noodles
"I don't even know what fettuccine alfredo is," Jane exclaims, staring at the menu. Provice sighs.
"The Sylvaranti ambassador is particular about his meals," he explains nervously. "We're in no position to refuse him; remember, he did spare the temple when the Sylvaranti Navy came through here last year."
Jane gives her father a look. "Really, though, how can he expect me to be able to cook all these Sylvaranti dishes?"
"Luckily for you," Provice says, steering Jane toward the library. "We have Sylvaranti cookbooks. I'm sure fettu- whatever it was is in there somewhere."
Grumbling, Jane takes the menu and stomps into the library, startling a sleeping Mithos.
"What the hell, Mithos?" she exclaims, grabbing the nearest cookbook. "I imagine that desk isn't too comfortable."
Mithos sits up in his chair, rubbing his eyes. "Nnnn," he murmurs. "I just sort of passed out here."
Jane sits down across from him, rolling her eyes. "You're a dork. By the way, any idea what fettuccine alfredo is?"
"Sounds like a disease."
"Yeah, you would say that."
