When the plates were laid down in front of the Skeelzanians, all talk by them ceased. Plying their utensils like they were in battle, the three diligently tore through their meals. If one cared to observe, it would be noted that even devouring a bowl of blueberries, the Skeelzanians never relinquished their grip of their knives.
It wasn’t until their plates were cleared and their glasses half empty (or more, in Temur’s case) that they saw fit to comment. “Remarkable,” Iskander said as he rubbed his beard down with a napkin. “A truly exquisite selection of dishes. This boar would be a credit to any in the Mahon Highlands. The cheese is an innovation I very much admire as well.”
“I fully agree with Herr Sebeksberg,” concurred Zemstaldt. “I typically do not care much for the mixing of meat and fruit, but I found the contrast delightfully striking.”
Temur’s compliments were cut short by the urgent stifling of a belch, but were of much the same sentiment.
Settling back in his seat, his hands clasped across his belly, Sebeksberg waited for the other’s to finish. ‘A vulgar habit, trying to carry on a conversation whilst consuming,’ he thought to himself. Once a definite lull in the meal arose, he did see fit to comment. “Again, most exquisite. I trust that this is all shipped in from off-world? Or are the wonders of this megalopolis even more extensive than we previously believed, if you are to raise such prime meats here.”