affame_le_geant_more_hungry_than_anything fyn gula the waitress worked quickly to clean up her accident, using precise sweeping movements of her absorbent rag to sop up the wasted liquid. a teenage-rabbitboy slipped in quietly beside her without being called for adding increased evidence to cayris's suspicion of an intentional plot. bearing a whisk broom and bucket to sweep up the shattered fragments of glass and ceramic shards, he worked resolutely as if his palm would later be greased and indeed it was. his long lopped ears were pierced at the ends with silver rings and when the white sleeves of his oxford uniform shirt slid up his wrist as he worked, his tattoo was exposed on his human arm. it was an intricate drawing of baeroun with one word underneath: "give." cayris missed nothing, for his eyes were ever roaming the earth for 'picobello', the little pieces of beauty that shine out of the darkness. those surprises that crows look for glistening beneath the verdant grass, swooping down and treasuring them in their determined beaks. and it was this act of contrition that was one of many things that made his soul struggle to hold a position of such confliction and why there were so many questions tugging at his strangled heart. the moments the waitress spent bending down in front of keggi, her cleavage providing voyeuristic thrill to one such as he, denied the attention of a woman ever since they left montlupus on their revolutionary trek, filled her cheeks with the burn of embarrassment and forced her to work faster. "again i am so sorry for my blunder," she said, finished. "i will return with your beverages and will not drop them this time." she giggled, caught keggi's penetrating stare, looked down feverish, and then turned to go. "wait," cayris said. he grabbed her by the arm. he watched the busboy exit. "don't worry about the drinks. i think we're more hungry than anything." he looked over at his comrades who still had the menus open on the table in front of them. "ready to order, poj?" "sure," poj answered. "i'll have the potato galettes." he gave the waitress his menu and folded his arms, sighing. "i'll have the fritto misto bruschetta," keggi said. the waitress took the menu form him, avoiding his penetrating gaze. "fuck!" he exclaimed to himself. "and i'll have the lamb stuffed with tapenade," cayris offered. when he handed his menu to her he also requested the ratatouille nicoise as an appetizer. "very good, sir," the waitress said, and she left the room. however, cayris noticed her throw a quick glance at frafkuel dispiacere and it wasn't to see what he was ordering, for everyone knew he would not be eating, nor did he require food for his existence. the brief look she threw him was what cayris figured was another plot and to what end he could only guess at. with the waitress now gone, frafkuel dispiacere apologized for the disturbance, dismissing it, saying, "shit happens, you know what i mean? sometimes we don't get what we want and we learn to accept it." the three wolf-men exchanged lifted eyebrows in reflection and then watched as dispiacere bent down and removed something from a salvatore ferragamo messenger bag at his feet. it was a contraption much the size of a remote, however the button configuration was less complicated and hackneyed, as if it had endured overuse. "i want to show you something," frafkuel dispiacere said, pressing a button. the three followed his gaze to wall off to the left where a burgundy velvet curtain began to slowly open, revealing a 6' x 1o' high definition lcd screen. he pressed another button and the lights dimmed, and then another and the flickering images of what appeared to be a film began. music also swelled, and it was the undeniable strains of sigur ros. "sit back, gentleman," dispiacere said, the light from the screen illuminating his face like an impersonation of himself. "and behold why i have brought you here." 030328 ... phil Lights flicker up and down. An image of a sporty silver and red rocket flashes on and off; glue holding up the edge of the curtain slips undone. The burgundy velvet curtains slide down the screen. Each glob of glue giving way to cover more of the hidden images behind it. Frafkuel searches the back of the remote and launches it across the room with rage into the TV. The curtains tug together by near invisible strings... The table waits disturbed for the galettes, fritto misto bruschetta, and stuffed lamb. The waitress returning slowly, sensing need, weaves her way across the unfilled diner supporting several large platters. Their food is served, senses peaked with desirable smells, into salvation and frenzied stares. Lastly, looking up, she notices everyone again, and turns around. "Geez." slips out of Keggi; slapping himself on the forhead. The waitress runs, hips twisting in uncoordinated delight, into the kitchen. Turning past the server window a ruckus of sliding cardboard and shambled tv bits shimmied out of place and smashed on the floor come from the florescent room, a staunch grease-filler behind the curtain looks up from a package; focuses on the staring faces and quickly pulls closed the hanging misalignments. A fascinating conversation about beetles begins to emerge between the hurriedly paced dining. "Scarabs eh?" "Oh yes, they like worship d'em" Frafkuel rolls his head softly in his hands. The curtains open without any command and the TV plops on. 030328 what's it to you? who go blather from