Euotioa: Fallen Lands: Draft Chapter 2

Euotioa: Fallen Lands

Draft Chapter 2

         From the outside, the Lucid Fawn appeared to be the most elegant restaurant on The Cobbleblock. It stood out from the grey dirtied roads with its bright red bricks and stained glass windows. The lanterns were always lit and even the sign was embroidered with small wooden birds and a cursive text that even the most literate nobles would have trouble reading. Penelope and Ansel were common regulars to the restaurant, however. The illusion of grandeur they knew dissipated once the patrons stepped inside. "Hello Frank! Two of your best are hungry and happening!" Ansel bellowed inside. "What's on the menu?" The two strolled past the cracked wooden floors and dusty tables. There wasn't much chatter for the few customers inside. Frank's kettles and pots simmered and bubbled, adding the most conversation to the room.
         "Can you quiet your damn voice, Dwarf?" came Frank from the kitchen. "There's no need for battle cries inside a restaurant." A small, bug eyed man appeared from the back. He eyed his customers, making sure none were too offended by his outbursts. "Oh a restaurant? Sounds like a graveyard in here." Ansel said. He furthered his tease with a sly smile; he then wriggled mockingly upon the barstool, making it creak in agony. "Dwarf," Frank uttered, as insulting as possible. "And ah, Penelope. How was practice this morning? I hope you've saved strength for the party this evening." The girl buried her face in a nearby menu. "I doubt I'll be needing much strength to sit up straight in a dress." she said uninterested. "Oh nonsense, my dear!" Frank exclaimed. His already high pitched voice exceeded itself at the sentence's end. "Holding up a smile on a face that pretty would certainly wear me out at a party." Frank giggled while Ansel painfully groaned. "Don't flatter yourself, doughboy. She's in the higher classes now, so you won't be getting yourself into her party...or her pants." Frank's teeth bared as he growled; it sounded less fearsome than a kitten, shaking a little giggle from Penelope. "For your information, Dwarf I have other matters to attend to this evening. The Fortune Circle is coming early this year and I need to prepare myself for departure."
         Penelope dropped the menu, now fully invested in the conversation. "The Fortune Circle? This early in the year?" "Yes miss Penelope, shocking I know!" Frank placed a basket of sliced sandbread in front of them, their usual appetizer. "An unfortunate occurrence, actually. It seems they've hit a bout of bad weather in their cruise across the world. Not to mention those damned pirates harassing the Duck fighters." Ansel laughed, almost spilling the water placed beside him. "You mean 'Dock fighters', you fool!" he said. His words were jumbled amidst a bundle of sandbread in his mouth. "Their a group of sellsorts, a ragtag army for the Circle." he said, answering Penelope's curious gaze. " I'm surprised the pirates haven't sunk that floating pile of gold down." "They have come close, Penelope." Frank diverted his eyes and attention from Ansel's comments. "In fact, I hear the captain will be recruiting for this season's trip." "Frank, you aren't thinking of joining the Dock fighters?" Penelope said. "Oh no girl, heavens above no!" Frank's bushy eyebrows smushed into his eye's, almost as if he were beating the silly notion down with them. "I am entering the Lucid Fawn into the yearly cooking competition. The winners are welcome to serve their wares upon the Fortune Circle itself, right off the Westend lookout! Can you imagine me serving the higher classes around the world?" Ansel snorted, "Hardly! Those goons only pick chefs with golden knives to dice onions on. What have you got that they don't?" Frank snatched Ansel's menu from underneath his elbows, spreading it open to the back page. "Phoenix Fire soup," he said, pointing to the item with a cragged, fat finger. "Try it out yourself."
         Ansel and Penelope joked amongst themselves while Frank prepared their lunch. Ansel gave no attention to his rowdiness; for Frank's sake, Penelope acted well behaved. She interrupted his stories of a spitting contest with his mate to point out a window. "Do you see those blades at the blacksmith? The ones with the curved handles?" she asked. Ansel finished off his ale, then peered out the window across the street. "Those it, past the fatass gawking at the spears?" "No you oaf," Penelope said. She leaned over his shoulder, leading his gaze with her pointer finger. "On top the second shelf, sitting on the green holding case." "Ah, now I see it!" Ansel jumped off his stool, taking a step forward to get a better look. "Ugly little things. Looks like they cut in teeth along the sides. Fancy that, the damned things stab and bite!" He turned round to find Penelope staring at them. Her gaze conveyed the wanting of a child, as if nothing else would satisfy her in the world. "Maybe if you ask your uncle-" "You know damn well Uncle Dom won't get those for me. He throws fits when I scratch plates with a dinner knife." Absentmindedly, Penelope ran her fork through her hair, picking at the string holding up what little hair she possessed. "You know the man loves you, right girl?" said Ansel, returning to his seat. "Your Uncle Dom has seen what weapons like that can do to people. Specially little girls who can't parry." His finger jabbed forward to poke her belly, to which she instantly grasped his hand. "Ha! Fair enough. You do know what I mean, don't you?" Frank began walking over with their bowls of soup. Penelope stayed silent, hoping Frank's jovial attitude would serve as an ansewer.
         "Bon appetit!" he said placing the bowls in front of them. Ansel and Penelope's mouths twisted. "It means 'eat up' I think. One of the dead languages, I'm afraid." The situation grew laughably awkward; Ansel filled it with mocking giggles, his eyes wide in a goofy expression. While Penelope joined in his giggles, he took the first bite. "Gahh! Fucking- ah by all hells!" The rest of the customers turned around to ogle the silly dwarf slurring soup down his chin. Frank shrieked in horror as the soup dribbled on the countertop. "What is in this shit? My mouth feels like a fucking oven!" Frank frantically began wiping, not caring about the atmosphere of his restaurant. "It's simple spices you asinine fool! Jaspershade, a little cumin, pepper and salt...nothing out of the ordinary! Only drizzled with orange pepper flakes from the Hay Hills." "Well it's setting me on fire! Ale, get me another ale!" Frank frantically poured him another drink; Ansel drank greedily. "Gods damn, are you trying to poison me?!" Ansel said. Frank placed his hand across his face, finally done cleaning the mess. "Well I'm sorry the palate of a dwarf only consists of meat and cheese. Those of us with actual taste buds like to experiment a little!"
         Penelope wasn't exactly at peace as Ansel and Frank argued over the finer points of human dining. Still, it was something to keep her mind off of the party that evening. She tried the soup; it wasn't that spicy; actually, quite good in her mind.