Fine Dining and a Monkey

A soft melodiously hum of finely played string instruments over the soft clinks of high class dining and polite conversations mingled with the heavenly scents of the finest dishes in the entire city.

And then there was Richard standing at the entrance staring out with wide wondrous eyes. His mouth opened and closed repeatedly as his eyes fluttered around the dimly lit space taking in all the new sights to him. Morrigan couldn’t help but mused that he resembled a fish freshly pulled from the ocean, struggling to survive.

“Having troubles, are we?” her voice caused his whole body, pompadour included, to stiffen upright.

“Not one bit!” he answered through gritted teeth, “I am the master of courtin’ after all.” With one long inhale through his nose, he pushed forward into the dining hall.

Or rather right into an extended hand. The fingers of the hand gripped the sides of his head, contorted its shape and pulled him right in front of a wooden podium right before the entrance. Feeling his smushed face returning to its original shape, he glared daggers at the one who released his grip.

Standing tall and thin as a rail was a well-dressed man with a snide glare returned to Richard. Huffing silently, he turned and politely bowed to Morrigan. “Good evening, madame. And welcome to L’Fancé Pantz. We currently have an open table for one.” Cutting his eyes back at the former adventurer with a crinkled nose, “Or would you need a spare seat for your… pet monkey?”

“Pet monkey!?” Richard pushed his lips out in utter disbelief and ook-ed. “Richard not monkey!”

“Yes, a table for two, please.” Morrigan answered the maître d', giving a polite bow in return.

A triumphant grin spread over the tall man’s lips as he mocked the demon’s date successfully. “Certainly, madame. Right this…” He straightened up and waved his hand into the hall beside him to guide her to her table. But once he opened his eyes, he froze, “…way?”

His vision was locked on Morrigan, more specifically on the horns on the sides of her head and the spaded tail that whipped behind her. “Is there an issue, sir?”

Only a fool wouldn’t recognize the Demon Lord when laying eyes on her for the first time. A fool and Richard, but that would be repetitive. The host gulped hard as he fixed the comb-over that had fallen out of place, “None. None at all. This way, madame.” Hesitantly, he kept his head low and led her to her seat.

Snorting, still upset at the insult hurled his way, Richard adjusted his belt under his round belly and began to march to his seat with Morrigan. Or rather, once again into the server’s open hand, which pulled him to the side once again.

“Monkey–I mean, monsieur,” he sighed and wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, “This establishment is black tie only. Your attire, if you can even call it that, is inappropriate here.”

“Inappropriate?” the pudgy man protested back, “These are my finest clothes I own.” With a wave of his hand he gestured to his ‘finest clothes’: a mustard stained wife beater barely containing his beer belly, a large leather belt propping that up with a few extra notches cut in hastily, and worn pants that had been patched repeatedly by someone who had never patched before. “Plus, I have black ties.” He lifted his mud caked boots, pointing to the black laces cinching them up.

The maître d's brow twitched as he stared at the boots. “We can rent you a coat and tie if you insist on joining the madame.”

“I don’t understand any of this.”

Richard grunted and tugged on the collar of his rented pressed shirt, pulling the knot of the tie a little looser. “Do people really wear these monkey suits?”

“If the shoe fits,” the tall host rolled his eyes as he poured a glass of their finest wine for Morrigan, on the house, of course.

“I think it suits you very well, dear,” the Demon Lord mused playfully, swirling the red wine in her glass with a smirk pulling on her lips.

“OK, since you are so knowledgeable,” the former adventurer chittered under his breath, leaning in closer, “Why do I have five forks?”

Morrigan’s smirk remained as she finished a sip, “Each one has a different purpose. Salad appetizer, main course, fish, and dessert.”

Richard only studies them incredulously in reply.

The meal progressed not much better from that point.

“I’ll have the…” leans in closer to read the cursive script better, “phooey-grass?”

“That’s foie gras, dear.”

“Then why’s it spelled wrong?”

“Wait, what’s with these portion sizes? Where’s the rest of it at?”

“This is it, just enjoy it. It’s quite good after all.”

“I’ve seen better at the tavern.”

Takes a long swig of the wine provided to them.

“And what’s with this mead? It just tastes like sour grapes!”

“It’s wine, not mead.”

“Man, fancy people have it rough if they think this tastes good.”

Despite his struggles, the dark demon does her best to hide the lingering smirk behind her glass.

“Tch.” Richard clicks his tongue in frustration, “I am tired of all of this. I’ll show you something.”

“Oh do go on, I am sure this will be great.”

“Ayo! Waiter!” he snapped his fingers, fetching the maître d' over, “bring me your hottest dish, and make it extra spicy.”

A vein bulged in his brow, but the host was far too eager to oblige.

“I was right, this shall be good.” Morrigan rested her chin on her folded hands. Her violet eyes sparkling with enthusiastic mischief.

The dish arrived promptly. A steaming bowl of the brightest red bisque to have ever been concocted was placed before the dim witted man. Without hesitation, he reaches for his spoon taking a scoop of sparking liquid towards his lips.

“You sure you can handle this challenge?”

“Listen, Toots,” Richard cocked a confident brow up defiantly, “I have tried all the hottest foods from around here. There’s nothing I can’t handle.”

And with that he wrapped his lips around the spoon with a wide grin as he enjoyed his treat. He paused to savor the taste.

Continued pausing as his face began to boil red.

Further paused as sweat drained down his face and pulled around him.

“AAAAAAHHH!!!” He wailed out in immense pain as fire erupted from his burnt lips. He desperately searched for relief in a liquid form, settling on the entire bottle of wine. Turning the bottom to the ceiling he chugged with reckless abandon. But that only brought tears to his eyes as the burning sensation coated the lining from one end of his body to the exit on the other side.

All the while, Morrigan watched, thoroughly enraptured by the spectacle unfolding before her. “You look like you are dying.”

Gripping the table and wheezing, he looked up and gave a weak and shaky thumbs up, “It’s… all part of the experience…”

Eventually, the demon was able to convince the suffering adventurer to use a small ice spell to alleviate his ailment. “Honestly, I am somehow both impressed by you and pitying you. Quite the feat.”

Leaning back into his seat, Richard wanted to interject on that but was cut off by a paper being placed next to him, “your bill, monk–I mean monsieur.”

“I think that word you're using is still an insult,” he grunted with a chimp’s warble and grabbed the paper with his gnarled paws. His eyes flew open in a second upon reaching the bottom. “That’s a lot of zeros!”

Another paper was waved in front of him. “And this one is for the suit rental.”

He gulped hard, as he shakily reached for his coin purse. A moth fluttered out as he opened the empty satchel.

Mumbling and sweating hard, Richard found himself elbow deep in a tub of hot, bubbly water with mountains of stained porcelain plates waiting for him to clean. “Stupid restaurant. Stupid made up words. And stupid overpriced food!” His voice rumbled so loud, the plates rattled and shook, threatening to topple over on him.

“It’s all part of the experience, yes?” Morrigan mused from the window outside looking tauntingly at the impromptu dishwasher.

“Hey, Toots,” Richard scrambled to the window and begged, “spare me some money. Come on, you ate too after all.”

Smirking again, she wagged her finger at him, “That’s not how dates work, Mr. Master of Courting. I may have had a good time, but the man should always pay on a date. And you shouldn’t call your girlfriend ‘Toots’. Not the best look. You will have to come up with a better pet name for me.”

“Wait…” the gears in his head were working overtime as he quickly understood what she was saying, “so you mean that you and me–”

She cut him off by turning on her heel and heading down the back alleyway, into the night air her voice rose up sickly sweet. “I am expecting a second date soon.”

The former adventurer’s eyes sparkled upon this revelation. “Sweet, one step closer to getting laid!”

But unfortunately for him, his still functioning brain came to another realization.

“I am going to have to keep paying for them!? I am going to have to start dungeon crawling again…”