#rafal is the sugar dumpster

[rafent]

[ Sparkling Water ]

fogado, trying to conserve his One glass of champagne for later in the evening, decides to quench his desire for fizz with a nice glass of sparkling water. the array of syrups and fruit garnishes on the table entices him, so he goes for what looks the most delicious.

he takes one of the bottles of fruit syrup and flips it over to drizzle some in, but egad! horror! some cretin has loosened the lid on the syrup bottle, and a quarter of its contents suddenly dumps into fogado's drink! “ oh, what? man, come on! ”

now he's got a drink so sweet it'd probably turn him to a pile of sugar if he drank it. sure, fogado likes sweet stuff and all, but not that sweet!

“ ...ugh... what'm i supposed to do with this? i can't just throw it out! ”

The concession table thought to be a quiet watering hole subverted expectations with a familiar face to blame. Toward the epicenter of commotion named as Fogado, Rafal made his average approach; presence of forbidding marble near only to the Solmic prince as others, either more cowardly or less acquainted souls, scuttled sideways in the provision of a wide and eager berth. Wise decisions all around. His sharp stare settled on the source of offense nestled in the other's hand.

"Your howling is most obscene, Fogado." An unsmiling statement in lieu of sociable greeting, or just about tantamount. Voice drier than the torrid confines of a packed gala, than even the parched tongue that attracted each and every ball patron here. "I have been watching you, as have been the entirety of the concession line behind us, and so know your story."

A story of such ridiculous proportions, in fact, that Rafal could not help but make his intervention in the first place. Overshot sweetness to a palate like his own deserved no deliberation, no hemming and hawing in seesaw conundrum over the fate of a single insignificant drink. If it were up to Rafal, the decision would be significantly easier - and the next decision would be Rafal's. "You are unable to count your blessings. There are greater grievances in life to be had than a fountain of sugar—give."

Snatch! Subject to imagination, one might theorize an overeager and vulturous quality to his speed of seizure, to the curtness applied to command, but before further evidence of gluttony could accrue, the sparkling water tipped and poured straight into the hatchet of a pale and bobbing throat. Eyes closed, drink guzzled, and within fleeting seconds came the finality of a mouth wiped, not one drop attributed to survival - not even on the lips. Pink tongue swiped from corner to corner.

"Delightful." The empty vessel returned to its owner, another yield in accompaniment with a String of Pearls pressed to the same palm. "Though I imagine I have done you a favor, still I have taken something of yours. So you may take something of mine."