Doves and Peacocks

The Oasis isn't the kind of restaurant that has a free table every day, so Ruthenia has done it this time—flown in a day ahead and made the reservation.

Today's little event was Hollia's idea: a double date. It seemed that she and her partner, Orrem, had gone steady over the past few months. That wasn't especially easy for her, considering the number of people—or so it had emerged over a few uncomfortable exchanges—who had been hoping for a chance with him.

Once she heard the proposition, Ruthenia could not help indulging it. In fact, when it came to choosing the venue, she was first and only one to offer a venue: her parents' favourite diner, where she always returns, and everything seems to cost less than it should.

Ruthenia is not one minute late for once. But as she dashes up the street through the scattering crowd, she sees that she is the third one to arrive. Aleigh is talking to Orrem in the shelter of the tree at the corner, more animatedly than usual, and she almost feels bad for barging in—it is rare to see him in such amiable conversation, even after all this time.

The two are laughing at some shared joke when she calls out their names. Aleigh straightens in surprise; Orrem leaps to his feet with a huge grin, waving a hand.

“There she is!” he calls as she barrels into their midst.

“How are you both?” she sings. She drapes herself over the back of the bench, turning to plant a kiss on Aleigh's cheek.

“Ah, we were just talking about the restaurant,” he answers, leaning closer.

Orrem nods. “I've passed it now and then but never gone inside.”

Ruthenia folds her arms on the backrest. She toys with the strap of the bag on Aleigh's shoulder, a leather messenger bag not unlike her own, with the cover of a book peeking out of it. “Oh, the Oasis? It was a favourite of my parents'. Food was the most amazing thing little me had ever tasted.” Then she laughs. “We'll see how much of that was just nostalgia.”

By now, the foot traffic seems to be thickening, and there are more than a couple of looks coming their way. “It is quite rare for me to be dining in this part of the town,” says Aleigh as he rises from the bench. Both companions join Ruthenia behind it. “Anything I should know ahead of time?”

She beams and throws an arm around her partner's back. “It's just normal Astran food, but better than anywhere else. Fish, wraps, curries, Solan turkey salad, and so much ground beef.”

“Solan…turkey salad? First I've heard of it.”

Orrem gapes. “You've never had it? You have got to try some of that,” he exclaims. “Ruth, can we get him to try the turkey salad?”

She grins. “It's my favourite, you're missing out.”

“Sorry I'm late!” a voice cuts in, and all three turn to find Hollia waiting a few arms' lengths away in dark yellow dress, lifting a sunhat up to peer at them.

Orrem's face breaks into a grin. He flies into a hug, lifting Hollia off her feet as they spin. “You're here! Not one minute too late, my dearest. But we should head inside before, er,” he nods at the passers-by already staring from across the street, “the unwanted attention.”

Aleigh is already brisk walking inside, one hand grasping Ruthenia's. She feels his nervous grip and squeezes his hand back.

The carved wooden door of the Oasis stands propped open with a decorative stone eagles. At the reception counter, Ruthenia declares to both wait staff, “I have a reservation for four, under the name Ruthenia?”

She waits for the inevitable. The waiter does not disappoint. “Oh, it really is you! The Ruthenia Cendina! Fancy seeing you here, and, wait, oh—” She watches him grow more flustered by the word as he recognises Aleigh—as they always do—and manages to bob his head and gasp, “Our humblest greetings, Your Highness, and thank you for gracing our establishment with a visit!”

Aleigh makes no answer. Instead, he pulls the book out of the bag on his shoulder and obscures his face with it.

It is right then that Orrem and Hollia poke their heads in between them. Then the other waiter, clumsily snatching menus from the pile, finally squeaks out, “Fondest greetings! Please, er, follow me!”

The restaurant is lit from hidden lamps, as these kinds of restaurants like to be, bringing out the fine sheen of the walls and the traditional carvings in the balcony balustrades.

They are ascend a flight of verdant wooden steps to one of the aforementioned balconies, during which the waiter begins with, “I sure wish my daughter had been here today, you're her favourite athlete.”

And Orrem laughs in a way that sounds more than a little practised, and answers, “Is that so! Well, tell her I said hello.”

The table they are shown is decorated with a pair of floating candles, their light gleaming across the veins of the lacquered wooden tabletop.

Once the waiter has presented them with the menus and poured out four ceramic mugs of water, he leaves, perhaps a little unsteadily. Only then does Orrem blow out a held breath, while Hollia rubs his back.

Ruthenia glances over to see what Aleigh's book of choice is today—some ancient doorstopper with the title Xehet.

Noticing her attention, he puts it down on the tabletop. “These come in handy at the best of times,” he says. “All that aside, how are you?”

“Good, decent, hungry.” She plays with the corner of the menu and then flips it open. “So, you're having the turkey salad, right? Wanna share?”

“Well, now I am curious. And if it isn't to my liking, you can have it, I suppose.”

Ruthenia grins. “Maybe we can get it for the whole table? Solan turkey salad, who wants some?”

“I do!” Orrem exclaims, raising his hand.

“I think I'll pass,” Hollia replies. “Maybe fish noodles for myself.”

In that way, the unlikely quartet gather their orders for an initial course, and tell the waiter they will be back for more later.

The Solan turkey salad is not just a salad, although vegetables make up much of its volume. Beneath the meat there is a layer of rice, and on the meat there is a generous layer of condiments that make it look nothing like the ground turkey it is meant to be.

When it arrives, steaming and fragrant, Ruthenia's mouth begins watering. While Hollia busies herself with blowing on her noodle soup, she begins to scoop portions into the three bowls.

“Well, let me know what you think,” she says, nudging Aleigh, before digging into her bowl and shovelling it into her mouth. It has all of the things she loves in food: rich but ungreasy meat, spices, crunchy vegetables. She savours every mouthful lovingly, and all at once, she could picture her Dad beside her, offering her a spoonful—

“Ruthenia!” The choking voice of her partner startles her out of the reverie.

“Yeah?” She turns—then almost leaps out of her seat when she finds him crying.

Even as she watches, he reaches about blindly for a napkin, tears running down his face. “You didn't say it was spicy.”

“It isn't, though. They don't even use raw peppers.”

Ruthenia has never seen her partner shed tears quite as profusely as he does now, the droplets beading on his eyelashes, and she cannot decide if she is worried or entertained. He grabs his mug of water with one hand, and a table napkin with the other, swiping tears from under his eyes.

For moments, she wonders if he really were that anguished about the bowl of food. Then he gulps down the entire glass in two seconds and slaps it onto the table, continuing to bury his face in the napkin.

Orrem has to pause his dining to laugh, clutching his belly. “Oh, you really can't handle even the tiniest bit of spice! I had a feeling, but I had to see it for myself. You'll be fine, Your Highness. The heat doesn't last more than a minute or two.”

Aleigh grimaces through his tears, and she gets the sense he is exaggerating for effect. “You dastardly schemer,” he sniffles. “Well, I doubt I can make it through the whole bowl.”

“More for us?” Ruthenia says, face brightening.

“More for us,” Orrem replies, and they start re-portioning Aleigh's turkey salad between themselves.

It takes the Arcane Prince about five minutes to recompose himself, and not long after, his new order of a chicken flatbread wrap arrives. By then, Hollia finally has her fish noodles cool enough to consume, and sits meditatively slurping the strands.

“Much better,” sighs Aleigh after his first mouthful of the wrap, and Ruthenia grins as she watches him eat it the way no one else she knows does—with fork and knife, neatly and politely, always pausing between the mouthfuls.

Absently, the thought crosses her that she has never had this before. She and three friends, dining together in her hometown. It is odd how easy it feels, after years of believing she would always abhor it. Perhaps all she has needed were the right people...

Then, of course, a camera flash bursts across their table from beyond the potted plants. All four look up at once, Ruthenia gritting her teeth.

“We are literally just eating,” Orrem groans, clutching his head.

“At least I hope they'll go now?” Hollia murmurs. Then there is another camera flash.

That's it. Muttering a curse, Ruthenia springs out of her chair, to a chorus of wait's and no's, but it is too late: she has found the perpetrator on the other side of the pots and grabbed them by the collar.

“Go point your camera somewhere else! Before I deck you!”

“Y…yes!” This is all it takes for the photographer to scramble away, desperate to preserve his face, and only then does Ruthenia return to the table with her arms folded.

All three companions look up at her, caught between awe and terror. “A little harsh, even for a nosy photographer,” Aleigh sighs, but Orrem only laughs, and Hollia offers a smiling nod.

She takes her seat. “Force is the only thing they listen to, you know.” Then she sighs. “Though, ideally, these measures wouldn't be necessary in the first place.”

“Such is the life of one who's been in the papers once too many,” Aleigh replies with a sigh.

This is about as eventful as a dinner can be. Hollia spills her glass over the napkins. They order ice-cream and Orrem reveals he likes the taste of turkey salad sauces mixed into vanilla, and Ruthenia, too curious to resist, gives it a try. It tastes a little better than she expected.

“I feel just a little sick,” Aleigh admits as he watches her eat the salad sauce ice-cream.

“Coward,” Ruthenia laughs, and he has no retort. She bumps his shoulder with hers. “I love you.”

There is a little bit of kissing here and there, but mostly, they are just four friends being goofs in a mildly fancy restaurant. And because they are who they are, the waiters do not ever move to kick them out.

Well—thinks Ruthenia as Aleigh pays the entire table's bill of a five aurs—she supposes there are some upsides to being a little more famous than your average teenager.