The difference between cultures aren't just the things they show off, but the things they assume everyone has, and are baffled that to discover that you don't.
-- Anon Guest
[AN: Offensensitivity warning for swears in the video]
They had been in the service of a devilborn lord for two months, and things had settled down somewhat. There was a routine to the days, and Venn had ceased being so nervous about being so close to a Hellkin, no matter how small or young he might be.
This morning, the small blue demonic form was already risen and sitting at his reading desk, still in his nightshirt and dressing-gown. He was carefully laying out pieces of paper, each drawn from individual envelopes that had once been sealed with wax.
"Excellent Teutonian, excellent dance, excellent deportment, excellent history, excellent diplomacy. Excellent dressage... even penwork." He tallied up five more classes, turning to grin at Lessa. That grin showed a mouth full of sharp teeth, but it was hardly unnerving any more. "Do you believe I have been good enough?"
Lessa said, "I'm not your judge, my lord, but I have not found any kind of wickedness in you." Certainly less wickedness than any given six-year-old fully Human child.
"Good enough for a fish?" Lord Kormwind was radiating gleeful anticipation.
Lessa had the feeling that she was on the precipice of some incoming culture shock. "My lord, I served you fish last night...?"
"No no not a fish-fish, the mountain fish. The pastry. With the goat stew and the spices and the dried fruits. If I've been really good, could I have it with the crystal honey glaze? Please?"
Oh. Oh, he was talking about a foodstuff she'd never heard of. He was in the stars with his hope buoying him up like that. It would be devastating to put his hopes away. Poor boy. He'd worked so hard in his time here, already. Working towards a goal that was half a world out of his reach.
"I'm... unfamiliar with the dish, my lord," she allowed.
"Really? Any street vendor worth their barrow usually has a fish iron. Restaurants have them too." The smile was still there, but the glow of joyous anticipation was fading. "You couldn't walk ten steps in any town without passing someone who was... selling... fish." He started to deflate. "That was in Whitekeep. I must have bothered my nurse about it, all the way to Deepwater. It's... do you have them here?"
"I have not seen them in Wolklippenstadt, my lord," said Lessa. "I could try to make you a pie in the shape of a fish, if that's what you desire."
"You don't have fish," he grumped. "What do the good children even get?"
Venn spoke up, "Fat sausage and pork belly, my lord, with a tankard of small ale[1]."
"Or a festlichkuchen and milk blended with fruits. With extra cream," added Bar. "That's what I always got for good marks at school."
"...not fair," mumbled Lord Kormwind. "Everyone should have a chance for a fish."
[1] The fantasy world equivalent of soft drink.
If you like my stories, please Check out my blog and Follow me. Or share them with your friends!
Send me a prompt [78 remaining prompts!]
