Ficlets

The assembled throng swayed and swished into place, fancy pieces to set in their fancy places. Lords and ladies, and those supposing themselves as such, smiled smiles of contentment at the prospect of another sumptuous feast. Servants, the shadowy forms on the periphery of observation, flitted this way and that.

The candles were lit with asciduous care, nary an errant wax speck to be seen. The food was presented in immaculate flourish, as much a feast for the eyes as the palate. The wine began to flow in earnest, a lubricant for the gorging, an excuse for all social excesses.

The host raised a drink and offered this toast, “Friends, and may I ever call you thus, I welcome you and bid you be at ease and of good cheer. Now is not the time for fretting and misgiving. Now is the time for easy conversation and best assumptions. My friends, eat well, socialize convivially, and by all means eat, eat, eat!”

He lifted his goblet aloft and offered a grin. The meal had begun. The game was afoot.