Ærosylle smiled at the other boy's exuberant bow and courtseyed in return. But she mustn't ignore the plate, lest he think her rude.
"It is good to be on the plate's good side," Ærosylle whispered. "Or else it will throw your food at your face and it will connive with the glass to make it miss your lips, thereby making your drink dribble down your chin." She nodded at him.
The boy nodded and asked, "What is your name?"
She narrowed her eyes at him, then flashed a smile and said, "Ærosylle." She bowed her head and waited for him to reply.
"Andhun, at your service."
"I do not need any service," said Ærosylle, lifting her eyebrows. "But thank you for offering it."
The poor boy....he was bruised and battered, and he had the look of a puppy lingering about his eyes. She had seen him almost cringed when Finian had patted him on the head -- as if he had expected a cuff. The poor boy, she thought, shaking her head and heaving a sigh. If there was one thing that she did not need was his service. He seemed to have had a lot of that beat out of him.
She licked her lips and said, "Let me give you a few tips. Do not ever drum your fingers on the table for it annoys him. Don't step on the first step of the stairs for it screams in agony. I believe it is quite the wimp for the others have no qualms with human weight. Would you like more cider?"
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