Orphans and Trinkets

Chapter II

A morning arrived as briskly as it hath left the day prior, and the wave of yawns across the many windows of the large complex washed over the glamour of the morning sun. Taking much note and much discipline, the three awoke in unison rounded by the minute, and procedurally made their ways downstairs chattering nonsense, all-knowingly attempting to forget the events of the night ago. They had begun walking down the creaky steps towards the breakfast, where the attendant was most certainly drunken in his sorrows and, most entertainingly, chanting chantys in the centre of the hall.

"Hath ye fell ears upon the abolishment of apprenticeship? It's quite b'wildering, to be quite frank." Otto spoke to the group.

Pierre shot back, "You believe so? Why- I myself am inclined to call it none other than abolishment of slavery! You know- many things come to pass not within our cells seldom that of the press, and it may perhaps be a platitude to suggest my misinformation, would it not?" He glanced over at Wilbur before interrupting his non-verbal inquiry with the turn of a corner into a hallway, to which the two others followed before he returned the curious gaze.

"Ehm- yes, I do reckon it as historic, perhaps. However, I don't expect any less than years of animalistic riots in the streets, y'know. I just wonder how they'll pay back the owners and whatnot."

They all nodded and ​tss-e​ d before arriving in the presence of a large archway leading into an even larger banquet-hall. Iconically enough, they heard the jocular voice of the foods-man, a "Mis-tr Aye" as he himself proclaimed.

That unimpeachable picking up the fragrance of the fagend of the chantys or words growled in would-be music but with great effervescence some kind of chanty or other in seconds or thirds. Wilbur's perceptive ears heard him then expectorate the plug probably (which it may have been), so that he must've wedged it for the time-being in his tight grasp while he did the drinking and making scintillating water-jobs and found it a bit sour after the socially acceptable poison in question. Anywho, in he rolled after his successful intake of libation- ​nay -​ potation, harbingering an atmosphere of drink and festivity into the gray banquet-hall, boisterously trolling, like a veritable navy-man he had been in the years beforehand:

"​My father taught me well, To shun the gates of hell, But ag'inst him I rebelled as I sailed! (He drew this lyric out) He shoved a bible in my hand, But I left it in the sand, And I p'lled away from land, As I sailed!​ ​O, Fletcher; fool! Fletcher ye fool, O!​" ​(His first name was Fletcher).

It had been made clear to the group, and any other clique in the vicinity, that the man had been intoxicated through his wildest dreams, back around the backend and into their sight. They all chuckled at the taboo nature of it all, and approached him.

"Yessir, one helpin' of ye finest, if you please; indeed conv'rt it to three's for the lads." Wilbur asked and acted as lead towards the thick armed, hairy chested, bulky, tall, scar-faced, sailer-capped hero who had defeated only the beast of a sober state. He had requested the finest in form of satirical and sarcastic comedy, to which he was the sole wolf to snicker.

"Comin' reit up, my friend." He responded in his heavy Cockney tongue, not looking at the much shorter being beneath him, and doing so more out of habit rather than service. He scooped gray, unappetizing feed a plenty onto three wooden bowls, and slammed them on the counter as one would've done with a jug of beer. The three grabbed their portions and headed down the massive hall, the roof stretching upwards for what seemed like hundreds of metres, concurrently, the noisiness of dozens of long tables situated in a gridlike pattern throughout the space, populated accordingly with the equivalent quantity of orphans, buzzed and heightened the atmosphere.