Chapter 23. Pranking the Jester
After all the noisy chitter-chatter and chaotic reunions, we finally settled down to eat. The long dining table stretched out before us—an extravagant thing clearly meant to seat far more than just a handful.
Twelve seats in total, but only seven of us. The rest sat empty, abandoned to the quiet corners of the room.
Despite all the space, we chose to sit close together, shoulder to shoulder. There was something comforting about that—being near, like we were still clinging to that old, invisible thread that had once bound us.
Art, never one to sit quietly for more than a minute, clapped his hands with dramatic flair. Right on cue, a group of butlers and maids flowed into the room like a well-rehearsed performance troupe, each carrying covered silver platters that shimmered under the soft chandelier light.
The clinking of cutlery and trays echoed softly as the servers set down the dishes before us. The aroma hit immediately—sweet, spicy, smoky, rich.
It was the kind of smell that wrapped around your senses, coaxed out your hunger, and promised bliss with every bite.
A maid standing next to Art lifted the silver dome from his plate, unveiling a vibrant dish that looked like chaos on a plate—a swirl of colors and textures, from crisp greens to glossy amber-hued meat.
Art puffed his chest out and spoke in an exaggerated, deep baritone. "This, my esteemed companions, is none other than the legendary Rainbow Fiery Chicken's meat, served with Juggling Leaves salad. A delicacy among delicacies!"
He twirled his imaginary moustache and even lifted a spoon with a theatrical flourish, like some snobby noble from a bad play. The tone, the fake accent—it was all so off-key it was borderline unbearable.
Evelyn, seated gracefully beside me, leaned in and whispered with a half-smile, "Has he... gotten worse over the years? Or is it just me?"
I suppressed a sigh, keeping my voice low so only she could hear. "Honestly, I think he was always this much of an asshole. You just forgot."