“Well, has everyone gotten what they want?” Om’bobla asked. “Good,” he continued, without waiting for any answers. Leaning forward, he grabbed the rest of the white clay—a sizable chunk about the size of a man’s head—and dragged it over to his own place.
“Hey—you can’t do that! It’s selfish!” Channa, his wife protested angrily. “Why are you always so greedy, Om’bobla?”
“What? I asked if everyone had what they wanted! I even waited until last to take some clay for myself!” he protested.
“You took all the rest though! And you didn’t even consider me—I haven’t gotten any!” the mermaid girl exclaimed.
“Oh, very well. Here.” Om’bobla pinched off a small amount and handed it over. Ignoring his mermaid wife’s further protests, he started molding the huge chunk of clay, working eagerly and extremely dexterously with his waving tentacle fingers.
Em ignored his rudeness—she didn’t have much appetite anyway. What she wanted, she decided, was something homey—something comforting. Accordingly, she divided her handful of clay into two portions and began to shape them. It wouldn’t be a large amount of food and she couldn’t add to it since Om’bobla had grabbed all the rest of the clay, but she didn’t have much appetite anyway.
“What are you making?” Rarev asked her in a low, interested voice. “It appears to be a lot of little sticks and a flat, tapered rectangle of some kind.”
“Fish and chips—though I’m not sure how they’re going to look. Arts and crafts was never my strongest subject,” Em said. She was glad they were talking about normal things, like what to eat, instead of the continued sexual tension between them. “What are you making?” she asked politely, in turn.
“Oh, I’m just making a rare ombra steak,” he answered. “It’s something my mother used to make for me when I was young—it makes me feel comforted to eat it.”
Em was somewhat surprised to hear that the Monstrum had their own kind of “comfort food” but she supposed it was perfectly reasonable. After all, every culture on Earth had foods they associated with home and safety and warmth—why shouldn’t the Monstrum?
“I’ll be interested to see how it turns out,” she said, smiling a little. “Fish and chips is one of my comfort foods as well.”
“Comfort foods?” Rarev frowned in confusion.
“Oh—foods you make when you’re feeling down and in need of a pick-me-up,” Em explained. “They usually remind you of home or your childhood. Something simple and warming that you ate when you were young and that someone you loved made for you.”
“Comfort foods.” Rarev nodded thoughtfully. “I like that. Yes, ombra steak is definitely one of my ‘comfort foods.’”
“And fish and chips is one of mine. Though my mum never actually made them—she just went round to the chip shop and got them on busy nights,” Em explained. “They were always a special treat.”
“I’m going to be interested to see what everyone else makes,” Rarev remarked. He nodded at Om’bobla’s creation, which was taking on a rather alarming shape. “What do you suppose that is going to be?”
“I don’t know,” Em murmured. “Maybe a cross between an extra-large lobster and an octopus? Whatever it is, it doesn’t look very appetizing,” she added in a low voice.
“It does look more like a creature than an item of food,” Rarev acknowledged. “What about our friends from Sexualis Centris? What do you think they’re making?”
“Hmm…” Em stared across the table where Lord Torrid was making what appeared to be a lot of little balls of clay about the size of golf balls with two hands, while he continued to kiss and nuzzle his wife’s breasts and tug on her nipples with the other two hands. Didn’t they ever stop?
“We are making la labadaz if you are wondering,” Lady Tabuu moaned, catching them watching her and her husband. “That translates to…Oh! Oh, Torrid yes…yes!” she moaned, interrupting herself as her husband started sucking hard on one of her four nipples. “To …balls of love,” she finished at last, still writhing in her chair.
“I see,” Rarev said politely. “Are these a food you eat for comfort when you are away from home? Emilia and I were just discussing ‘comfort foods’ which we both enjoy,” he added.
“They are an aphrodisiac,” Lord Torrid said, letting one of his wife’s nipples slip from his lips to answer the question.
“An aphrodisiac?” Em said blankly. “But surely you two don’t need anything of the sort! I mean just look at you.” She nodded to the way the hyper-sexual couple couldn’t seem to stop mauling each other.
“We desire each other constantly, this is true,” Tabuu moaned. “But it can’t hurt to feed the flames.”
“After all, we want to be ready for the second Trial—the Trial of Tasting,” Torrid added, and then went back to sucking his wife’s breasts. He seemed to be drinking the odd, dark purple juice that came out of them, which gave Em a shiver of disgust, but at least it wasn’t shooting across the table at her, she thought.