The Dessert Fork Klutz
Brigit's Flame, January Week 3, "Utopia: Tradition and Ritual". Part 3 of the Utensilopia, about 989 words, no warnings.
So anyways, from where I left off:
When he turned around after putting the table down, I was right behind him, and he stepped on my other foot. “Ouch!”
“I’m so sorry, again! I’m such a klutz tonight,” he moaned and ran a hand through his hair, tousling it. “Here, let me carry you to the couch over there.”
Before I could protest yet again, he had already picked me up in his arms. I wriggled, saying, “It’s not necessary, I can walk …,” but he seemed deaf to my voice. I could feel my face getting even redder as I spotted eyes on us both.
I was so grateful when we got to the couch I practically jumped out of his arms. Which would have been fine, except it threw him off balance too. He fell onto me, crushing me into the couch, and I felt something hard poke into my side. Then while he was getting off of me and apologizing for his clumsiness, he fairly smashed my arm into the couch. I still have a bruise on my arm where he pushed down. As he stood, I saw the exposed fork peeking out of his utensil case - “You’re a Dessert Fork?” I managed to get out with my newly found breath. How could a Dessert Fork be this clumsy? I had thought they were all so refined and perfect - goodness knows that’s how they wanted their ceremonial reception!
“Yeah - ” he started, but right then the new First Dessert Fork jabbed himself in between us. I knew him because he was wearing the tacky and ridiculous looking golden fork attached to his lapel, the ceremonial sign of his rank for official functions.
“Son, you know you’re not supposed to mingle with these -” he glanced in my direction, taking in my plain clothing (hey, they were clean and didn’t have any patches!) and the spoon at my hip, “Serving Spoons,” he fairly spat out my rank.
Though I still hate myself for it, I bowed my head and clasped my hands at my waist as was proper, saying, “I’m sorry Sir, it was my fault, I -”
FDF didn’t even have the decency to address me when he cut me off. “Come, Kacoa, there is a young Dessert Fork you should meet.” He took Klutz Kacoa by the shoulder, and led him away. I watched them walk away, and caught Klutz Kacoa’s quick glance back at me. My mind might have just been playing tricks on me, or maybe I hit it harder than I thought on the couch back, but I thought I saw him mouth “I’m sorry” before his father pulled his attention back away.
The rest of the evening I avoided him as much as possible, which was kind of hard to do considering how many times I had to not only go out to serve the Forks, but also to move the tables and chairs back and forth. But when I was moving the small table from earlier back out of the way for the final round of dancing that would go through the rest of the night, he caught me in a corner.
“Hey, I’m sorry about my dad, Miss …?” he started, his hands tight to his sides. Thinking about it now, I’d say he looked like a chilled chocolate-frosted vanilla cake that had been left out too long and had begun sweating. Not unattractive in the least, but definitely uncomfortable and somewhat out of place. I mean, he was talking to me after his father had so clearly forbidden it. My mom would’ve had my hide if I disobeyed her like that. Thankfully, she didn’t know anything about it, and still doesn’t. This is my secret.
“Apel, Klutz Kaco-“ I caught myself, but it was too late. I felt the heat rise to my face as I tried to cover up with an apology. “I mean, Mister Kaco-”
Briefly a look of … something -- not sure if it was hurt, or humor, or something else really - crossed his face, but then he laughed. I was not expecting him to laugh. I was already braced for getting a scolding from him. “You’ve got me there, I am a klutz. Father refuses to believe it, but after all the times I stepped on the toes of that girl he had me dance with … well, at least you have the guts to tell it to my face, unlike her,” he said. Was that a touch of bitterness I heard in his voice?
I must have been staring blankly at him or some such, because he put a hand over his mouth. “Do I have something in my teeth too?”
I shook my head, my face heating up again, “No, not at all! Um, I should really finish -”
Klutz Kacoa stepped close to me and slipped a piece of paper into my hand, only just missing stepping on my foot again. “You’re right, I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t bother you here. Come visit sometime?” I wasn’t entirely sure if it was a question though, or if it was actually a request.
Before I could put any sort of sounds together into halfway intelligent words, he had stepped away and mingled back into the crowd. I didn’t even really get what had just happened. I mean, did he really just invite me over? What could he possibly want with me, a Serving Spoon, when he was so far above me?
I’m still debating on whether or not I should go visit him. It’s so inappropriate; a Serving Spoon and a Dessert Fork don’t just visit each other. The only time we see each other is at special functions or by chance in the streets (and that’s a long shot, as I rarely see Dessert Forks out doing the shopping or anything). And if Mother or Dad were to find out…well, they’d surely turn me out to the Wareless for that…
So anyways, from where I left off:
When he turned around after putting the table down, I was right behind him, and he stepped on my other foot. “Ouch!”
“I’m so sorry, again! I’m such a klutz tonight,” he moaned and ran a hand through his hair, tousling it. “Here, let me carry you to the couch over there.”
Before I could protest yet again, he had already picked me up in his arms. I wriggled, saying, “It’s not necessary, I can walk …,” but he seemed deaf to my voice. I could feel my face getting even redder as I spotted eyes on us both.
I was so grateful when we got to the couch I practically jumped out of his arms. Which would have been fine, except it threw him off balance too. He fell onto me, crushing me into the couch, and I felt something hard poke into my side. Then while he was getting off of me and apologizing for his clumsiness, he fairly smashed my arm into the couch. I still have a bruise on my arm where he pushed down. As he stood, I saw the exposed fork peeking out of his utensil case - “You’re a Dessert Fork?” I managed to get out with my newly found breath. How could a Dessert Fork be this clumsy? I had thought they were all so refined and perfect - goodness knows that’s how they wanted their ceremonial reception!
“Yeah - ” he started, but right then the new First Dessert Fork jabbed himself in between us. I knew him because he was wearing the tacky and ridiculous looking golden fork attached to his lapel, the ceremonial sign of his rank for official functions.
“Son, you know you’re not supposed to mingle with these -” he glanced in my direction, taking in my plain clothing (hey, they were clean and didn’t have any patches!) and the spoon at my hip, “Serving Spoons,” he fairly spat out my rank.
Though I still hate myself for it, I bowed my head and clasped my hands at my waist as was proper, saying, “I’m sorry Sir, it was my fault, I -”
FDF didn’t even have the decency to address me when he cut me off. “Come, Kacoa, there is a young Dessert Fork you should meet.” He took Klutz Kacoa by the shoulder, and led him away. I watched them walk away, and caught Klutz Kacoa’s quick glance back at me. My mind might have just been playing tricks on me, or maybe I hit it harder than I thought on the couch back, but I thought I saw him mouth “I’m sorry” before his father pulled his attention back away.
The rest of the evening I avoided him as much as possible, which was kind of hard to do considering how many times I had to not only go out to serve the Forks, but also to move the tables and chairs back and forth. But when I was moving the small table from earlier back out of the way for the final round of dancing that would go through the rest of the night, he caught me in a corner.
“Hey, I’m sorry about my dad, Miss …?” he started, his hands tight to his sides. Thinking about it now, I’d say he looked like a chilled chocolate-frosted vanilla cake that had been left out too long and had begun sweating. Not unattractive in the least, but definitely uncomfortable and somewhat out of place. I mean, he was talking to me after his father had so clearly forbidden it. My mom would’ve had my hide if I disobeyed her like that. Thankfully, she didn’t know anything about it, and still doesn’t. This is my secret.
“Apel, Klutz Kaco-“ I caught myself, but it was too late. I felt the heat rise to my face as I tried to cover up with an apology. “I mean, Mister Kaco-”
Briefly a look of … something -- not sure if it was hurt, or humor, or something else really - crossed his face, but then he laughed. I was not expecting him to laugh. I was already braced for getting a scolding from him. “You’ve got me there, I am a klutz. Father refuses to believe it, but after all the times I stepped on the toes of that girl he had me dance with … well, at least you have the guts to tell it to my face, unlike her,” he said. Was that a touch of bitterness I heard in his voice?
I must have been staring blankly at him or some such, because he put a hand over his mouth. “Do I have something in my teeth too?”
I shook my head, my face heating up again, “No, not at all! Um, I should really finish -”
Klutz Kacoa stepped close to me and slipped a piece of paper into my hand, only just missing stepping on my foot again. “You’re right, I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t bother you here. Come visit sometime?” I wasn’t entirely sure if it was a question though, or if it was actually a request.
Before I could put any sort of sounds together into halfway intelligent words, he had stepped away and mingled back into the crowd. I didn’t even really get what had just happened. I mean, did he really just invite me over? What could he possibly want with me, a Serving Spoon, when he was so far above me?
I’m still debating on whether or not I should go visit him. It’s so inappropriate; a Serving Spoon and a Dessert Fork don’t just visit each other. The only time we see each other is at special functions or by chance in the streets (and that’s a long shot, as I rarely see Dessert Forks out doing the shopping or anything). And if Mother or Dad were to find out…well, they’d surely turn me out to the Wareless for that…