Chewing, slurping, swallowing, the incessant cnking of ptes on trays and utensils on ptes, bubbling pots, talking, and sometimes ughter, all rumbled about the Hall like fat flies. I did not find most of these noises particurly melodic and the manipution of my hearing sensitivity got its fair deal of exercise in this rge—seemingly made for a big hamlet of hundreds—canteen alone. And footsteps...the accursed sound of footsteps was a constant whether you were sitting and eating or standing in line.
One of the four boys, grouped around the middle of our table, throws a piece of bread at another one to his left. All four of them ugh about something. They've been at it for a while.
Well pyed ninnies. I scratch my right eyebrow. There are two members of the Crimson Guard approaching our table. Soon, all twenty-five of us become dead quiet.
''Since you waste food, you and your friends must not be hungry.'' The guard that spoke has a handsome face but there is a mean-looking stance about him. I've only seen him on very few occasions. He probably enjoys having authority a bit too much. I hate people like that.
The one on his right throws a small grin at us, holding his spear like it's a whip that he can't wait to use. ''They do seem a bit too plump to me,'' Grin says.
''Well...'' the Handsome-Face pauses almost mockingly, pretending to think deeply about something. He spends some decent time staring at the boy—I think the offender's name is Peter, but I'm not sure...besides Michael I've avoided talking to the other boys. ''We can't have that. We just can't.'' After Peter looks to the side, the guard then glowers at the other three boys and each of them can't hold his gaze for long, except for one boy with dark blue eyes sitting in the middle.
Grin leans down to whisper something in the bread-throwing boy's ear. Like an owl on a mouse, I focus my hearing on Peter and Grin. ''Throw food again and we'll feed you rat poop in the Guts.'' He cps the boy's shoulder two times before leaving, making him flinch a little each time.
The two guards take away all four trays of mostly unfinished food.
Four really is a crowd. I slowly exhale an Alldora winds worth of air.
''I thought they'll take everything,'' Hebe says. She is sitting to my left and appears quite relieved. Her appetite is always strong and healthy, contradicting the skinny frame she has.
''The day is still young,'' I tell her. ''My appetite is lost.'' I put my st slice of cloud-white bread, untouched, on Hebe's tray.
''Thank you.''
I need to be careful and finish my tray spotless. On a few occasions, Hebe noted how little I eat. By now she knows it is futile to argue and not take the food out of concern toward me. I appreciate her easygoing nature. My mom would have shoved the pte down my throat.
I look around me. Everyone always seems hungry and thirsty.
Spiced ale and wine were not allowed in the Hall, or Academy grounds in general, but I could still occasionally smell it on some of the grandmasters and caretakers—I won't comment on some of the guards. Now, true is true, none of those few dared drink enough for it to be perceptible but this was of little comfort to my poor little button nose—Mom always said it was a small, rounded, ''button-like little thing'' with a tender slope. To think I could ever miss her teeth-grinding remarks...I should think of something else before my mood goes down the well.
My eyes nd on two bronze-heads fnking the arched grand entrance to the Hall. We were told the plethora of red-cloaked, spear-wielding guards are only here to impose ''order, peace, and safety,'' yet instead I have a feeling of being surrounded by jailers.
''Are they really necessary?'' I ask Michael who is sitting on my right—he is the only boy on the girl's side of the table.
Oh! Hebe and I met a boy. Michael Aquillia. Perhaps it is more accurate to say Hebe met him. At first, she thought of him as cute but it turned out he also has a keen mind and is a little too interested in games honoring Theia, especially chariot racing.
Brown eyes with hair beautifully matching eye color, he is...decent-looking.
From what I can tell, Michael is sharp-witted and occasionally gets some teasing for spending too much time with Hebe and me. At two years younger than Hebe he is one of the youngest students in our css. He only truly speaks with one or two other boys.
''We'll talk ter, about it.'' Based on Michael's forced smile, evasive eyes, and tightness in his voice, I deduce he is uncomfortable, so I drop it and the three of us talk about something else as I try to finish my meal.
