The shadows of passing clouds filled the cafeteria, rendering its many glass walls uselessly similar. This didn't stop the students, disproportionately freshmen, from radiating their own halos. Their soft but quick torrent of conversation floating across the open hall. Tidbits of excited tones finding their way to some of the other surrounding isles of plasticine, metal and wood. The varying words and tones layering into pleasant background music to go with their meal.
In one such island, a single empty chair did not stop two boys from sharing a fascinating conversation about the intergalactic race relay being held just three star regions over. Their hushed but heated exchange were accompanied by mumbled ascent into plates and the clang of utensils.
This exchange, introduction was broken only by the interjection of a third from across the table: “Hey,” Silas called to the two boys who had sat across from him. “Why is Day taking so long?”
Forks fell on to plates, two heads shot up in alarm, like two Tulsa birds reacting to a strange gait outside their coop. Silas covered his mouth. You would not have known them to be practical strangers with how they were acting.
“Fuck,” Ceski cursed as he coughed down the plantar noodles he’d tried to chew. Nate offered the lad a cup of juice on cue. Almost gargling it down to clear his throat, Ceski stood up looking for his cousin’s figure.
“It’s okay. She’s not likely to leave the building," Nate glanced at the exists visible from his seat.
“Oh,” Silas interjected spotting the neon girl stomping back to their table.
“Where are you going, Ceski?" Approaching their table, Day looked to the upright positions of her friends. Meeting her cousin's eyes, she looked around before whispering conspiratorially, "Do you need to make wee wee, too?”
With a huff, Ceski sank back to his seat, returning to the pseudo-ease he'd taken.
“Well, it's great you're not going anywhere. I wouldn't want you to miss this!” Day placed a clear tub filled with viscous clumps of red. “I didn't think they'd have this but, well, it is a inter-galactic school for a reason. I mean, they didn’t have this in the Ivarian Hotel we went to last time. Talk about –”
Something in Ceski told him to take it away from her. He did not have words to describe nor identify this creeping suspicion, hunch, but it didn't matter. If there was anything his father and uncle had ever taught him it would be that self-preservation spoke not through words or overt symbols, it was the crunch of the gut, or, as it currently called, in the dampness of his palms. That, he decided, alone was worth the risk of any temper tantrum Day could throw.
With a snap, Ceski reached over pulling the tub into his arms. The clammy feeling of the plastic tub made him pensive. Every cell in his body told him to chuck it as far as he could. Get away his body screamed. The mind, oh, the mind, it was not such a quick thing. So, he lifted a small corner of its cover.
Before he could muster up the energy to wretch, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He slammed it shut, hoping the force of his palm was enough to rid himself of the memory, the nanosecond he'd let his curiosity trust his cousin and her convoluted taste.
Through gritted teeth and a barely gnawing smile, he looked up at the soft smiling face of his cousin, and asked: “My sweet darling, you who is but a lark upon my heart, where the fuck did you get this biological hazard?”
Day had cupped her face in her palms, elbows squarely placed on the table. She watched the mime show her cousin played out in front of them. Her eyes and smile increasing in size as each emotion flashed on his face.
Nate was curious now. The innocuous tub seemed like a typical food storage container, and, judging from the direction she came from - it most likely came from the heritage food section. Surely, it wasn't worth all this drama? It's just food, after all. All food is the same, inherently. He tapped his fingers on the table, pondering whether to take a peek at the contents or to help confiscate the offending tub. Though, Day remained an enigma for him, it did not seem like the two, glancing at the pale Silas, were the type to exaggerate.
Seeing Ceski and Silas so alarmed, Nate sat up straighter, shoulders squaring and calves tightening, eyes trained on this tub.
In the end, Silas broke the silence, more worried than curious,” Maybe you can return that, Day? I mean, it's not like we need to try that." Well, he knew she meant well, he supposed. "We can try it another time? We don't have to try it today."
“Come now, ah,” Day whined,” it’s just food and this is a hall for meals and other biological consumables! A kind of ancient traditional food. I swear it’s good, ah. Trust me.”
Silas’ wide eyes met Nate’s confused ones, shaking his head. This was not a battle novice like them could fight nor could they afford its consequences. Times like this, its best left to experts.
“No, this is not something everyone can eat. You can have this in the comfort of your own room but don’t think for a second –” Ceski was insistent, knuckles whitening at the thought of letting his cousin open this fucking container.
“How do you know, ah? How do you know if they can eat stuff like this? Are you their mouth? Wiggle around and let me check that tongue action, won’t you?” Day leaned over the table, body almost flat against its top, as she tried to wrestle the tub from her cousin.
“No, don’t make that excuse. You’ve already asked a bunch of people to try this and how many have actually swallowed it without even a mild gastrointestinal issue?” Ceski's face was red with the effort of being entrusted with the lives of all those in the building.
“My Daddy liked it! He has impeccable taste, y’know.” Day's long nails found their way into the gap between the tub and its cover, wedging itself.
“Uncle would eat Zerg waste for you, little girl. Let’s not pretend.” Short of kicking his cousin off the table while sending their food to the floor and other show stopping feats, Ceski leaned back trying to pry her off.
This was the personal insult Day could not take. Eyes narrowing, Day wriggled her free hand against her cousin's palm. Fuck family and courtesy, she mumbled as she tickled her cousin's palm forcing trying to force him to let go. Just as Ceski'd almost surrendered the tub, a large hand slammed atop tussling pair.
"You're going to spill it," Nate said brusquely.
"Fuck. Yeah." Ceski annunciated. This roommate of his was a good ally! A solid brother in arms!
Day pouted, body relaxing as she realized from the firm grip Nate had that she needed to have them acquiesce. “Fine,” she succumbed,” hand it back to me.”
“Not here, yeah?” Ceski nodded to Nate.
Day threw her shoulders back, answering with a grunt. That was good enough. Ceski had to pick his battles, this would be so much worse if he didn't at least reward her for stopping. He’d have to take this win, he’d convinced himself. And with all the dignity and grace he could muster, sans mentioning the soaked brow and rumpled shirt, he pushed the plastic tub to his cousin. One win secured, he felt like he’d have to tell the guys back home.
The table was quiet as the cold heavy synthetic container fit snuggly in her hands. Her fingers swept up the condensation, wiping away a trail for another to dance through. Maybe her cousin was right about all of this. Was her love of ancient meals futile?
Day’s violet eyes glinted in the refracted light from the opaque windows. She smiled. Oh, well.
A pungent pervading storm erupted in the cafeteria leaving many people reeling. It was almost like an ancient action film, people lunging under tables, some vomiting into half-full plates, and others plainly running out of the building. At the eye of this storm was also the source of its official sound track, an almost perverse laugh that, in the security survey later conducted by the Student Wellness Office, was described as being a Zerg swan song.
“Are you happy?” Ceski slumped against true, watching the university’s decontamination team rush around applying neutralizer to the cafeteria.
Popping out her lollipop, Day’s eyes squeezed in mischief. “I didn’t think it would be that bad. You're always so dramatic about these things.”
Listening to the stress on the last two words, Ceski scoffed. Trying to talk her into acknowledging the harm, or, at the very least, inconvenience she causes with her gastronomic adventures would be like asking her to get a skin transplant -- impossible.
“Anyway, what do we do now? We didn’t even get to finish our meal.” The others stood a few paces from them, the girthier of the two had dug a deep trench between his brows while the petite boy in his overalls was washed of all the color he’d had just a few minutes ago.
“Let’s go out of campus!” Day chirped.
“Nate? Lila?”
“Sure,” Nate managed to sigh out, running his hand through what hair had survived his pre-semester shave down.
“I know a good place that serves the best –”
Silas rubbed his sweaty palm on his thighs, looking back at his friends. “Soup? It’s a popular dish in the Argan star region.”
“Oh, snail soup –”
“Yeah?” Ceski gripped the tree’s trunk as he rose.
Nate nodded, eying the pouting Day from the side. “It’s a simple and uncomplicated dish you can customize to your own –”
“Nothing custom. Something simple, uncomplicated and,” Ceski paused dramatically to glare at his cousin,” common.”
Day groaned, body sliding down to the soft grass. The ribbons in her hair undoing around her. She laid splayed out throwing a silent protest.
Her audience of three simply stared at her before looking away. In silent resignation, the three each raised a closed fist. Day was trouble, and everyone knew trouble needed a keeper – even just for a meal.
