The Special Mentor 22 Supper

'What's taking them so long? Shouldn't they be in their rooms already?' Miceter wondered as he strained his ears to hear what they were saying.
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Sadly, after five minutes with his right ear raised and head tilted down, all he got was snippets of the conversation from his place on the top of the rafters. The rest of the tavern was too loud to hear complete sentences.

"Remember... Alfa... sun... dashing gentlemen..." And then a bout of laughter before another round of jumbled words and broken sentences.

'Was that a secret message?' Miceter twitched his nose in thought. 'No. That can't be possible. All they're doing is... chatting... Woah! Humans can do that?'

Usually, when Miceter watched humans eat, the amount of time they took was less than ten minutes. They didn't dally long because of this appointment or that take off. Whatever that meant. And when they did have the time, all they did was drink and then yell at each other in a drunken stupor.

It was rare for humans to just sit down and... chat. Calmly and eloquently.

Miceter couldn't help but feel sympathy for Humans in his tiny heart. Oh how pitiful and lonely they were! Even bonding like normal creatures was a rare occurrence for Humans.

Filled with a new resolve to figure out what had caused this rare occurrence, Miceter leaned forward, dangerously hovering over the table where the family sat.

Miceter was about to concentrate once more on the conversation below when the tavern door slammed open, causing the rafters to shake and not only dust, but Miceter to fall.

He squeaked in terror before dunking into a bowl of cold soup.

***

Thomas Hark sipped from his wooden cup, his tired hazelnut eyes locked onto the candle which stood at the center of the table. He watched, eyes drooping, as the miniature flame flickered and danced according to the direction of the wind.

"Remember, we have to get up before the sun rises at six so we can get to the air ship on time." His father warned.

"Do you think we'll be able to see Captain Alfa this time?" His brother, Aaron, wondered aloud.

"It's Uncle Alfa. And no, I don't think we'll be able to see him. He usually wakes up when the sun sets. We'll be ahead of him when the time comes."

"Dang it." Aaron sighed dramatically, resting his chin on his hand. "And here I thought I'd get to see Alfa's new dashing dog. What was he called again? Gentlemen Clark?"

His father burst into laughter at the roast while Aaron politely chuckled, not really thinking his joke was that funny.

Thomas Hark blinked, confused as to who Clark was. Was he someone important? How come he had never head of him before?

"Who's Clark?" Thomas asked, curiously.

"You don't know who Clark Hope is? Where have you been?" Aaron questioned, his eyes wide and eyebrows raised.

Just as Thomas Hark opened his mouth, a shrill squeak pierced the air before something splashed into his soup, soaking his face and staining his clothes in watery brown liquid.

Aaron laughed at his misfortune while his father furrowed his bushy brows. All Thomas Hark could do was blink his eyes in surprise, mouth still slightly open.