*I do not own Jane and the Dragon or its characters
If Gunther was a real person, I would have just given the poor guy a hug. The kid lives a messed up life. Sadly this is not a happy fic but the next one I promise the next will be. Don't forget to comment since it feeds my muse. Hope you enjoy!
Going down into the kitchen, he picked up his gruel and piece of bread and was on his way before Pepper could even greet him. Gunther was always first to take his meals. He took his meals to go and for good reason.
It was not because he would use the time to critique Peppers cooking. Actually he thought her cooking was top notch. It was not because he would get into a detailed discussions on a catapults weight limit with Smithy. It was not because Rake would not let let him pick an apple from the tree until it was ripe. Or the never ending antics of Jester and his characters or colorful metaphors that secretly poked fun at him. It was not the group of babbling peasants that bothered him, it was her. Why did she have it so good? He could not stand the burning envy that bothered him, or the thought of losing at their mind games.
Why could it not be a time for a nap? Why did the midday meal have to be a meal? Why not dessert? For certainly those things were more desirous then a meal with the staff.
But the truth was, it was not really her fault. It was not even the staffs fault. He just hated the lunch hour.
He had this everlasting pang that hit him in his throat and in his mouth and in his heart that made him want to scream. To calm these nerves, he would spy from the upper corridor. He sat underneath a window since it was close enough to listen. He would listen to the reason why the jasmine flowers bloomed in the night, or to why the horses needed shoes. He would listen to the humorous rhythm of a foolish ballad or to the motherly advice given by the saucy cook. Even to her and her daily tidings on a over sized lizard. He sat there where it was close enough to the action, but far enough to be away from the torment he worried on receiving.
Looking at the remnants of his lunch left in his bowl on this day of all days it just made all his insides want to spill out. He hated Mrs Spoon and Mr Fork, he hated the crumbs of bread that the ants were carrying away. But what he hated most of all was that empty feeling he had, the underlying hunger for something he could never keep, a friend.