Lunch time.

As the ball continues, you awkwardly weave in and out of idle conversation with stuck-up nobles and arrogant adventurers. It's mostly forgettable. You check up with Amara as well, both to keep her company, but also to keep her out of trouble. This goes on until you see a small army of servants stream through the back door with platters in their hands. One by one, they place their meals down upon the many banquet tables orderly set along the other half of the hall. The scent is mouth-watering.

Amara extends her hand to you and smiles expectantly. After your look of confusion becomes apparent, she says, "Is it not tradition to escort one's lady when luncheon is prepared? Perhaps that is only elven."

One's lady? "Apologies," you reply as you take hold of her gentle, warm hand. You walk with her over to the nearby tables with the lovely Amara at your side. When you arrive, you pull a chair out for her to sit, to which she curtsies and lowers herself down.

You take a seat beside her, and it isn't long before nearly every chair is filled. A dwarf sits at your left, garbed in a red suit that appears foreign to you. It's likely a tradition make of his people. Though, it's contrasted by the gigantic maul hanging over his shoulders. You wonder how he can even carry thing thing around without his back snapping.

There are way too many forks here.

"What are you lookin' at?" the dwarf suddenly barks.

"Sorry. Uhm. Nice maul, by the way."

The stout man with a braided brown beard and long hair, also braided back, raises his brow. "Didn't expect that answer. Nobody around here gives a shit about weapons other than fancy smancy rapiers and all that."

"What can I say? Big weapons are cool."

He grins. "I like you. If we're going to be honest, I'd rather this whole party go to shit. It'd be a lot more fun. If I could, I'd do it myself."

The servants walk by and each lift the lid from everyone's platter. Steam wafts up from a roasted boar flank, beautifully garnished with steamed vegetables, and beside that is a salad on the side with various fruits. Several bottles of wine trail down the tabletop. You don't even know what to pick. It seems Amara has little issue. She tells a waiter she'd like a specific red wine nearby, and he politely fills her glass.

A lovely catfolk waitress leans over beside you. It's a surprise at first, turning to see straight down the girl's shirt to a few of some illustrious cleavage, but you **** yourself to immediately look up to her face.

"Would you like anything, sir?" she asks.

You clear your throat--clearly a little flustered by her proximity. Your eyes dart down and then back up. "Well, I..."

"M-Me?" she says, and turns pink. "Sir... I am not on the menu."

"I didn't say anything remotely close to that!"

Amara turns. She gives you a look, and you glare back.

"Don't even say anything," you mutter, and then turn back to the waitress. "I'll just have what she's having."

"Of course," she replies and pours your glass before moving on.

You lift the glass to your nose for a sniff, and then have a sip. It's a bizarre flavour--not the best, but it isn't disgusting. You look to Amara who seems to be making a displeased expression as she swallows it down.

"Do you not like it?" you ask. "You pick it like right away. I thought you knew what it was."

She giggles nervously. "I just wanted to look fancy, Mr. Warren," she admits.

"Mmm." You begin munching on the meal. "This is tasty. Hey, Amara. Why is it you always call me Mr. Warren? Lady Tesgella did it too. Is that an elven thing or something?"

She nods and swallows her food. "Yes. It is a translation of the honorific we use in our tongue, and it is most common to refer to others by their surname instead of their first. It took a lot of getting used to, having so many humans and the like refer to me as Amara." She looks towards her plate bashfully.

"Yeah. I guess it'd be like having a different name, right?"

"It is not that... You see, elves only use first names with those they are the most intimate with," she speaks quietly.

You nearly **** on your mouth-full of meat. "I didn't know that!"

"It is quite fine. I am mostly used to it." She smiles.

Wait a minute. You may call me Nyllia while you are here, if you would like... That's what she said back then. You swallow hard as colour comes to your face, and you return to munching away at your luncheon.

Eventually, everybody starts to finish. You wipe clean the sides of your mouth with a napkin and lean back in your seat, patting your stomach. You let out a long exhale and feel quite satisfied. Amara appears the same, though does look more elegant about it. Now people seem to be drinking and chatting. So, basically what was happening before, but while sitting down. At least that's easier on my legs.

"Have you ever done something like this before?" Amara asks.

You shake your head. "This place is pretty damn different than what I'm used to. You?"

"No, but it is fascinating. Thank you again for bringing me..." She hesitates for a moment before continuing. "Mr. Warren."

Did she almost call me Kyle?