The Weekend Report

With special guest star Jean Baptise as Zarine

Feast of the Leviathan XXIII

Ah, Rhiassa. It had been so long since I last ventured to those lands. Truth be told, not long enough, yet once again I found myself drawn to make an appearance at their annual feast. So there I was, in the land of tepid tea and dangerous nuptials once again. At least it wasn’t snowing.

Isn't Rhiassa in the south?

I spent much of the first part of the day sitting at the Peacock’s swap shop table, so if anything exciting happened on the other end of the hall I live in blissful ignorance of it. I will admit it was a bit lonely at the table for a time as there weren’t enough attendees to keep me busy the whole time, though that did give me time to work on some things.

My position in the hall put me in the perfect position to view the general disarray that was Aeston’s game show stage.

I had gotten this far into writing what was well on its way to being a great article, when I received an already written review of the event from… myself? Weird, I don’t remember writing it, but it’s pretty accurate and looks like something I would write, so I guess I’ll just attach it here:

As you all know, I do not like Aeston, I consider him more akin to a preening bird then a cat, and even if he wasn't I do not like cats anyway so there.

However there was food, and I am forced, by contractual obligation, and that vague whimsey we called clout to review the food.

There were things that happened, allegedly, at "court" but I wasn't speaking at court, so of course I did not listen. I am sure people cheered and clapped, but I wasn't able to watch it from the inside of my skull.

Because I was rolling my eyes. I normally wouldn't explain the joke, but I am forced to, because you are probably stupid. There I go explaining the joke again.

And now that the pleasantries are out of the way. The food.

Now let's go address the first course, the butter. The butter was acc-

No I can not do this, my journalistic integrity demands I do not give handout praise for trivial things like "taste" (Which, as I already established, Aeston doesn't have), the butter was NOT good, in fact it was BAD! First and least is the fat count alone, but consider butter's color, it's like a chartreuse that hasn't been outside enough. It's not only ugly, it is ugly and pasty. The fact that it exists only to be smushed and sliced atop better food should itself be the only statement I need.

Consider blackwood meatloaf, do you eat that atop bread? Rice? Smothered in ketchup? No, that's because it's already good.

Butter is not a good food, its barely a food at all, its just the murder weapon of a heart attack victim scrapped onto a plate.

Which is not exactly haute cuisine. I suppose it would be fine for a horror show, and I was at leviathan, so one could argue that it was appropriate. I however have better things to do than debate children over condiments.

This game is quite fun.

My dear reads, I have just been informed that I did not write this mystery review, but rather it was written by that crazy cannibal Jean Baptiste! I have half a mind to be angry about it, but the other half of my mind is honestly relieved that I don’t have to write it myself. I’m quite exhausted from a long week of being annoyed at pretty much everything, so I’m going to allow this terrible impersonation of me to suffice as the review I didn’t want to write anyways. If you procrastinate long enough someone else will do your work for you. They might do it badly, but at least it’s done.

And I liked the butter. It was nice. I didn’t even have to retrieve it myself, because Trent was kind enough to get me a plate from the dayboard. I had overlooked how nice the butter was, because much to my delight, most of the plate was covered in green olives. For once, Trent did something right.