Exactly a week after Table’s arrival, the first guest arrived at Rob’s shabby residence. Table silently hoped it was the same merchant who’d brought him over and that merchant would take him away, but no such luck. The shadow darkening Rob’s doorway was someone he’d never seen before.
It was a rotund man, clad in a fur-lined vest that barely contained his girth, with a twirled mustache so meticulously curled it seemed as though he’d spent two hours trimming it before leaving home. Surely the face of someone who loves the look of himself in the mirror.
“Rob, old boy,” the man drawled, dragging out the syllables. “I see you’re still making do with… well, humble husbandry.”
Rob was out on the farm when the stranger opened the door by himself. He immediately scampered back inside as he heard the voice. His shoulder tensed as he saw the figure. “Master Bimbleton,” he said with a curt nod, wiping his hand on his shirt. “What brings you all the way over to our humble abode?”
Bimbleton chuckled smugly. “Oh, I was passing through on business—expanding my diary ventures and all that—and thought, why not check on my dear cousin Robbie?” He dusted off his vest. “The air in here sure affects the fineries. You best keep your best clothing inside your closet. Make sure they do not get torn.” He plopped down on the chair. “How’s the wife? Luna?”
“Lena. And she’s fine.” Rob dug his fingers into the underside of Table.
Ouch! Ouch! Whatever disgruntlement you have with that pompous bastard, don’t pull me into it. I only have 6 HP!
“Yeah, she is fine. I do wish to get to gaze upon her more frequently—such a rare delight, after all. If she is in the back, do me a favor and call her out, Robbie.”
Rob, don’t, Table screamed. You’re technically my owner. I don’t have an owner who’s a harlot-buttock pushover.
Rob exhaled slowly through his nose, then shook his head. “She is not here,” he said evenly. “Lena is at the market selling herbs.”
“Well, that will have to do,” he said, disappointment dripping from his voice. “A shame, really. I’d have loved to show you two what proper furniture looks like. You know, I have just secured myself a grand purchase.” He turned, his eyes landing on Table. His smirk returned, but then his brows furrowed. He leaned in, squinting at Table’s surface. “What’s this?”
Rob blinked. “What’s what?”
Bimbleton ran a gloved hand over the wood. “There are scratches here, but… they’re faint. But the rest of the table looks new. Did you perhaps refurbished an old featherwood table? Must be rough in this neighborhood lately.”
His eyes darted to Table, and sure enough, the scratch marks left by that damned cat just days ago were almost completely faded. But that didn’t make sense. Wood didn’t just heal itself.
Thimbleton clicked his tongue. “Tsk. Poor craftsmanship, I suppose. Cheap wood does tend to warp over time.”
Rob didn’t answer. He was too busy keeping his face neutral.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
But Table?
Oh. Ohhh. Ohhhhhhhhhhhh.
The scratches have been there before, but now they aren’t. I regenerate!
HP restoration wasn’t just a number. His body repaired itself over time.
“My table, on the other hand…” Bimbleton ran his glove along Table’s surface, let out a long, suffering sigh, then pulled out a silk handkerchief that’d been made purple silk, purchased fresh from the bazaar, and dusted his fingers off. “Ah, but I wouldn’t want to make you envious.”
“They’re just tables,” replied Rob as he placed his hand to cover his cough again.
Rob had been coughing ever since Table arrived, but today was somehow worse than other days. He could not go ten seconds without another bout of croaking and wheezing.
“I suppose they are. But the one I just purchased is made of Elviswood, so that particular piece is not just furniture.” Rob interlocked his fingers and crossed one leg over his thigh. “Did I tell you I got a pet termite? His name is Clint. Clint Eatswood. I tried giving him a minuscule piece of Elviswood, but he could not, for his life, chew through it.”
Rob bit his lower lip. “It sure is a luxurious item.”
“Ah, Robbie. Always thinking in coin. If only you knew the value of refinement.” Bimbleton stood and clasped a meaty hand on Rob’s shoulder, his grin wide and wolfish. “Tell you what. Why don’t you come by my estate for supper? I’ll have my servants prepare the finest fish you’ve ever tasted.” He chuckled. “Perhaps if you see how a real household dines, you’ll finally understand what you’re missing. Please do bring Lena along.”
No. Rob. Don’t accept. Don’t humiliate yourself.
Ding.
A sudden notification popped up in front of Table.
NEW QUEST UNLOCKED: Prove Your Worth!
Objective: Arrive at the Bimbleton estate and defeat the Elviswood table in a trial of Endurance and Agility.
His eyes widened when he looked at the reward.
REWARD: +5 END, +5 AGI, +12 EXP
* 1 random Beginner-level Skill
ACCEPT: Yes/No
He immediately willed himself to press Yes.
Oh, Rob. Please do accept his invitation. Bring your wife along. Heck, bring me along! You people always bring along a table to a banquet, do you not?
Who cares about Rob’s dignity when you have 12 EXP?
“I’m afraid we might not be too familiar with dining on such an expensive table,” Rob waved his hand in refusal.
Bimbleton’s lips curved into a lopsided smirk. “I shall call over my carriage, and we shall bring your table along, if that brings you more comfort.”
Ohhh. Oh yes. It was like the entire universe colluded to realize this quest for Table.
Rob’s shoulders slumped. “Very well, Master Bimbleton. I suppose we don’t have a choice.”
Another notification appeared in front of Table:
QUEST: PROVE YOUR WORTH—ACCEPTED
Name Table Race Animated Furniture (Table) Class None Level 1 EXP 5/10 HP 5/6 MP 0 STR 2 END 5 AGI 14 PER 4 Skills Appraisal