The Space Brigade turned up like sun after rain . . . after raiiiiin . . . after raiiiiiiiin!"
"I know they're artists but that's no excuse for being so hopeless," said Greta.
"You sound like a Volcomanian," said Shimlara. "Next thing you'll be saying this war is justified."
"War is terrible," said Greta. "But I can sort of understand why Volcomania finds Whimsy so, well, frustrating."
"I wonder if this feast will actually include food," said Sean worriedly. "Remember how XYZ40 said they forget to eat? And I guess Volcomania has cut off their food supply."
"There are more important things to worry about than food," said Nicola, although she was actually feeling very hungry herself. They hadn't eaten since their breakfast that morning in Volcomania.
"I think we're going to be okay," said Tyler. "Look!"
Whimsians were appearing from every direction staggering under the weight of gigantic platters containing the most extraordinarily beautiful desserts.
There were towering cakes of shaved chocolate and whipped cream.
There were meringues piled high with sugar-speckled strawberries.
There were flaky pastries adorned with lacy toffee sculptures.
"They look too good to eat," commented Katie. "Each one is a work of art!"
"I think I'll still manage to eat them," said Sean.
The Whimsians placed the desserts on the long table and then stood back with their hands clasped in front of them, their heads bowed demurely, as if waiting for applause.
"Ummm," said Nicola uncertainly. She looked at the others. There was no silverware or plates. Were they meant to eat with their hands? Maybe that was the custom on the Planet of Whimsy? She didn't want to offend anyone by asking for spoons if they didn't exist. On the other hand, it seemed very rude (and messy) to just dig in to these beautiful desserts.
While Nicola was still trying to figure out what to do, Shimlara spoke up.
"These look absolutely wonderful," she said politely. "But we're just not sure how you eat them?"
The Whimsians looked perplexed and then they slapped their foreheads and cried, "Silverware! Why do we always forget silverware?"
All the Whimsians blushed in unison, their pale faces flushing a rather lovely crimson color. Some of them wept. Others sat down, their heads in their hands.
"We are so foolish!"
"We're hopeless!"
"The feast is ruined!"
"There's really no problem," said Sean. "Could you maybe, ah, grab us the silverware?"
"Oh!" they cried, as if they hadn't even thought of there being an actual solution to the problem. "Of course!" They ran off, back to their cottages.
"For heaven's sake," said Greta.
"I'd take small bites of these desserts," whispered Shimlara.
"They seem like the sort of cooks who might accidentally use salt instead of sugar."
The Whimsians ran off and returned with piles of plates, knives, and spoons. The Space Brigade served themselves and took tentative bites.
"Ahhhhhhh," they all said at once. The desserts tasted as exquisitely beautiful as they looked. The Whimsians beamed with pleasure and an orchestra struck up a celebratory tune.
"Is Volcomania still supplying your food now that they're at war with you?" said Nicola to Henry Sweet's wife.