Prompt - Blind Date

Luceat stood in front of the large mirror in his bedroom fidgeting with the hem of the well tailored tunic he’d purchased for the occasion. A friend had coke to him one day, handed him a pamphlet and said happily “I signed us all up for blind dates since we were all free that night.” The browbird said this so nonchalantly, seemingly unaware that this was literally, without any shadow of a doubt, the absolute worst possible way Luceat could think of to spend a Friday night. Sighing he took a final look in the mirror. He’d opted for a pie of tailored suit pants, a white tunic, and brown leather shoes and accessories. This was as prepared as he was ever going to be so he might as well get on with it he thought.

The venue was a well renowned restaurant in the inner part of the city, glass ceiling panels and dark furniture gave the entire dining room a feeling of being suspended in space. Luceat presented the ticket he’d received to a well dressed miatre’ d and was led to a small round table off in a far corner of the room. Smiling, the immaculately dressed browbird whom Luceat could help but notice was precisely his type asked if he needed anything while he waited, if he was more outgoing he’d have suggested he’d join him for dinner instead of whoever the event host had paired him with but in reality he was far to reserved to even consider such a thing so Luceat simply shook his head and waited. The tablecloth was a brilliant navy blue, he fiddled with the edge, prodding at an embroidered star. Why did he agree to this, Luceat scolded himself, this was perhaps even worse then the time he’s been dragged along to the farthest desert in an attempt to find a new species a fruit the prince wanted to make smoothies with. This cycle of fidgeting and bemoaning his predicament continued until he was startled out of his thoughts by a carved wooden barstool seeming to push itself up to his table. Confused he looked around for someone manipulating the stool with magic, but as he was raised his hand to get the attention of the waitstaff, the individual who he could only presume was his “date” had hopped onto the stool and was waving a tentacle politely. Sitting across from him, holding a ticket matching his own, was a happily grinning seasun.