C.A.T. - Chp. 6
Cicero leads Cat through the entrance of the Bannered Mare. Saadia, a kitchen servant, approaches, asking the two if there's anything they would like to drink.
Cat nervously tugs on Cicero's sleeve and whispers, “Come on, man, I don't have any money. To be honest, I don't even know what kind of money you people
use.”
“Oh – oh – oh!” Cicero waggles his finger. “My naive little Wanderer. You aren't paying for our meal – Cicero is!”
Saadia's patience wears thin. “Are you ordering something or not?”
“Show us to a quiet table with candles and – and
flowers! Bring us the best wine in the house!” Cicero eagerly links his arm through Cat's arm, ready for Saadia to show them to their seats.
Saadia puts one hand on her hip and grunts with a laugh. “There's an open table right there across from the hearth. We don't have any flowers or candles. And it's not all that quiet once the bard starts singing and the Nords start drinking.” She pauses, raising her eyebrows with a nod. “But we do serve wine. I'll have it out in a moment.”
As Saadia disappears back into the kitchen, Cicero escorts Cat to the open table. They both sit down. The jester folds his hands across the table's surface, leaning toward Cat, speaking in a quiet, concerned voice. “Are you hungry?” Cicero asks. “You look very – VERY – hungry all of the time. You look as if you haven't eaten, well, ever!”
Crossing her arms, Cat smirks, nodding at his somewhat insensitive observation. With the lift of her chin, she says, “Good food is hard to come by where I live.”
Saadia brings out the wine. Setting down the bottle, accompanied by two empty tankards, she tells the two to holler if there's anything else they need, then she promptly hurries off.
Eyeballing the bottle, Cat adds, “Good drinks, too.”
“Why?” asks Cicero, opening the bottle, pouring its contents into each cup.
Cat shrugs. “Looking around, I don't see any signs of radioactive waste. Everyone has their skin and hair. I'm guessing your food, unlike the food where I live,
isn't contaminated.” She shifts in her seat, reaching for a cup of wine. With the cup in hand, she gestures toward the tavern's entrance. “I mean, what's with all the vegetation out there? I haven't seen so much green in all my life!”
“Radio... whative?” Cicero tilts his head, the tips of his hat shift sideways.
Cat dismissively waves her hand. “Nevermind.” She takes a sip of wine. “Hot damn,” she nods. “
Not bad.”
Hulda approaches the table. “Do either of you want food? We have seared mudcrab, grilled leaks, and roasted potatoes. For dessert, Saadia makes a delicious boiled crème tart.”
“Two – No! THREE!
Three sweet rolls! And some carrots!” Cicero smiles at Hulda. She glances back at him with irritation. And it's not just irritation with the obscure food request, but the fact that his voice escalates so many octaves higher than necessary.
“I'll try your crab,” replies Cat. “Wait,” she says, furrowing her brow. “It doesn't actually have mud on it does it?”
Hulda's face drops in confusion. “No,” she replies in a flat tone. At this point, Hulda thinks the two of them are a couple of crackpots.
Cat chugs the rest of her wine and quickly pours more. She takes a sip of the fresh stuff and says, “Awesome. Cool. Yeah, uh ok, well then give me the crab and all that other stuff you listed.”
Nodding, Hulda hurries off to deliver the order to Saadia.
Cat drinks more wine, finishing the cup. “So, what is this?”
Cicero grins and gestures to Cat's tankard. “That would be wine, Wanderer!” His voice drops, “Your
second serving.”
“No, man,” Cat cracks a half smile. “No, I mean what are you
doing? What's all
this?” She spreads her arms, gesturing to the tavern around them.
Cicero lifts his tankard to his lips, drinking some wine as well. “What ever do you mean?”
Cat pours another cup of wine and begins to quickly drink it. Cicero glances at the bottle, noticing it's getting pretty low, pretty fast. He lifts a quizzical eyebrow, glancing between the bottle and Cat. Then he looks down at his own tankard – his first serving – which has been tastefully nursed at a much slower pace.
Finishing her drink, Cat reaches for the bottle. Snatching it away, Cicero swiftly beats her to it.
Cat laughs awkwardly, then shrugs. “What? What's wrong?”
“You...” Cicero raises a fist to his mouth and coughs, readjusting his position in his chair, then crosses his leg in a relaxed sort of pose, “...you are drinking too much wine.”
“I'm good, man,” Cat assures him. Truthfully, she was feeling a bit
swimmy in the head.
Cicero narrows his eyes in a skeptical sort of way. With a nod, he yanks out the cork, pouring more wine into Cat's tankard.
Chugging most of her refill, Cat's lips and tongue feel tingly and numb. “Are you – are we... on a
date?” She hiccups, nearly upchucking her drink.
“I knew it!” Cicero laughs, pointing at Cat. “You're already drunk! Oh Wanderer!
Really!”
Cat leans an elbow on the table. “I'm fine! I
feel good.” Chugging the rest of her wine, she continues, pointing her finger in tempo with each syllable as she says, “You haven't answered my question.”
“Cicero likes you.” He smiles and shrugs, glancing down at his lap. “I wanted to show you a nice meal.”
“Do you mean you
like me, like me? Do you – want me to... well – what do you want from me?” Before Cicero can answer, Cat stretches her arms, looking back over her shoulder. She notices a tomato that happens to be sitting on a nearby table. Reaching back, she swipes it.
“Wanderer?” Cicero's face is wrought with confusion.
Sighing, Cat inspects the tomato. “Do you think tomatoes
know they have seeds?”
“You are done with the wine!” announces Cicero. He's amused by his ridiculous, drunken Wanderer, but regardless he sends away the booze as Saadia strolls by.
Dropping the tomato to the floor, Cat starts to giggle. She attempts to stifle it with tight-lipped sputtering, coupled with raising her knuckle to her mouth.
Cicero begins to laugh. “You are an absolute mess!”
“Aw dude...” says Cat, sadly pointing to the floor. “I dropped my tomato.” She laughs, standing up to find it. Her chair loudly squeaks against the wood flooring.
“No, Wanderer it's ok–” Cicero lifts and lowers his hands, gesturing that she sits back down.
“Whoooo!” yells Cat. Patrons are irritably glancing over their shoulders. “The floor is spinning!”
Standing, Cicero says, “Hm, yes Wanderer.” He reaches out to her. “Let's get you back in your seat.”
Ignoring him, Cat bends down, reaching out her hands. “I'm gonna try n' stop it!”
Cicero grips Cat by her armpits and firmly plants her back in her chair.
Hulda delivers the food, along with the price of the meal, scribbled on a slip of parchment. Cicero reaches for it, but Cat playfully snatches it from him, inspecting the numbers.
She cries with laughter. “I don't even know what this plops means! –Is this a lot? Are you buying me the steak n' lobster?” She laughs again. “C'mon Cicero, spit it out. You some kinda rich boy?” Cat shoots him a covert wink.
Cicero plucks the slip from her fingers and leans back in his seat, crossing his legs. “Do you realize how much coin bandits carry in their filthy pockets?” He grins. “A dead bandit isn't going to need it.”
“Wait, you guys use
coins? Like...
real coins? Real money?”
Cicero nods. “Gold.” His grin widens. “Shiny,
clinky gold,” he whispers as he inspects the bill scribbled on the parchment.
“Wow. We used to do that, but nah... we don't anymore. Not in my lifetime. It's all bottlecaps and bullets now.”
Frowning, Cicero replies, “Cicero has no idea what you've just said to him. Perhaps the Wanderer is still talking like a drunk?”
Cat sighs. “Alright, alright. I'll finish my food and that'll sober me up.”
“Splendid!” says Cicero with the clap of his hands. “Allow me to excuse myself. Cicero will pay our charge!” With the slip in hand, he heads over to Hulda's counter. She isn't there. Waiting, he leans against its wooden base, humming a tune that he has recently concocted in his head.
After some moments pass, Cicero's ears detect the sound of another man humming. His tune matches Cicero's in pitch, melody, and rhythm. The jester cocks his head to his right, spying a radiantly dressed gentleman with a short white beard. The gentleman appears to carry an ornate walking stick, upon which he bears only the slightest bit of weight. He notices Cicero peering at him and flashes a personable grin.
“I trust you're having a fine day my good clown,” says the gentleman in a honeyed voice.
Cicero's eyes narrow. “Cicero is not a clown.”
“But you
are a fool!” The gentleman's smile broadens, revealing his perfectly white teeth. They almost look sharp, like the teeth of a slaughterfish. “And I have nothing but respect for fools,” he adds. Then the man mutters, almost to himself, “Or was it revulsion?”
“Who are you?” asks Cicero, his usually strident voice adopting a calmer, deeper tone.
The gentleman extends an exquisitely gloved hand. A white glove with red and lavender stitching to be precise. “You may call me Mr. Theo.” He reaches for the slip of parchment, gently tugging it from Cicero's fingers. “Allow me,” says Mr. Theo.
“That's really not necessary!” replies Cicero, his falsetto voice returning – and littered with indignation!
“Cicero, dear Cicero,” chuckles Mr. Theo, shaking his head. “You keep your coin.” Shooing Cicero away with the wave of his gloved hand, Mr. Theo adds, “Go on. Go back to that
lovely thing at your table.”
“How can you know my name–”
“Ready to pay?” Hulda interrupts as she hastily returns to her counter.
Mr. Theo hands her a handful of septims, along with the parchment. She thanks him, pocketing the money and dropping the slip below the counter to be tossed away with the rubbish.
Cicero stares at Mr. Theo in shock and bewilderment, clasping his hands atop his jester cap, which nearly falls from his crimson-haired head. The gentleman bids Cicero farewell, calling him a
beautiful fool just before he promptly exits the Bannered Mare.