[Scene: “Pies, Prayers, and Pantslessness”]

  [5:42 PM | Dining Room, Kareshka’s Favor | Sunlight hitting half the room like divine stage lighting]

  Lorin Neverbrooke stood at the head of the dining room table with a clipboard in one hand and a tea towel in the other, the tter looped over her arm like a noblewoman with a dagger to hide. She was dressed simply, but perfectly: earth-toned dress, sleeves rolled, posture fwless as ever. Her emerald eyes tracked each member of the party with all the calm threat of a tavern god.

  Lorin:“Tonight’s dinner is mushroom pie with goat cheese gze. Please, gods and wild things alike, do not—Daka, stop adding whiskey to the gze—do not interrupt the schedule.”

  Daka, of course, was already licking a spoon and shirtless again, save for his Big Belt of Swagger and pirate hat, which he wore backwards today “for fir.”

  Daka (mouth full):“’S called improv culinary flourish, love.”

  Mel, seated beside the hearth and fidgeting with a thin stalk of moss, arched a brow and didn’t lift her gaze.

  Mel (muttering):“It’s called bad life choices with dairy.”

  ?

  At the far end of the table, Melodia Starwhisper was trying, very sincerely, to spoon honey into her tea without looking like she’d just remembered how hands work. Her moonstone choker pulsed faintly as her cheeks began to glow — not from magic, but embarrassment.

  Her corset dress — pastel vender with delicate ce trim — hugged her soft frame in a way that was designed more for poetry than practicality. Every time she reached for her teacup, the hemline of her skirt threatened to rise another inch. And every time Daka noticed, he accidentally dropped something.

  Melodia (softly, not meeting anyone’s gaze):“I think… the sugar cubes are staging a rebellion. They keep slipping out of the tongs.”

  Krummar, sitting on the windowsill like a stone gargoyle that had learned to ugh, leaned over with a lopsided smile. His navy and pale blue armor clinked softly, matching the faint scent of dried flowers that always seemed to follow his presence after prayer.

  Krummar (teasing):“Perhaps the cubes are simply intimidated by the presence of such… overwhelming femininity.”

  Melodia made a squeak not unlike a surprised bird. Her star-charmed garter strap slipped as she readjusted her seating and crossed her legs demurely. Her stockings shimmered in the light. Daka dropped his spoon again.

  ?

  Lorin (not looking up):“That’s three spoons, Daka. If you drop a fourth, you’re doing dishes. Shirtless or not.”

  Daka:“Oi, that’s a motivator, not a threat.”

  ?

  Suddenly, the back door creaked open.

  Mel, who had been calmly whittling a thorn into the shape of a tiny wolf, tensed.

  Mel (low):“…Did anyone lock the coop?”

  Krummar (frowning):“I thought you did.”

  From the darkness beyond the doorway came a rustle. Then a cluck. Then—

  CRASH.

  A dire chicken — fully enhanced by Mel’s failed experimental spores — charged through the tavern.

  It was the size of a wild boar. Its feathers glowed faintly green. It honked like a goose with unresolved trauma.

  Mel (deadpan):“…That one was called Gerald.”

  Lorin (removing her apron like a duelist drawing steel):“I just polished the floors.”

  Melodia (horrified):“He’s wearing my beret!”

  ?

  [Codex Trigger: Chaosburst | Emotional Axis Cascade Begins]? Daka: “THAT’S my hat now, feather demon!!” → Jealousy +1 (hat hierarchy conflict)? Mel: Passive guilt spike → Terrain Shift: Slick moss floor patch forms (10ft radius)? Krummar: Ally under threat → System 277: Devotional Echo Matrix auto-triggers? Melodia: Glow surge + Lust Layer spike (from Krummar stepping in front of her)

  Krummar (radiant as hell):“Back, foul fowl!”

  He casts Shield of Faith on Melodia without thinking, eyes glowing with divine starlight. She gasps — visibly trembling. Her freckles illuminate like moonlit consteltions.

  Melodia (whispering):“You cast that for me…?”

  Krummar (distracted by incoming beak):“…Technically also for the pie behind you.”

  ?

  Daka, meanwhile, suplexes the chicken.

  He yells “ScreechGRIT!” mid-maneuver.

  The entire tavern erupts in emotional absurdity. A stool breaks. The pie is saved. Lorin doesn’t blink.

  Lorin (setting the pie down, perfectly pted):“Dinner is served. Mel, please remove the moss from the gravy boat.”

  Mel (already doing it):“…I think it’s developing sentience.”

  ?Axis changes logged.Glow reactions triggered.Pie intact.Beret recovered.No emotional survivors.

  [Scene End.]