Chapter 28
April 12th - Grythen
Zaelem let his eyes roam the place and gave Kismette a dry look. “Are you sure you’re not regretting this now?” he whispered as they sat down at an empty table at the corner of the small café. He glanced out of the window and pointed to a cheery, green bistro across the street. “The famous Charles’ Chicken is just opposite the road.”
“No, I want beef. I love beef! I’ll show you how well I can cut it,” she smirked at him mischievously. Zaelem had brought her to an old street at the eastern side of the capital and allowed her choose which eating house to dine in. A few of the shop houses underwent renovations, looking starkly out of place while the rest of the buildings were still stuck in the previous century.
The warrior sighed and scratched his head. Apparently, an old, dingy grease joint suited her just fine. When was the last time he even ate here?
“I’ll show you how well I can make beef fly,” Zaelem mocked in falsetto and rolled his eyes.
Kismette stuck out her tongue at him and shot her hand up into the air. “Waiter!” she waved her whole arm straight like a rod.
“Man, didn’t Jeremy teach you anything at all?” Zaelem cringed, hoping not to gain other diners’ attention.
“Good afternoon. May I take your orders?” the waiter smiled pleasantly.
“Set Five, please,” Kismette said cheerfully.
“Same. Same for me, I mean,” Zaelem murmured, glancing up once just to check that the waiter heard him.
“Oh my, Mistress Larazest!” the waiter exclaimed in delight. “What an honour!”
“Wow! How did you know my name?” Kismette gasped with her eyes and mouth opened wide while Zaelem gestured for her to hush.
“Why, Mistress Larazest is just as inquisitive as they say, huh?” the waiter’s smile widened into a grin. “Anyone who watched the nine o’clock news would know who our national treasure is. We are extremely flattered by your visit, Mistress Larazest. In fact, both you and your friend’s meal will be on the house.”
Immediately, Zaelem’s face darkened. “You know what? I don’t think we should eat together,” he said quietly. “Why don’t you have your beef here, while I go somewhere else for lunch? I’ll meet you here and bring you back to the palace after half an hour-”
“You either eat here with me or eat somewhere else with me.” Kismette fixed him with the fiercest scowl she could muster.
“Are you threatening me?” Zaelem kept his voice low and glared back, forcing Kismette to look away.
The waiter looked from Kismette to Zaelem worriedly. “Uh, why don’t I get both of you some iced water first? Will that be good?” When the both of them ignored him, he shuffled away uncomfortably.
“What’s wrong with you? Or me?” Kismette whispered angrily. Her eyes still contained their intensity, but her face was crumpled and readied for crying any time soon. She couldn’t hold her guise as well as Zaelem could.
Zaelem gritted his teeth. He didn’t even know why he agreed to eat with her in the first place. Every other army personel came to this street for lunch. He was bound to meet someone who recognised him, whether he knew them or not, since he was a Wesarsh. “Fine, just this once,” he mumbled. “No more free lunches after this.”
Kismette chewed her lip. He didn’t say what he meant-well, he probably never did-but she got it anyway. He didn’t want to seem like he was relying on her for meals.
She sighed. He always cared too much about what others thought.
“Iced water,” the waiter sang awkwardly, announcing his presence as he placed two glasses of chilled water on the table. “One for the lady and one for you, sir,” he babbled as he pushed the glasses to each of them respectively. “So,” he gestured with both hands in an overly-animated manner, “your food will be served shortly. We do apologise for the wait.”
Zaelem snorted and rolled his eyes after the waiter sashayed back into the kitchen. Kismette pressed her lips together. She kicked Zaelem's shin forcefully, causing him to grip the air in pain, his mouth closing around a prolonged “ouch” as he endured the pain silently. Kismette broke into peals of laughter.
Zaelem leaned forward. “You are the most sadistic person I’ve ever had the misfortune of befriending,” he said grimly, shaking his head.
“Then stick your leg over so that my hands can reach it,” she relented, bending under the table touch his shin.
“No. Hey. Hey!” Zaelem gulped and squirmed away from her hold, practically jumping out of his chair. “That is so improper! Come back up, you!”
Kismette’s face reappeared at the table. “What’s so improper about healing?”
“It’s not that, it’s… it just looks wrong, okay? Argh, you are no lady at all,” he mumbled, exasperated. “I shall save my breath.”
“If I’m sadistic, you’re macho… masosis… machosis…”
“Masochistic. New word you learnt last week?”
“Yea!” Kismette lit up with a grin. “Ma-cho… Ma… Ma-so-chis-tic,” she rolled the word on her tongue a few times, tasting it thoroughly.
Zaelem smiled. He couldn’t help it. It was so easy to make her happy, and the way the world brightened up the moment she beamed again made him want to keep her happy all the time. It was gratifying to see her happy.
“Two Set Fives coming up!” the waiter with cheerful disease burst out of the kitchen again. “One for the lady and one for the gentleman,” he crooned and winked at Zaelem as he laid his plate on the table.
The warrior tried to contain his look of disgust. “Ju- Ju- Just put my plate down.”
“Alrighty! Enjoy your meal!” the waiter bowed informally and waltzed to another table.
And the arduous task of cutting steak began. Kismette pinned the steak down with her fork and tried to push a piece apart with her knife. Sure enough, she sent her steak flying into the air again.
This time, however, Zaelem grabbed her plate immediately and held it out for the steak to smack into it. He returned her plate to the table with the steak on her plate just slightly off-centred, the gravy still intact.
Kismette’s jaw dropped. Her eyes were ready to pop out of her head.
“Close your mouth. It’s unsightly,” Zaelem chided, pretending to be solemn like Jeremy during court sessions and went back to cutting his steak. Kismette nudged him with her toes urgently. He raised both his eyebrows with his eyes still glued to his steak, but the corners of his mouth turned up no matter how hard he tried to press them down.
“Tell me!” Kismette bobbed up and down in her chair excitedly.
“Oh, stop it! You’re acting like a kid,” he gave up and his face broadened into a grin. “It’s just my ability. I’m a blue star holder. I can move really fast,” he said, demonstrating it by piercing and placing into his mouth three chunks of beef in a split second. “Aw eht?” He chewed a little and swallowed before repeating himself. “Saw that?”
“I bet you can’t swallow as fast as you can put into your mouth,” Kismette countered.
“Oh, sure I could.” He tried again with even more of his beef.
Kismette could only stare. It was too fast to be sure that he even placed anything in his mouth at all. She started laughing hysterically when she realised that his mouth was so full that he could hardly even chew.
Then, the both of them looked from his empty plate to her uncut beef.
“Oh, don’t you think of going anywhere until I finish this, Mister,” Kismette reacted before he could regain speech and began cutting up her steak hastily.
“No, you don’t just press your knife down. This isn't a potato,” Zaelem finally got the lump in his throat down, “you saw. Push your knife back and forth. Oh man, have you ever used a knife before?”
“I need to-mmfm!-practice. It’s so hard to coordinate both hands,” she rejoined, struggling with her knife and fork. She popped a piece into her mouth. “Ha!” she crowed victoriously.
Zaelem propped his chin up by a palm, restless. “You eat really slowly, national treasure,” he said dryly.
“I’m enjoying-” she swallowed, “-it. Don’t pressurise me like that. Ugh!” she jabbed her fork at him. Zaelem played along, dodging her attacks easily. A low, hearty laughter rumbled from his chest.
The rest of the people in the café turned to look at them with eyebrows raised incredulously. Zaelem stopped abruptly, realising a little too late that they were people he knew. He gave a weak cough and fiddled with his hair, bending his head low to escape their line of sight. He probably laughed a little too loudly, but that wasn’t the problem-bitter Master Dragonoir simply never laughed.
Zaelem
The duo strolled down the streets, enjoying the sunlight in silence. They had arrived at the trading square where Kismette first saw Mejaine, but that memory was already buried under so many new ones. She satisfied herself with watching people on the streets bargaining for the meat on tonight’s dinner table, pushing the cart of eggs into the store, tending to their children, being busy with their chores. Zaelem took pleasure in walking, just walking, without the need to come up with anything intelligent to say just to entertain whoever it was beside him. It was redundant to make small talk with her. He felt at ease.
The experience earlier on was quite the opposite. Just a single unchecked moment of his and he became a criminal, imprisoned by the frigid standard he had caged himself in. The room first went hush, and then erupted into fervent murmurings and the occasional sniggering. Kismette glared at the people sitting across the room and put down her utensils with a loud tap on the table, displeased by their unforgiving behaviour.
“Let’s go, Zaelem. I’m already full.” She stood up and tilted her head towards the door.
Zaelem looked at her gratefully, extremely conscious of the fact that Mejaine would have made him sit through all the agony and embarrassment instead and still ask him, as though amused, “What’s wrong?”
A short picspam of their stupid faces. lol.
Also, have a merry, merry Christmas, everyone! ^^
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Next: Chapter 29