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Date Posted: 00:53:31 11/01/01 Thu
Author: Tristan
Subject: Eat...eat the monkey...I need food....
In reply to: Corum & Yorik 's message, "Monkey see....monkey....." on 19:44:02 10/31/01 Wed

Tristan nodded when Marz informed him that he would be in the dining hall before he left. The thought made his stomach rumble, reminding him that he was on this body’s schedule now, and it was starting to demand more and more each day. He watched as his friend slipped out of the room, the other four intruders scarcely even noticing, and smiled slightly. Why, Marz hadn’t even made a comment about his having to get dressed in front of everybody! (Not that they appeared to notice, anyway. He wasn’t really sure whether he was relieved or insulted by them.)

It was a royal pain in the ass, too, trying to lace his pants up under the robe, but once that was actually done, the rest was easy. He discarded the clean, white garment aside and shrugged into a shirt, bending next to tug on his boots and strap on his swordbelt. He looked up briefly as the other people still milling about in his room began to sound a bit hostile to one another, but just as quickly, he turned away. He really wished they’d take their conversation elsewhere. Hell, his own peasly understanding of mortal decorum would probably fit in a fairy’s thimble, but even he knew what it meant to be rude. Or at least when an offense was being brought against himself. Vice versa was always a little bit harder to tell for him, but he usually didn’t care one way or another who he was ticking off, anyway.

On his way out, he stopped in front of the mirror and contemplated his drying hair, as usual. Sighing, he finger combed and patted it down so it was at least moderately behaved and then headed for the doorway. As he watched Laurel and Erlic leave the room just before him, he almost turned to Ravin and the new person and told them something snide, like to perhaps suggest they get their asses up and follow their friends. But the presence of his own friends, especially Marz, usually lent him more confidence than he realized, and since he was alone right now, his tongue stayed glued to the roof of his mouth. He gave them his usual lethal glare, of course. It was the least he could do about the situation.

When he got to the dining hall, he was most displeased---all right, so he was fairly pissed off---to find Jeremy sitting on Marz’s left, his best friend Corum on his right. Tristan entertained the happy thought of grabbing the otherworldly youth and slamming him against the wall, before calmly walking around the long table and taking a seat across from Marz, with Corum a little ways to his left and Jeremy, may he choke on his own spit, to his right. Eremis moved to sit next to him, but he didn’t even have the good will to give the healer a smile; instead, he propped his chin up on one hand, the other busy drumming his fingers absently on the table.

The others told him about the queen’s not being present for dinner, and he shrugged, not really caring. Where was the food? That was what he wanted to know.

“Look, Jeremy, Marz is drinking juice,” he commented after a while, his drumming fingers never letting up, “How come you’re drinking wine? If he’s so cool, you should be doing exactly what he does, right?”

The boy probably wasn’t even fazed by his continued antagonism, and to make matters worse, Tristan really hated to be made to feel jealous. Then again, this wasn’t even a case of jealousy, really, more like someone trying to play with something that belonged to you first. He began to entertain a new thought, one which involved his proving just how much they belonged together, right here, right now, but of course, it was a harmless thought, and nothing else. They usually were with him.

“Where’s the damned food?” he muttered, moving to pour himself a glass of wine. As if on cue, the zombie servants began pouring into the room, toting carts of a scrumptious smelling meal. They were a little early, but apparently, without the queen to guide them, they had trouble keeping track of something so hard to grasp as time.

“Stupid filthy walking piles of shit don’t know how to cook,” he growled, as he chewed and swallowed a somewhat bitter piece of steak. “This tastes absolutely awful!” But since he was hungry, he decided he could stomach a few more mouthfuls, and he did.

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