Not long after Francesca arrived, Altaïr's group reached the Felyne Chef's food stall as well.
Thanks to the Wyverian artisan's advance warning that Isis's parents were coming, they had already gotten their initial panic out of their systems and steeled themselves. Although the encounter still surprised them, they managed to maintain impeccable manners, at least on the surface.
For some reason, however, Mr. Gordon's gaze looked especially dangerous.
Had Altaïr done something to anger him? The thought left him uneasy.
Hayata's gaze lingered on Morgan beside Altaïr for an extra half second, one eyebrow rising almost imperceptibly.
A very pretty young lady...?
As a Gunner with exceptionally keen senses, Morgan detected the subtle shift in the atmosphere.
After politely greeting Isis's parents, he promptly excused himself, saying he had to hurry and buy an Airship ticket home, then beat a retreat.
This was practically turning into a family dinner. Squeezing himself into the middle of it would only make him uncomfortable.
Isis hugged her mother around the shoulders from behind and said with a grin, "Morgan is very pretty, isn't he? He's actually a man. You'd never guess from looking at him, would you?"
Hayata turned her head slightly, visibly surprised. "It really is hard to tell."
Francesca cast Isis a subtle glance.
Francesca would have offered the same explanation if Isis had not, and she was sure Sajji would have jumped in if Francesca had held back. What she had not expected was for Isis to explain it at once.
A coincidence, or a rare flash of emotional intelligence? Either way, she had stamped out the misunderstanding before it could leave a bad impression.
Not bad, little sister!
Come to think of it, perhaps it was fortunate that Nymera, with both a pretty face and a lovely figure, was not here.
Then again, it probably would have been fine. Nymera was the sort to keep a respectful distance from Altaïr, not walk shoulder to shoulder with him as Morgan had, so there would have been no cause for misunderstanding.
Then there was Lambert, who had also traveled with them for a while. Her features were genuinely beautiful, but with her sleepy, disheveled appearance, she could walk beside anyone without inviting the wrong idea.
Seen that way, the greatest cause for concern was somehow Morgan, who was a man?
Francesca rested her chin on her interlaced fingers, her thoughts racing.
She was so busy analyzing everyone else that she overlooked how sitting beside Serl on the same bench made them look even more intimate than Altaïr and Morgan had while walking shoulder to shoulder.
Purrcival, who had claimed an entire bench to himself, was about to squeeze in beside Gordon and give his own seat to Altaïr and Isis.
Just then, Gordon patted the narrow space beside him. "Come on, Altaïr. Sit here with me."
Although his girlfriend's father was staring at him so intently that it made his skin crawl, Altaïr obediently sat down. Isis naturally took a seat beside her mother.
Purrcival glanced around, then had Sajji and Clawdia join him.
Clawdia had wanted to sit beside her father, but Purrcival directed her to the edge of the bench, then placed Sajji between himself and his daughter.
The arrangement baffled Clawdia, but she did not give it much thought.
With their heads lowered, Sajji and Altaïr exchanged a furtive glance. Man and Felyne were equally ill at ease.
Six humans, all sturdily built except for Francesca, and three Felynes crowded around a single square table; it was a tight fit. Fortunately, Gordon and Hayata were not wearing their Armor, so everyone managed to sit down in the end.
The moment they were seated, Gordon slung an arm around Altaïr's shoulders. The seemingly friendly gesture made Altaïr feel as though he had been shoved whole into a Monster's jaws.
"Young man, when you rent a Hunter Cabin at the Guild Hall, which grade do you usually choose?"
What kind of question was that?
Puzzled, Altaïr answered, "Usually Fighter-grade or Knight-grade. Soldier-grade is fine too, but it's a little cramped. The main problem is that there is no storage locker."
"Oh. Never mind, then." Gordon released Altaïr's shoulder.
Cabins at Fighter-grade and below were intended for single Hunters. They did not have double beds.
Altaïr felt as though the Monster had spat him back out.
"What on earth are you asking him?" Hayata chided her husband, then called cheerfully toward the kitchen, "Shalan! Everyone is here. You can start bringing out the food!"
"Coming, meow!" Shalan came dashing over, balancing a stack of steaming baskets.
She saw Francesca and Serl sitting side by side, Altaïr tucked against Gordon, and Sajji wedged between Purrcival and Clawdia.
Shalan blinked.
Huh, meow? When did this get so interesting?
She plopped the steamer baskets onto the table, tugged off her qipao-style waitress skirt, and tossed it back into the kitchen.
She called to the Felyne Chef, who was busy stir-frying, "I don't have time to wait tables for you. You'll have to do it yourself, meow!" Then, brimming with curiosity, she squeezed herself into Hayata's lap.
The Felyne Chef's cook-and-waiter transformation was complete!
Shalan swept her gaze around the table again. "Why are you all sitting like this, meow? It's so awkward. Hayata and Gordon should sit together, Isis and Altaïr should sit together, Francesca and what's-his-name should sit together, and Clawdia and Sajji should sit together. As for that idiot Purrcival, he can crouch under the table. That's how you should sit, meow!"
"..."
"..."
The table fell silent. Hayata sighed and pinched Shalan's mouth shut.
Francesca, who had been entirely focused on observing everyone else, finally realized something was wrong. She glanced at Serl beside her and suddenly wanted nothing more than to squeeze in beside Isis and Hayata.
But leaving her seat now would look too deliberate, too guilty. All she could do was quietly inch toward the far edge of the bench.
Since Shalan had, in a way, brought the matter into the open, Gordon hesitated for a couple of seconds before speaking. "Ahem. I know this might be meddling, but I'm just going to ask you outright. Francesca, are you and Serl...?"
Francesca's eye twitched as she opened her mouth to answer, but Gordon continued, "Of course, I'm not saying I object. Neither of you is a child anymore; you're both old enough to think about these things. I just feel that, if there really is something between you, perhaps you should tell your father. He may act as though he doesn't care about anything, but deep down, he's worried. He's afraid you'll take after your aunt and get so wrapped up in work that you forget about your own life.
"He even specifically asked me to tell Purrcival, so Purrcival could write to Pawdrick and ask him to keep an eye out for a suitable match for you. If he found someone, then..."
"..."
"Thud!" Francesca slammed her forehead onto the table, covered her ears, and clutched her head as she wailed, "Ugh! Aaaah!"
She had wondered why Pawdrick was always trying so hard to set her up. So her own father was behind it?!
Damn it. He had even taken a huge detour to pass along the order. He knew she would snatch and read any letter he sent Pawdrick directly, but that she would never read one from Purrcival, didn't he?
Compared with her clueless mother, her father was far more terrifying about these things. Aaaah!
Seeing that Francesca had entered a state where communication would be difficult, Hayata shot Gordon a reproachful glare.
You and your big mouth!
Gordon sheepishly closed his mouth, his gaze involuntarily drifting toward Serl.
Serl's entire body stiffened for several seconds before he said helplessly, "You may have misunderstood. Francesca and I are just friends."
"Friends?"
Gordon froze, then his expression shifted several times.
He realized he might have made a mess of things. The two youngsters had seemed so close that he assumed they were already together. So they were still at the "friends" stage?
If so, his words as an elder had rushed matters along, and he had exposed Pawdrick as the one working behind the scenes.
"Ahem! It was my misunderstanding. I apologize. Please ignore the ramblings of a middle-aged man." For once, Gordon experienced an emotion that could be called panic.
Hayata hurriedly urged everyone to eat, trying to smooth over the awkward mood at the table. Altaïr also began asking about Hunting matters, doing his best to steer the conversation elsewhere.
Only Shalan pouted.
For meow's sake, not one of them has an ounce of emotional intelligence!
Taking advantage of the moment when Gordon and Altaïr were loudly talking nonsense, Shalan leaned close to Isis's ear and whispered, "Keep nudging things along, meow. Francesca is just proud and easily embarrassed. If she truly had no interest at all, she wouldn't have sat next to that boy in the first place, meow.
"And why do you all keep pressuring Francesca? Focus on the boy instead, meow! Once he makes the first move, the rest will practically fall into place."
* * *
Warhammer: Wait, Do I Have to Sit on the Golden Throne Too? is also available here on Webnovel. Thank you for reading.