Alora stared at the utensils on the table in front of her. They were silver and had flowers engraved on their handles. With a snort, she swept aside the cutlery with the back of her hand, knocking the plate onto the ground as well. She leaned forward and grabbed the whole roast pig. As she sat back, the pig was dragged forward, leaving a greasy trail from the center of the table to the space in front of her. She ignored the stares from the surrounding people and chomped down on the back of the pig, spurting juices out from the sides of her mouth.

Thwack.

Alora yelped, dropping the piece of meat she tore off as her mouth shot open. A stinging pain stabbed into the back of her head, and she turned to glare at the culprit. Vur pointed at the fork and knife on the ground beside the shattered plate. “What did I say about table manners?”

Alora pursed her greasy lips. “Um, I don’t remember. Something, something Grimmy said something, something?”

Vur sighed. “When we’re around special humans, we have to act like them. And that means eating like they eat.”

“I don’t get it,” Alora said. “How come we only have to act this way around certain people and not others? What makes them special?”

“They’re special because Tafel said so.”

Alora turned her head towards the front of the dining room. Tafel was sitting next to Emile, Susan, and Mary, glaring at the two human-shaped dragons with a gaze that could turn lava to ice. Mary, on the other hand, was busy placing food onto Tafel’s plate, creating a small mountain of food that reached up to her chin. Alora blinked and turned back to Vur. “And how does she decide?”

Vur shrugged. “Most of the time, she declares royalty as special people. Nobles too but not all nobles. And not all royalty. And sometimes commoners but not always.”

Alora nodded twice. “It sounds like your wife can’t make up her mind.”

“Yup.” Vur grabbed a plate off the tray of a waitress who was walking by and placed it upside down on top of the roasted pig. With a flick of his wrist, he flipped the whole thing over so that the bottom of the plate made contact with the table.

Alora took another bite out of the pig, burying her face into its stomach as Vur turned around to grab utensils. She lifted her face just as he turned back around. “So,” she said before Vur could comment or hit her again, “why do we have to lower ourselves and act like humans around special people?”

“Eating like a dragon makes them uncomfortable,” Vur said and stabbed the knife and fork into the pig with a squelching sound that echoed through the room. Everyone turned to stare, but Vur didn’t notice or care. “They think you’ll eat them next, and that scares them.”

Alora tilted her head when she realized Vur wasn’t going to add anything else. “And? I’m not seeing the problem here.”

Vur snorted. “That’s because you’re too young to appreciate good food. Why do we ambush and kill our prey quickly when hunting?”

Alora blinked. “We what?”

“You don’t?”

“Should I be?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Alora scratched her nose, leaving a greasy smudge on her skin. “Oops?”

Vur sighed again and shook his head while clicking his tongue. “According to Grimmy, things that are afraid taste less tasty. He says fear leaves a distinct, bitter flavor. So, if you make all these people afraid, then your meal will be ruined by all the fear in the room.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works,” Alice said from across the table. Only Tafel had been invited up to Mary’s space in the front of the room. “I don’t think Tafel wants you to not eat like a barbarian because it’ll make your meal taste bitter.”

“Yeah.” Alora’s head bobbed up and down. She froze. “Wait a minute.” Her eyes narrowed at Alice. “I don’t eat like a barbarian. I eat like a very refined dragon. My grandma says I’m a great eater.”

“That means she’s calling you fat,” Alice said, “in a very round-about way.”

Alora snorted. “I’m wide-scaled! Don’t make me thrash you once I turn back into a dragon.” She turned back towards Vur. “And your reason makes no sense. Well, it makes sense, but it has nothing to do with the topic. Why do we have to eat like humans only around special humans? Do non-special humans not radiate out bad-tasting fear? Or is it because their fear tastes good? See? Tafel’s just trick—“

Vur stuffed a fork with a large piece of meat on it into Alora’s mouth. “Dragons shouldn’t speak while chewing.”

Alora’s throat bulged as she swallowed without chewing since the piece of meat was too big to manipulate properly in her puny human mouth. “Tafel’s just tricki—“

Another forkful of meat stifled Alora’s words. She swallowed again. “Ta—“

Vur shoved his fork forward and retracted it, leaving another blockade in front of Alora’s verbal cannons, before exhaling through his nose. He turned towards Alice and raised an eyebrow.

Alice crossed her arms and stuck her chin out. “You’re a very sore loser when you’re wrong.”

“I’m not wrong,” Vur said as he plugged Alora’s mouth again before she could even make a sound. “Dragons are never wrong.”

“What if two dragons disagr—“

There was a screech as Alice’s wooden chair scooted backwards, dragging against the marble tile. Vur leapt across the table and knocked the tiny guild master over before she could complete her escape. He placed his butt on Alice’s chest as he sat down and shoved the roast pig’s leg into her mouth, past her tightly pressed-together lips.

A strange cry came from the front of the room that sounded like a mixture between a yelp and a gasp. Mary’s mouth was wide open, her hands frozen stiff in the air while holding a fork and a knife that was dripping sauce. The mountain of food on Tafel’s plate creaked as it slowly toppled over onto the demon who was too busy glaring at Vur to notice until it was too late.

The dining room, which was already silent despite the large number of nobles in attendance, fell deathly still. Rustling sounds rang out as dozens of people dressed in black ran out of the various shadows in the room.

They streamed out of the windows and doors, stomping and screaming unintelligible words as they ran for their lives.

“V-V-V-V-Vur!!!” Mary shot to her feet and leapt onto her table. She drew her sword and stabbed it through the gap in her armor and into her shoulder. Her blade shone with a brilliant red light, illuminating her rapidly blanching face. “This is all your fault!”

Vur looked to the left, then to the right. He tilted his head. “What do you…, oh. You spilled food on Tafel. Why would you do that?”

Tafel sighed as the table in front of her splintered from Mary’s explosive leap. Tafel used her fingers to remove a wooden fragment that had landed in her mouth and flicked it away. Her gaze landed on the food covering her dress, pooling on her lap. She reached down and grabbed a fried fish. Her torso bent forward as she propped her elbow up on the remains of the table and rested her cheek on her palm, bringing the fish up to her mouth with her other hand. Her hair fluttered as a shockwave rushed past her, coming from the collision between Vur’s palm and Mary’s sword. And this is why she thought Mary’s idea to ignore Vur was a dumb one. At least the fried fish tasted good.