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Fry is sat at a table, looking at a small pile of ten bean seeds in front of him.

This is a stupid holiday homework project. Why can't his new teacher ask for a 'what did you do over the summer' scrapbook like a normal person?

After about ten minutes of staring at them, he opens the scrapbook and writes.

'1. I can line up the beans in a row.'

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More fiddling is in order to improve the aim. Which in this case, means another strip of tape to stabilise the ink cartridge. The pen is terribly cheap, and the beans are an odd shape, which makes them go in strange directions.

He cuts up another bean and tries again. It still goes in a strange direction.

"What's it called?" Fry asks.

Every teacher's worst nightmare?

"I think it's like a ballista," Wilford says.

He isn't totally sure, though. He's not entirely up to date on his miniature siege weapons.

Fry gets a stick and some elastic from the bar and starts trying to make a slingshot. Watching his lack of motor skills is probably painful.

Yeah, it kind of is. So painful, in fact, Wilford feels compelled to show him an easier way. He heads to the bar and comes back with a small pile of random bits and bobs one might find in an office or class room. The first thing he grabs is a rubber band, which he twists around his thumb and index finger separately, so it can be used to fling another bean at Fry's table.

If you're going to make weapons, you should at least make them easy to hide.

"Thanks." Fry says, writing down.

'4. Flick them at things.'

It's more than just flicking them at things, Fry. You're using them as parts of a larger machine.

Whatever. Wilford goes back to his original contraption and fiddles with it some more. He's got way more than the ten beans Fry was given, but he's not being graded. He's just trying to annoy people.

This time, the bean goes off in an entirely different direction. Somewhere, it bounces off a hard surface with a little skitter.

One of Wilford's beans lands in Vyvyan's hair. Before realising who flicked it, he's turned around and lobbed it back.

Okay, it wasn't a reaction he wanted, but he'll take it. By the time Vyvyan lobs the bean across the room, Wilford has his little device hidden behind his plate, and is casually picking through the rice to find something to eat that isn't green.

Vyvyan looks between the kid and Wilford.

"Knock it off, snotface." he says. It's not clear who that's aimed at.

"It wasn't me." Fry says, without snitching on Wilf.

Wilford looks up, utterly bewildered. Then he looks at Fry at the next table.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Who is this orange-haired man? Wilford's never seen him before. Nope. Never.

Vyvyan stomps over. He's not as unclean as last time Wilford saw him.

"Knock it off, knobface." he says to Wilford.

By the time Vyvyan gets close, Wilford's little device and his pile of beans have both been carefully slipped into his inventory. All that remains on the table - besides his lunch - is his switch blade, and the assortment of random junk.

"Have we met?" he asks, wide-eyed and totally innocent.

Vyvyan looks at him.

"Yeah, you shot me in the head, like a cowardly rat bastard. I've never done anything to you, though."

Is Vyvyan stupid, or just blind?

"I haven't been here in about three years. Are you sure it wasn't the other guy?" Wilford asks.

He's obviously younger. About ten years too young, in fact, to have been the person who shot Vyvyan in the head. And right now, he's sitting here having lunch, and helping this kid with his homework.

Stupid, clearly.

"Yeah, and you're a resetter, like me." Vyvyan says.

Wilford blinks.

"Then you know that's not how resets work."

It's how saves work, which Vyvyan does not have. Probably.

He looks over to Fry. "There's one for your list. You can apparently attract stupid with them."

Fry, who knows that Vyvyan is harmless to children, starts writing this down.

"Must be how you turned up then." Vyvyan says to Wilford.

Vyvyan gets another confused blink, before Wilford shakes his head and goes back to poking at his lunch.

"What kind of beans are those again?" he asks.

Finally, he takes a bite like he means it. He did come here to eat, after all.

Vyvyan turns and leaves, making sure to break wind silently before he moves away from the table.

"Broad beans." Fry says.

Then he sniffs and makes a face.

Oh, that is foul. Wilford is making an effort to get along with this place, which is the only reason his knife doesn't end up in Vyvyan's back right now.

It's really tempting, though.

He distracts himself by pulling one of the beans from his inventory and looking at it. "I think you make doenjang with these."

His lunch could be greatly improved with some doenjang right now, actually.

"Not these ones, they're just seeds." Fry says.