Sythyry (sythyry) wrote,

My Dinner With Esory, IIc [7 Thory 4261]

One would hardly expect that a soup of apricots and leeches would appear on a menu anywhere other than a Pavilion of Punishment. Actually, I have never been to a Pavilion of Punishment, so I don't know if they show up even there. In any case, it was the Potage of the Day at Gounne Gousse.

Me:"You certainly may try it if you wish!"

Esory:"Perhaps you could order it and I'll try a taste?"

Me:"Hmm... you are larger than I am, and, thus, more able to fight off the leeches."

Esory:"I understand that leeches are particularly vulnerable to Zi Ri fire. You fight the leeches, and I will fight the apricots, and thus, together, we shall conquer the World Tree. Or, at least, enjoy ourselves considerably in the attempt"

Me:"Truly! Perhaps, even, almost as much as if we did not order the leech and apricot soup!"

And thus it was arranged. When the soup arrived -- nestled in a paralyzed vast-orchid petal, for dramatic effect -- both the apricots and the leeches proved to be pickled in resinous brandy. This contributed greatly to our general feeling of safety, and Esory essayed to taste the first leech.

Esory:"It tastes just like a slug."

Me:(after tasting one)"A very despairing slug, who drowned zir sorrows in resinous brandy."

Esory:"In any case, a rich yet despairing slug, for the resinous brandy is of excellent quality."

Me:"Hmm... In fact, if one were a slug bent on committing suicide by means of resinous brandy, one might very well spend all one's money on the attempt -- having, after all, little use for it elsewise. Thus I suspect that this was actually a formerly rich slug, who, falling upon hard times and then falling into despair, chose to end zir life by spending zir last lozen on a final, indulgent brandy, and drowning in it."

Esory:"A tale that is sad, yet pathetic, and somehow, still manages to be morose. And weepsome. It tugs at the heartsprings. Or heart-pendulums. Or whatever it is that hearts have like that."

Me:"Hearts have ... dining utensils, I do believe." I suspect that the brandy had something to do with this opinion.

Esory:"Ah, that's it. As the ancient poet says, 'Every spoon and every skewer of my heart yearns for you, O my beloved, yet you are as devoid of clues as your plate is newly devoid of grapes!'"

Me:"Which ancient poet is this? If it is an ancestor of mine, perhaps it is a poet who should be bitten!"

Esory:"No doubt it is an ancestor of yours, but as the subject of the poem, not actually the poet."

Me:"Who, then, is the poet?"

Esory:"Oh, that. I doubt that there is any such poet."

I hardly knew what to say to that, so, instead, I ate some resin-brandied apricot soup. It was better if one ate around the slugs.

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