. "You're 'ere, fin'ly...!"

He gave an exaggerated sigh and chuckled.

"Relax, boys," Brian replied with a smile. "We 'ave plenty of time to explore."

"An'...food?" George responded tentatively. His stomach whined.

Brian laughed. "Yes, George," he said, looking around the park. "I'm sure you'll be able to fin' a food cart in 'ere somewhere." 

George grinned, baring his fanglike inscisors. "C'mon, Ringo!" he exclaimed, pulling the drummer along with him as he began to rush along a path which wound around the largest rock outcrop.

"Les' meet up in two hours, lads!" Brian called as the two ran off like little children. "Here!" He shouted out firmly.

"Alrigh..." Paul said faintly as he began to drift away from John and his manager. "Ima goin' to fin' a quiet spot and...think..." he said softly before walking off towards a pond.

"Well." John said with a smile. "Shall we walk then, Eppy? You've been 'ere before, ay? Why not show a confused Liverpudlian around then, mm? Take me to your favourite spot."

Brian scanned John's face cautiously. "Alrigh' then..." he said slowly. "Les' go. This way." He began to lead the guitarist along a gently sloping path which wound deeper into the park. 

●●●

"Aha!" George exclaimed triumphantly as he and Ringo rounded a bend in the path they were following and came upon a little food cart selling pretzels, peanuts, and hot dogs. "Mmhm..." the guitarist hummed happily as they walked up. "Genuine American cuisine! Whoo!Erm...one frankfurt-ah, 'otdog. An' a pretzel, please..."       

He fumbled for several bills in his wallet. "Shit..." he muttered softly to himself. "Ok. These are the ones...five cents?"

The man at the stand looked curiously at the pair. "We're not from 'ere," Ringo said cautiously, by way of introduction.

"Well, I can tell!" The man replied, voice heavy with a strange accent. "Brits, huh? Welcome to New York City!"

"Thanks," Ringo said with a slight smile. "You from aroun' 'ere...?" He said, "your accent..."

The man chuckled as he passed a wrapped hotdog and pretzel to George. The guitarist extended his bills across the cart's counter and the man accepted them. "Born and bred in NYC, sir!" he said, "That's the city you hear in my voice. This place will always be my home."

"Thanks," George said, grinning toothily as he began to unwrap his hotdog. "You 'ave a nice day, mate!"

"And you," the man replied, smiling as the pair walked away. 

Ringo looked at George with amusement as the other man devoured his hotdog as though it was the first food he had eaten in a year. "Well," he said, "I can't compre'end it, Georgie." He laughed. "You eat like a pig, but you're skinny as a poplar, y' are!" 

The guitarist shrugged. He tore off a chunk of pretzel and offered it to Ringo. The drummer accepted and the two walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

"Look!" Ringo cried, breaking it and pointing to a placid, man-made lake half frozen in the February air. A few stray ducks waddled or huddled beneath the sheltering eaves of a small boathouse. A bridge of stone, subtly arched, rose over the waterway.