Though neither Mogey nor Smush had caught a wink of sleep for the last two nights, their excitement was still palpable as they strode through the front gardens of Burpee House. They'd lucked into highly-coveted invitations to Lord Deleck Table's annual harvest feast, and today was sure to be the highlight of their entire year.
As they neared the manor, tendrils of fragrance drifted toward the pals, quickening their step into the front hall where smells even more delightful engulfed their nostrils. Servants bustled past, carrying loaded trays, bulging baskets, and overflowing platters.
"Where do you suppose that Table is?" Mogey asked, daintily wiping drool from the corner of his mouth.
"The Lord himself or his actual table?" Smush responded.
"Either way."
"Well," began Smush, massaging a neck sore from looking back and forth so frequently, "I believe his Lordship--"
"I changed my mind," said Mogey. "The actual table."
"Dunno."
"Did you see those gargoyles when we came in?" Mogey went on after a long silence. "I might need to get some of those."
"For your RV?" Smush demanded.
"Don't be silly," Mogey chided him. "I'd put them on my storage unit."
"I don't believe this..."
"Alright, alright, no gargoyles. Sheesh."
"How many times must I tell you that it's pronounced 'Smush?'" Smush said with a sigh. "And it's not that. With all this blither blather, I find it hard to believe that today, of all days, you don't have a single thing to say to me about the actual food!"
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