The Feast

All skeksis were looking at him when he feasted. He returned from the forest, as he was doing every trine, if uncalled, to check on how much older and weaker they became. There was some typical skeksis ego in it, to show himself strong, sharp and untamed, and observing them tangled in rich robes concealing their bodies and doing everything to not fall into skekSo’s disfavor.

He didn’t care also for subtleties of eating. He just sank his teeth in the meat – which was delicious, touched by Gourmand’s handy set of spices – and tore in half, swallowing almost full portion. He felt the more decent ones looked at that with horror. He gurgled with laughter, sending them a knowing gaze, and seeing them turn away.

He didn’t actually care if they like him, are scared of him, or hate him with passion. He missed them, though. Despite himself, this was his weak spot, and showoff of his strength was only one of the reasons why he was always returning.

Pitiful, silly, impossible… still, his own kind.

He caught skekSo’s curious look and taking the cup of wine – he missed that too – he leaned in his chair, allowing his back spines flatten against the support and secondary arms lay on the sides.

It was lush life which he led when he was younger. The Archer definitely implanted him some sentiments, while they hunted together.

It was indulgent, he thought when the cold and sweet liquid trickled down his throat. But when he was young, he was not different from them.

He liked this court of fools, even if he would use even violent means to deny it.

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