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It was rare that Aldrich elected to join his fellow clerics for a meal anymore. He clearly wasn’t going without; though his robes hid his body well enough, his face was, if anything, less emaciated than it had tended to be in the past. There were many rumors, generally in agreement, about where Aldrich was finding his sustenance lately. Only he and the Pontiff could say for certain what kept him away from the clerics’ table.
His presence, then, at the communal dinner table that evening was received with a mixture of surprise and welcome, with an edge of trepidation from those clerics who’d started the rumors.
First of all, no one had known he’d show up, especially not after everyone’s food had been allotted in their characteristically ascetic portions. It was somewhat startling, after everyone was seated, to hear plates banging about in the kitchen, followed by Aldrich emerging with a set of dishes. He laid them on the table between two centrally-located place settings already outfitted with food and diners, and dragged an unoccupied chair towards them as the nearby clerics hurriedly shuffled their dishes and seats to one side or the other.
“Good evening, Aldrich,” the Pontiff addressed him as Aldrich leaned over the table, shoveling potatoes, cabbage, and, at length, all of the meat that remained on its serving plate onto the dishes he’d brought. “We weren’t expecting you.” Sulyvahn’s voice wasn’t nearly as accusatory as some of the clerics hoped it would be. “We’d have made more.”
“That is a shame, Pontiff,” Aldrich rejoined with a wide grin. A few clerics stared in disbelief, while others averted their eyes from his strangely shaped teeth. “I suppose I’ll just have to make do with what’s available.” He took up his utensils and buried them in the heap of beef he’d allocated for himself, his expression returning to neutral as he began to eat.
The clerics that had been disturbed from their meals returned to them as best they could, noticing that the Pontiff’s spine seemed straighter, his movements distracted, since Aldrich had sat down to eat.
The last time he’d sat with them, a couple of weeks ago, at least, he’d at least waited until he was sure everyone had taken what they wanted before he cleared out the leftovers. No one – at least, no one but the Pontiff – knew the provenance of his appetite, but he’d at least acted aware of its inconvenience to his colleagues.
This time, there was no such shyness in his attitude. He lowered his head, yes, but only to facilitate the transferral of as much food as he could manage from his plate to his mouth. His flatware rasped against the plates. When he could be troubled to empty his mouth, he offered compliments on the food, as though he thought he were behaving perfectly well.
He cleared the plates he had before him with startling haste and surveyed the table, seemingly unperturbed by the clerics who had lay down their forks or who currently stared at his emptied dishes. He stood up again and grabbed the bowl of roasted potatoes, tipping it toward his plate rather than bothering to scoop the last of them out properly. He replaced it on the table and took up the serving fork that had sat with the beef, and now sat in the juices that remained after Aldrich had poached what remained of the beef. He locked eyes with one of the sisters who was watching him, grinned unapologetically, and thrust it at her plate, spearing a few slices of meat that rested there.
A murmur rose and quickly fell around the table as Aldrich lifted the fork and set the stolen morsels on his own plate. The clerics shot pleading glances at Sulyvahn where he sat, tapping the potatoes around on his plate. The pontiff watched Aldrich out the corner of his eye, shoulders angled in resignation. The sister glanced, more confused than angry, from her plate to Aldrich’s and back, then hurriedly picked up her fork and knife to eat what was left.
Aldrich turned the serving fork in his hand. His eyes rested on the Pontiff for a moment before he brought the meat to his mouth, still impaled on the twin tines of the long fork, and tore away a portion of it with his teeth, in view of anyone who dared watch.
Most of the clerics similarly concentrated on eating. A few still knitted their brows at Sulyvahn, at Aldrich. Sulyvahn kept his silent watch. Aldrich met the clerics’ eyes when they passed over him. When he’d stripped the meat from the fork, he set it down and leaned over the table again, planting one palm between rattling glasses and empty serving dishes and reaching with the other bare hand into a deacon’s plate, tangling his fingers in the little sliced beef that was left there.
The cleric to his left began to raise his voice in protest, but the deacon spoke up first, in a calm, hesitant voice, eyes on his plate. “Aldrich, we can start on another helping, so in a few hours…”
“Not to worry, brother,” Aldrich almost purred, shifting back into his seat. “I shouldn’t spoil my appetite, anyway.” He pushed the meat greedily into his mouth, letting his eyes shut as he swallowed it and licked its juices from between his fingers.
The room was nearly silent, save for the hurried scraping of utensils and dishes. Almost everyone who hadn’t finished eating leaned over their plates. A few couldn’t help but stare, aghast or fascinated. They’d hoped they’d made enough to use the meat in tomorrow’s dinner, as well, before Aldrich had so casually destroyed all that was left – and now, they stared as he worried aloud about his appetite.
Aldrich rose from his seat again, and a few heads flinched at the sound of his chair against the floor. He stepped away, though, and fastidiously pushed his chair under the table. Then he approached Sulyvahn’s place, and reached over his shoulder. Sulyvahn grasped his fork in his fist like a weapon, but nevertheless allowed Aldrich to take the few bits of cabbage that were left on his plate.
“Since you’re finished, I require your assistance, Pontiff,” Aldrich instructed, and ate the cabbage as well. “When you find the time, of course.” He departed from the room full of cowed clerics, and Sulyvahn was on his feet even before the heavy door could swing shut behind him. The Pontiff stacked up his own dishes, and Aldrich’s as well, as if to apologize.