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The flickering light
refracted through the fine red wine, glinting off the knife that was next to
the plate. He straightened the scarlet cloth napkin and his shaking hands
adjusted the positioning of the plate on the tablecloth.
The place setting was pristine and any aristocratic matron would glow with
pride for this younger son.
His nostrils flared at the scent of cooking meat and he took a deep,
shuddering breath. The realization that their were no servants awake at this
early hour struck him and he rose too quickly, sending his rapier from it’s perch to a clatter on the ground.
The noise bothered him more than it should have and he carefully balanced it
against the leg of the table.
The stove in the fire place smoldered and the meat hissed against the ruddy
coals. He got some tongs and grabbed the steak, smiling in grim satisfaction
at how cooked it was.
It was nearly burnt and very civilized.
The proper procedure was necessary, so he put the steak on the serving
platter before putting it on his plate, being impeccably careful to avoid
staining his pristine garments as he did so.
When he sat down, he forced himself to pray.
Our Father who art in Heaven
Hallowed be thy name.
Ambrose wasn’t a superstitious man, but there were certain conventions of
society and civilization that any ordered person followed.
Amen.
His fists released the silk of his doublet, where he gripped it into wrinkles
and gently took both fork and knife.
The fork sunk it’s prongs deep into the flavorful
meat and the knife cut off a piece with a smooth, even stroke.
He took a bite and closed his eyes, concentrating on each individual movement
of his jaw.
Cut, lift, chew. It was maddeningly slow, tauntingly
slow and the meat was cooked to the point where it was uncomfortably dry.
Another bite and then another. They came faster and faster, as much as he
tried to avoid it. When he took a drink of the wine, his hands shook so that
the liquid spilled, staining his collar and making it seem like he was
bleeding or dying or-
The fork was abandoned and he just used the knife, eating faster and
breathing deeper.
And the tears came, silently down his cheeks before he’d let himself abandon
that. And then the steak was gone, but his hunger remained, his clothes were
filthy and so were his hands.
He was filthy, he was disgusting.
He took a sip of wine, finding none left, and took the bottle.
Hopefully there would be enough there to last until morning.
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