Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Four - It's a Good Day to Dine

The boring speech was boring.

I had heard some boring speeches before, of course. My dad was big on talk shows, and complaining about politics, which meant that he liked listening to politicians say stuff so that he could later complain about it.

I had never been to one of those speeches live though. Two minutes into the important harpy on the floating stage telling us all about the many, many people that needed thanking for the event and my eyes were going blurry. When five minutes passed and he was still droning on about vague stuff like the generosity of such and such an organization or group, I felt my head getting heavy.

Rosaline had the right idea when she scooted her chair close to Awen’s and leaned her head onto Awen’s shoulder for a quick nap.

I wanted to do the same, but Awen looked about ready to collapse under Rosaline’s weight alone, and Amaryllis gave me a warning look when I stared at her shoulder.

I ended up settling for laying my head down next to my empty plate and allowed my ears to bend forwards and over my eyes. If they couldn't see those, they couldn’t tell if I was sleeping!

I woke up with a start sometime later and wiped the drool from the corner of my lips. “I’done?” I asked.

“It is,” Amaryllis confirmed. “The food’s coming. Do you want to Clean it for us?”

I blinked the grogginess away then looked around to see a small army of maids and serving men moving about with plates hovering by their shoulders. “Food!” I gave a small chher.

“Indeed,” Amaryllis said. “Do rein in your enthusiasm. I don’t think anyone wants to see what you call dancing while you’re bloated from overeating.”

“Right,” I said. “What was that about Cleaning?”

“I want you to use your Cleaning magic on our meals,” Amaryllis said.

I blinked at her. “I do plan on eating it, you know.”

“Obviously,” she said. “Don’t clean the plates, Clean the food. Clear it of any poisons.”

“Uh,” I said. “You think the food will be poisoned?”

“Of course not,” Amaryllis said. “I don’t think it, I suspect it.”

“That’s the same thing,” I pointed out.

She huffed a ‘that’s semantics’ huff at me. “Most nobles used to have testers and servants who could detect poisons, or indeed clean it away with them,” she said. “But that became a sign that a harpy didn’t trust the clan they were visiting.”

“So... you don’t trust the people here?”

“Not as far as I could throw them,” Amaryllis said.

“I’m sure you could throw them fairly far. You’re pretty strong.”

She huffed again.

The food arrives at our table. A big savoury looking leg of... some animal. Lamb, maybe? With a whole heap of vegetables around it drizzled in a brownish sauce that was still steaming hot. Then they set down more plates before each of us, small salads and little plates of cut vegetables with various sauces.

It looked like a proper feast, though I did notice some strange things. No bird meat, which... that was fair. Also, no cheeses or milk products. Then again, they lived in the mountains and cows took space. There was also a bottle of wine that Clementine poured into everyone’s cups, but I chose not to touch that. I was still too young for drinking.

Clementine looked my way, and even Rosaline, who was awake though she elected to stay cuddled up to Awen, was staring.

“Right!” I said.

I spread my hands as a wizard would (I imagine) and cast a wave of nearly invisible Cleaning magic over everything.

Other than wiping a bit of sauce off the sides of some plates, it didn’t seem to do much.

“Well then, dig in, I suppose,” Clementine said.

She didn’t have to tell me twice!

I sampled a bit of everything, even taking a nibble from the meat to see if it tasted good despite my bun-ness, and while it was alright, I didn’t want to risk a tummy ache later, so I set it aside for a moment while I chowed down on everything else.

“The dancing will be starting soon,” Rosaline said. “You can tell because of the band.”

I perked an ear up to listen, twisting it this way and that to best catch the fleeting notes of a violin. “It’s just the one player?” I asked.

She nodded. “That’s right. That means that after this song they’ll be starting the pre-opening waltz. It’s a sort of... practice piece? Just to make sure all the members of the orchestra are ready. Some people who finish early will dance a bit to that, but the real opening comes right after.”

I nodded along. “And after the dancing, what happens? Do we duel that Francisco guy?”

Amaryllis nodded. “There’s usually a lot of onlookers for the first dance. Then the ball splits and people go around talking to whomever they want, participate in a few friendly duels, or dance until their legs give out.”

“The party ends when half the guests are gone or too drunk to continue,” Clementine said.

“That doesn’t sound all that nice a way to end a ball,” I said.

“It’s tradition!” Rosaline cheered before chomping into a hefty chunk of meat.

We were barely finished with our first plates when a second round came, this time with a lot more bread and pastries and different tiny portions of fish. I cleaned them all again and started on the fish. It tasted way better than any fish I’d had back home. The spicy sauces left my lips just a bit tingly and the savoury ones made the fish melt in my mouth.

The breads were very plain, not sweet like the bread I was used to, but that made it great for soaking off the leftovers on our plates.

I was almost full to bursting by the time the dessert came around.

It was only with great reluctance that I didn’t finish the slice of cake before me.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“I’m stuffed,” I declared.

“Idiot,” was Amaryllis’ immediate reprisal. She didn’t look much better though. She was one colour change away from looking like a stuffed turkey.

We sat in contented, food-coma induced silence for a few minutes while the music below shifted and the entire orchestra joined in on a slow ballad-like song. It was the orchestral equivalent of elevator music, with no inspiring high notes and few melodramatic lows.

Rosaline was the first to really move. “We should burn off some of this food,” she said. “Do you feel like dancing, Awen?”

“Um. I wouldn’t mind that,” Awen said as she stood up herself. She finished off the last of her goblet of wine and set it back down before smiling shyly at Rosaline. “Ready when you are.”

“We should go too,” I told Amaryllis. “I suppose you’ll want to dance with me?”

“Are you saying I couldn’t find someone else to dance with?” she said as she got up.

I shook my head. “Of course not. I’m sure there are plenty of eligible bachelors who think that you’re really cute and would love to dance with you. They’d be all noble and prince-like, and talk about how great their clans are, and how you could be a stay-at-home mom...”

Amaryllis grabbed my hand and started moving towards the dancefloor, her stomping steps in time with my laughter.

I almost felt bad for leaving Clementine behind, but she soon stood up and joined a crowd of older harpies to start talking with them. She didn’t seem all that keen on dancing.

The band ended their slow practice song and let everyone join up in twos in the centre of the dance floor. There were so many people that navigating around to find a spot to stand in meant slipping past poofy half-skirts and puffed out wings.

The band started playing a waltz, and Amaryllis and I started to step and spin in time with the music.

We spun and strutted, and Amaryllis tilted her nose up and started to flap her wings about in her not-quite-chicken dance. I giggled at her motions but followed suit.

The ball had been a bit stuffy so far, but the harpies and the few others on the dance floor didn’t seem to care much for that. Sure, they were dancing very formally, but I saw lovers holding each other so close that it was almost inappropriate and friends laughing and giggling along.

We ended up next to a pair of young men who strutted quite fancily next to us, clearly trying to get our attention, and succeeding when they both tried to dance the ‘male’ part of the dance at the same time and ended up bumping foreheads.

Amaryllis and I just switched back and forth, with increasingly silly and fanciful flourishes to one-up each other.

Some time later, maybe only a few minutes, or maybe more, we stepped off the floor, both a little sweaty and warm, but glowing with barely suppressed giddiness.

“I need a drink,” I said.

“I saw you avoiding the wine earlier,” Amaryllis said. “Want something stiffer?”

“Uh, no, I want water. Maybe juice?”

She shook her head. “I’m sure they have some around the children’s tables.”

“Perfect!” I said.

Amaryllis laughed. “You idiot,” she said. “Maybe after you’ve gotten drunk on peach and apple juice, we can find Francisco and his flunkies. I’d rather get that over with.”

“Sure!” I said before pulling her along towards the back. “By the way, are there rules to the duel?”

“No killing, nothing too extreme. Anything else will be outlined by whomever is the arbiter.”

“Alright!” I said.

We found a section off to one side of the first floor where the tables were smaller and hidden behind a half-wall. The harpies there were all much smaller and tucked away in cute little dresses and suits that made them look adorably serious, especially with their poofy down feathers sticking out every which way.

I found a big punch bowl of juice and quenched my thirst while Amaryllis sipped from a flute she’d grabbed along the way.

We were on our way to the back of the ballroom, and towards the spot where duels and other such stuff were taking place--sensibly, it was all done outside and out of the way--when our path was blocked by a familiar face.

“Captain Bunch,” Bastion said.

I looked the sylph up and down before responding. “Mister Bastion,” I said.

“I was wondering if... perhaps we could dance? Just for a moment.”

“And accuse her of more nonsense?” Amaryllis asked with some bite.

I placed a hand on her shoulder. “Mister Bastion, I would love to be your friend, but you were a bit... mean, earlier. It’s kind of strange that you want to dance now.”

Bastion Coldfront

Desired Quality: Someone with whom to fight for what is right.

Dream: To become a paladin renowned across Dirt

“I... merely wish to reconcile our differences,” he said. “If we are to work together, then being anything less than cordial would be a detriment to our teamwork.”

I nodded along. “Alright,” I said. “That sounds nice. You don’t mind, do you Amaryllis?”

“I’ll be here,” she said, “keeping an eye on you two.” The way she stared at Bastion suggested that ‘you two’ meant him.

Bastion reached out a hand to guide me to the dancefloor, and I carefully took it, ignoring the way he flinched a little at the contact.

“So, Captain Bunch,” he said as we began to dance along to a slower, more romantic piece of music. “How long have you captained your ship?”

It was a bit strange dancing with someone so much shorter than me, but not too bad. “Oh, a day or two,” I said.

Bastion missed his next step.

I was holding back a giggle when I heard a cry from above.

We both looked up, and at that moment, the ballroom exploded.

***