Whisper had studied the silverware to the utmost level of entertainment and was now casually listening to the conversations around him while amusing himself by imagining the best way to kill a man with each of the little tools of either side of his plate. Several lords were lamenting the rising price of nutmeg, all but insisting it was the Hadju’s fault for not bringing enough with them. A pair of ladies at one of the nearby table were having a somewhat loud conversation about how long skirts should be, to the embarrassment of another woman not far away wearing what was presumably a too short skirt.<br/><br/>At first it all seemed rather dull, like watching a collection of fish swim lazily in a shallow pond. There were none of the songs or dances that his people would be doing now, the bright swirl of colors, the flash of scarves and smiles that made up the Hadju’s festivals. Whisper had been preparing for a harsh clash of conversation like the tribe philosophers inevitably got into when more than one tribe met, but instead these people sat daintily at wooden tables and had small talk for hours while they starved you to death. Whisper risked a side long glance past Cabiano towards his future wife, who was having what appeared to be an entirely pointless conversation with a spice merchant who often cut deals with his tribe. Was every aspect of her as dry and papery as the people around him?<br/><br/>No, something in the way her head moved as she talked, like a deer using its mouth to eat and its eyes to watch. She glanced occasionally at a pair of women not far away, who were wearing matching dresses and shared Falena’s features, although softer in one and harder in the other. Sisters perhaps, but not loving ones. They had the look of scavenger birds, impatient, and unkind to the creatures impeding their future meal. Whisper sat up straighter and watched their hushed conversation out of the corner of his eye. It was the same as Falena, almost. Their words were making one sound, but their intentions were making another. Suddenly he realized why his father was so intrigued by these people, but it all made Whisper somewhat more uncomfortable. Doublespeak was considered the air of a coward to the Hadju, but here, in these halls, it was the way of power. While tribes maneuvered and jockeyed for power often, the fledgeling government of the Tribal Council had not had the time to develop such a deep political intrigue.<br/><br/>Whisper cast a glance down at his father, who was having an animated conversation about tea with a grizzled old watch captain, and immediately spotted the double meanings. One just had to ignore the sounds coming from the mouth and watch everything else. So that was why Wheat Tongue took such an active role in Westerner politics.<br/><br/>While he would have liked to dedicate more thought to the matter, Gatekeeper took that moment to stand and begin speaking. News, big news, oh gods he was going to be thrust into the fire at the end of the meal. The thought of all of these… people trying to talk to him tied his stomach in a knot that he wasn’t sure he was going to untangle before starvation won out over him. He took a conspiratorial glance down the table to his future wife and watched with anxiety spread across her face like an invading army. At first he was relieved to see she was also unable to hide her discomfort, but quickly the thought made him feel guilty, after all, they were both victims of unorthodox politics.<br/><br/>Still, the thought of food did wonders for his mood, and as servants streamed from a side door with platters in hands, their white uniforms trimmed with feathers, Whisper couldn’t help but feel saliva gathering in the back of his throat. He watched the servants strut about like wading birds, their platters covered with silver domes, hiding the meal for what Whisper assumed was some big revealing that would see the other dinner guests diving upon their meals like rabid wolves on a kill. Whisper certainly felt he was nearing that stage of hunger, but restrained himself for the sake of appearances. After all, he wasn’t entirely ignorant of western ways, or so he told himself.<br/><br/>He watched with anticipation as the servants laid out the trays before them and bit his lip as the man standing before him gripped the lid. Like warriors drawing their swords to the sound of a silent battle cry, every servant in the hall whisked away the silver dome with a flourish and stepped back. Whisper looked down at his plate and nearly dove over the back of his chair. Only a vague sense of duty and a chastising thought of ridiculousness kept him in his seat, but his discomfort wasn’t hard to fathom for the moment or two it took him to wrangle his emotions back in place.<br/><br/>There, glaring up at him like he had caused it some personal discomfort, he supposed he had, was a titanic red spider with a thick spiny shell and a pair of claws the size of the strange food shovels on the side of his plate. For a moment he was afraid that at any second it would flex is powerful, spine covered legs and dive for his face. The fear passed instantly, about as long as it took him to notice the steam rising from the creature’s shell, it had been cooked at least, but that did nothing for the sheer amount of revulsion at what these westerners considered food.<br/><br/>“Oooh, Shield crab, my dear Lord Kaived your cooks have outdone themselves this time!” Someone exclaimed from somewhere down the table, and Whisper shot a glance at the offender before returning his eyes to the most fearsome foe he had ever faced, the large steamed crab sitting before him. How did one go about eating such a monstrosity? Whisper selected the sharpest of the knives and considered stabbing it in the face just to ensure the creature was dead, but thought better of it and placed the utensil back in it’s carefully arranged rank. Instead he sat back for a moment and pretended to be admiring the monster, while secretly watching his fellow guests out of the corner of his eye. Cabiano seemed as reluctant as Whisper had been to tackle such a creature, but De’fuega had seized one of the claws and with a practiced twist, pulled it from the creature’s body and used one of the strange little nut tools to scoop out a white morsel and pop it into his mouth.<br/><br/>Whisper shuttered at the idea of eating one of the things, but was fairly certain that refusing food from your future father-in-law was considered bad manners. With a sigh he fought to keep from being audible, Whisper carefully grabbed one of the creatures claws and gave it a twist. Nothing, the shell of this beast was thick and bent with his twist. He tried the other way, but to no avail. Whisper selected one of the food tools on the left side of his plate and tried applying it to the creature. After a moment of struggling he was met with a satisfying crack, and another couple of twists had the limb nearly loosened from its crabby host. He twisted again and again, and eventually managed to tear the claw away, but had not succeeded in exposing the white meat underneath the shell.<br/><br/>He bit his lip and selected another tool, this one similar to a smith’s pliers, and set to work cracking the shell away from the claw. Once, twice, three times, finally the shell gave way and Whisper used one of the little lock picks to snake a bit of meat out and put it in his mouth. It had a surprisingly, almost worryingly sweet flavor to it, mixed with something akin to bird, and a distinctly fishy flavor. Whisper shrugged, deciding it wasn’t entirely inedible. He placed the pliers around the claw and gave a hard squeeze.<br/><br/>What happened next would go down as one of Whisper’s least favorite moments in life. The claw broke with an audible crunch, and some horrid little tendon Whisper had no knowledge of released its tension and sent the bottom of the claw spiraling into the air. Whisper watched with horror as the piece of horrid red spider sailed over the heads of Cabiano and several other guests to his right and bounced off his bride to be’s forehead before landing with a clatter on her plate.<br/><br/>Whisper bit his lip and leaned forward until they made eye contact. “Ehr, My deepest apologies… lady Falena.”<br/>