After Dinner for TroikaOwned
Before I'd even fully swallowed my goodly share of Mears' fancy swill, supper was over and the room just plum cleared out. No introductions, no allusions to what made an alliance an alliance -- or even this an alliance -- not even further civilities beyond "mmm, this is tasty" and "pass the salt." Supper was just over, scant moments after it began.
"Somethin' I didn't say, maybe," I shrugged and winked at The Lady, who was standing behind Tucker. Tucker looked at me crossly, like I was addressing him. I smirked and shook my head, gesturing at his plate so he'd know I was talking to him now, "Hell, you barely even touched your food, man! Not that I blame you. Nary a biscuit or a hush puppy to be found. Shame. And Tucker, I didn't realize that we were invited to a speed-eatin' contest."
Chuckling to myself, I took another gulp of cognac, only to grimace at the taste. It was too damned smooth, this stuff. I liked my spirits to have a little fire to them. Something caustic to burn out any erroneous words that might have stuck fast in my throat. I drained it anyway. Throwing pearls before swine was one of my special abilities in life and I didn't mind celebrating Her introduction to yet another inner circle by throwing a couple back.
I glanced around at the "team" that was, I expect, not so much a "team" but a rag-tag group of mutually parasitic sycophants. Spike, as the towheaded feller was called, was the only body present who was even directly addressed by Mears. Warren even toasted the cocksure gent, I noted. Wonder what folk had to do around here to get toasted by the big man? I got a notion of what it might be, just by looking at the company he kept. For example, Tucker's little brother looking at me squeamishly on the way out gave me a tickle. He'd barely been able to manage even a look from me since he sat down. Guilty little boys. God love 'em.
Twisting around, I looked for some kind of a servant wench to refill my glass, but was met instead with the offer of a fresh napkin. I grumbled a bit and settled back into my seat. Across the table from me, I regarded Tucker and this Spike character. They were sitting uncomfortably next to each other. With me across from them, we were like a group of fat kids that no one wanted to play kickball with. Cast-offs. But one of these cast-offs had some celebrity with Mears... and it weren't me nor Tucker. And what kind of a god-fearin' name was Spike? What was his story? Some kind of leather fetishist, maybe. A lot of fashion going on there... but he didn't look like he could pack much of a punch. Bony little man. Beyond him, The Lady caught my eye and, by way of correcting me, shifted her own form gradually to show me his true face. My, but what pointy teeth you have, Grandpa. So, that was it. A demon. Huh. I gave an amicable nod when he noticed my studying him, and then went back to sucking at my own teeth.
Perhaps it's my rural upbringing, but, I just couldn't figure this Mears kid's modus operandi. He invited us to dine with him, but then dinner went by quicker than a mayfly sneeze. He referred to a team and a regime, but then definitively indicated just who was -- and who wasn't -- a member of said team by retiring with his cronies. Folks just cleared out. I was a little at a loss for what to do here. Figured that Tucker was invited to stay a spell, and maybe me by default, but no explicit invitation had been extended.
"Y'all excuse me for a moment?" I grinned, pushing back from the table. Wouldn't hurt for someone to have some table manners around here. Still, I explained, a bit coarsely (if you were to've asked my ma, rest her wretched soul): "Nature calls and I'm off to use the head."
[[ Thread at TroikaOwned ]]
"Somethin' I didn't say, maybe," I shrugged and winked at The Lady, who was standing behind Tucker. Tucker looked at me crossly, like I was addressing him. I smirked and shook my head, gesturing at his plate so he'd know I was talking to him now, "Hell, you barely even touched your food, man! Not that I blame you. Nary a biscuit or a hush puppy to be found. Shame. And Tucker, I didn't realize that we were invited to a speed-eatin' contest."
Chuckling to myself, I took another gulp of cognac, only to grimace at the taste. It was too damned smooth, this stuff. I liked my spirits to have a little fire to them. Something caustic to burn out any erroneous words that might have stuck fast in my throat. I drained it anyway. Throwing pearls before swine was one of my special abilities in life and I didn't mind celebrating Her introduction to yet another inner circle by throwing a couple back.
I glanced around at the "team" that was, I expect, not so much a "team" but a rag-tag group of mutually parasitic sycophants. Spike, as the towheaded feller was called, was the only body present who was even directly addressed by Mears. Warren even toasted the cocksure gent, I noted. Wonder what folk had to do around here to get toasted by the big man? I got a notion of what it might be, just by looking at the company he kept. For example, Tucker's little brother looking at me squeamishly on the way out gave me a tickle. He'd barely been able to manage even a look from me since he sat down. Guilty little boys. God love 'em.
Twisting around, I looked for some kind of a servant wench to refill my glass, but was met instead with the offer of a fresh napkin. I grumbled a bit and settled back into my seat. Across the table from me, I regarded Tucker and this Spike character. They were sitting uncomfortably next to each other. With me across from them, we were like a group of fat kids that no one wanted to play kickball with. Cast-offs. But one of these cast-offs had some celebrity with Mears... and it weren't me nor Tucker. And what kind of a god-fearin' name was Spike? What was his story? Some kind of leather fetishist, maybe. A lot of fashion going on there... but he didn't look like he could pack much of a punch. Bony little man. Beyond him, The Lady caught my eye and, by way of correcting me, shifted her own form gradually to show me his true face. My, but what pointy teeth you have, Grandpa. So, that was it. A demon. Huh. I gave an amicable nod when he noticed my studying him, and then went back to sucking at my own teeth.
Perhaps it's my rural upbringing, but, I just couldn't figure this Mears kid's modus operandi. He invited us to dine with him, but then dinner went by quicker than a mayfly sneeze. He referred to a team and a regime, but then definitively indicated just who was -- and who wasn't -- a member of said team by retiring with his cronies. Folks just cleared out. I was a little at a loss for what to do here. Figured that Tucker was invited to stay a spell, and maybe me by default, but no explicit invitation had been extended.
"Y'all excuse me for a moment?" I grinned, pushing back from the table. Wouldn't hurt for someone to have some table manners around here. Still, I explained, a bit coarsely (if you were to've asked my ma, rest her wretched soul): "Nature calls and I'm off to use the head."
[[ Thread at TroikaOwned ]]