Shadowcast

Dinner: Part 1

Meanwhile, in the repurposed grand hall that now served as the school's cafeteria, two new students happened to sit next to each other at one of several long dining tables. Their conversation was framed between two massive stained glass windows that glittered and shifted hues in the waning sunlight. The highest peaks of the vaulted ceiling were shrouded in evening shadows. Slowly, more and more students filtered in, adding their voices to the low rumble of noise that permeated the entire hall.

"Good fight out there," said the cyan-skinned one in a fancy white coat. His murky blue hair blew in an invisible breeze. He had sharp, refined features, befitting his carefully cultivated appearance.

"Thank you, Alistair," replied the human next to him, crossing her dirty boots on the table, "You weren't too bad yourself!" Two revolvers hung at her sides on a utility belt that was heavy with tools and pouches.

"Cheers, Mako." Alistair gave the girl his most well-practiced smile. On the outside, he was as dashing and dapper as ever, but on the inside, he was operating purely on training. Alistair Kasirga was an interesting man. He had traveled to nearly every kingdom, dabbled in nearly every language, and knew more about manners and etiquette than anyone else in the room. He was a man of many strong suits. Talking to women, however, was not one of them.

"You're from the Mistral Coast," said Mako, a humble tinkerer from another far-off land. Her dark skin and curly black hair betrayed her Wykoran heritage. Grease and soot stained her skin and clothes from her plain gray shirt to the drab green coveralls tied off around her waist. Alistair noticed she had cut the sleeves off a perfectly good workman's shirt. How odd.

"Ah, yes. The Mistral Coast." Alistair leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers in front of him. "Lovely place. Lots of wind. Where are you from, again?"

"I'm just an outlander," Mako replied mysteriously, her drawl somewhat diminishing the mystique of her words, "I'm from Wykora. Y'know, the badlands part of Eastern Hamric. Just over yonder past the turnpike by the big mountain."

"I do know, actually." Alistair had visited Wykora on a few occasions to meet with the Duke of Gravendeep or the peacekeeping Kataran Defense Forces.

"I fought zombies, ghosts and my sister to get here," Mako said, dramatically waving her hands.

"Your sister?" asked Alistair.

"Genny. She's a sweetheart, but she's a little overprotective. I guess she has a right to be. She's been my sole provider for as long as I can remember. Which is..." Mako placed a finger to her temple, just under the strap of her goggles. "Since I was four or five."

"You are an orphan," Alistair said, "I am so sorry."

"By definition, yeah. But I don't feel like an orphan, if that makes any sense. I grew up with the Beynsons and Vozalts in Gravendeep, and they feel like family to me."

"You grew up with the Duke and Viscount?" Alistair's gaze lingered on Mako's dusty boots resting firmly on the table. "Surely you must know something of courtly culture."

"Oh yeah, I know all about being proper and fancy." Mako stood up from her seat. "If you come home clean, you clearly didn't do anything with your day." She wiped some grime off her face and proudly presented it to Alistair. "Eat proudly! The bigger the bite, the greater the honor. And most importantly: a proper lady always carries a secret dagger in case she has to give up her open-carry dagger." To demonstrate, she pulled up the leg of her coveralls and drew a surprisingly large knife from her boot. "Sometimes the Viscount even lets me come along on her wild boar hunts!"

Clearly the "courtly culture" of Gravendeep was quite different from what Alistair was used to.

"It sounds like you had a good life in Wykora," said Alistair, "Why come here?"