Dinner Under Schnookums' Gaze

Dinner at Pringle Manor was not subtle. Eveline led the party into an underused dining hall lined with dusty tapestries, old Pringle triumphs, forgotten inventions, and potato-related family mythology. At the end of the room stood a shrine to Schnookums, PP3's taxidermied sheep, draped in velvet and adored with the kind of tenderness that made the room more uncomfortable, not less. PP3 appeared in a burst of erratic enthusiasm, spoon stuck in his hair, delighted that dinner had become an audience. The table filled with Point Pringle food and invention at the same time. There were crisp potatoes that behaved like enormous chips without crumbling, served in different flavors. There was owlbear leg cooked like a feast bird. White chalices revealed the color and shade of whatever wine was poured into them, an invention PP3 proudly explained had failed at its original purpose while still doing something technically impressive. Then came the Fun Crisps. Dark, purple-sheened, experimental, and dangerous only in the way a Pringle household considered amusing, they tasted of truffle marrow, seared beets, and citrus lichen foam on potato. For some, that was all. For others, the crisps made their cheeks glow and forced helpless giggling while Eveline sank into embarrassment at her grandfather's theater. Maine used the stolen clink-clink fork as a utensil, quietly testing how far old Pringle inventions could be folded into daily life. Around them sat the household and its orbit: PP3, PP5, Eveline, Faephine, Storm Boulder, Pointer, and the Ex Force. Hospitality, grief, invention, awkward romance, and mission urgency all shared one table. The party had come for Percival's help getting to Stormcall. Before that could happen, they had to survive dinner.