(I have no good idea what to do about the wickedness of the Eigrachters, and even less about what to about my own wickedness with Thenel to Rehit. My close friends have a variety of opinions of what I should do, most of them wrong. I cannot blame them; I, too, have a variety of opinions of what I should do, most of them wrong. So I am doing what Zi Ri do best: waiting. Waiting, to be specific, for (a) the situation to somehow clarify itself, or (b) everyone else to die of old age. I am not hopeful about (a).)
So, this morning, I crawled out of the fireplace and brushed ashes off my feathers, and found my way somehow to the shallow pond that we keep in one of the spare rooms, and splashed around for a bit. It was an hour after dawn for everyone else, or many hours of hard labor and hard sleeping for me, and so I slithered off to the Grand Dining Hall for breakfast. And kathia. Well, mostly kathia.
The stowaways were sitting at a table with Windigar and Inconnu, eating fried fish with remoulade sauce on toast. My fried fish with remoulade sauce on toast, to be specific, at least in the sense I’m paying for Strayway’s supplies. This is not unusual — most of the crew was eating that for breakfast; Arfaen’s remoulade is excellent.
Inconnu:“Well, zie’s here now. You can ask zir yourself.”
Windigar:“Wait a moment. Sythyry, what time of day is it for you?”
Me:“I haven’t the slightest idea. Why?”
Windigar:“Your mood isn’t always the best before breakfast.”
Me:“And specially after a sleepless night or two over some troublesome personal matters.”
Treacle-Eyes:“It’s not an urgent question.”
Me:“I should be glad to hear it anyhow! I would welcome a distraction!”
Windigar:“Well, start off by distracting yourself with some monumentally excellent fried fish with some monumentally excellent remoulade, and some excellent kathia with a drop of excellent brandy.”
Inconnu:“Arfaen made the fish. Tingula made the kathia.”
Me:“Is this the sort of distraction I should be tipsy to properly appreciate?”
Inconnu:“Not … exactly.”
Which of course made me so curious my feathers were all itchy. I practiced the secret Zi Ri arts of feigning patience, and conversing lightly of other matters. The conversation went approximately like this:
Me:“Ah, this remoulade is excellent, is it not?”
Treacle-Eyes:“It is … there’s something spicy in it, isn’t there?”
Inconnu:“Pureed arhoolie leaves! I helped grind ‘em.”
Me:“Oh, that makes sense … Ah, this remoulade is excellent, is it not?”
Treacle-Eyes:“It is … there’s something spicy in it, isn’t there?”
Windigar:“Inconnu ground up some arhoolie leaves for it.”
Me:“That would do it, wouldn’t it? … Ah, this remoulade is excellent, is it not?”
Treacle-Eyes:“It is … there’s something spicy in it, isn’t there?”
Inconnu:“I added seven gallons of pureed purple pomegranite peppers when Arfaen wasn’t looking.”
Me:“That would do it, wouldn’t it? … Ah, this remoulade is excellent, is it not?”
Treacle-Eyes:“It is … there’s something spicy in it, isn’t there?”
Inconnu:“Oh, that’s just some spice we put in to cover up the deadly slunder venom we put in.”
Me:“That would do it, wouldn’t it? … Ah, this remoulade is excellent, is it not?”
Treacle-Eyes:“It is … there’s something spicy in it, isn’t there?”
Windigar:“You two aren’t paying any attention at all, are you?”
Me:“That would do it, wouldn’t it? … Ah, this remoulade is excellent, is it not?”
Inconnu waited until I had finished my last bite, and then picked me up and tucked me under his arm.
Me:“Ack! I vengefully smear you with remoulade!”
Inconnu:“You and Treacle-Eyes need to go to a parlor and have a little conversation.”
Me:“I hate going to parlors and having little conversations!”
Windigar:“This one will be a good little conversation, I promise.”
He was wrong.
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You know, with all your practice at having ‘the conversation’, I would have thought that you would be the most deadly? no… Lethal? No… Spontaneous? word duelist in all of the Tree by now…
Well, The Conversation is the one that you keep having and having with whoever-it-is. I’m plenty used to the one with Vae. I haven’t got a The Conversation with Treacle-Eyes … not yet.
Ooooh, that subject line is tantalizing! And you didn’t even get to the it yet! I’m afraid I can predict why it’s not as promising a little conversation as it might seem. D:
Also, I can’t remember the last time you objected to a cute Orren picking you up (whatshisname doesn’t count, he’s not cute). This must be a dire omen indeed!
Just one last thing… Was the fish really that bad?
The fish was good! The remoulade was better though.
The problem is that Sythyry’s Conversation with Vae is always the same Conversation. To the point that even within their first year of acquaintance, Vae could say both their lines. That doesn’t lead to much spontaneity of wordplay.
One’s doom sense does not need to be very finely tuned to see it here. Oh dear.
Itching to death is the worst way to go!
Or, well, I’d assume it is. I guess you guys compared them all at the mushroom house of death a while back.
If I were a less polite monster, I might be smug on the mistaken notion that my advice was, or should have been, taken. As I am a not-quite-so-mannerless monster, I will instead point out how cute an Orren picking up a Zi Ri can be, or at least reinforce the notion.
Now, I believe a wager is in order; I am willing to put amber on the notion that the coming stowaway doom can’t dwarf the other dooms on the table. Though, I suppose perhaps if Treacle-eyes were found to be having an affair with one of your crew, or worse yet, employees, that just might do it.