Fork Fight

So, Ariel and I were hanging out at entrance to the Norwegian Akershus, greeting all of the evening’s dinner guests as they arrived.  After almost everyone was seated, we were waiting for the last few stragglers to show up as the other princesses made their rounds, saying hello to the guests while they dined. Cinderella waved hello as she passed the two of us waiting patiently in the vestibule. Snow White curtsied as she flounced past us. Belle said a few words of friendly recognition as she passed her mermaid friend and stopped to chat at a nearby table.

Bound by decorum to await the arrival of our last few dinner guests, but long since done making small talk to each other as we waited, Ariel and I casually listened in on Belle’s conversation. It began with a surreptitious, shady glance at Cinderella.

“See her?” Belle asked in a low voice, nodding her head in Cinderella’s direction. Then she leaned over conspiratorially, lowering her voice even more. “She’s a little crazy!”  Belle whispered.

The children at the table stared at her, awestruck.

Ariel and I raised our eyebrows at each other and listened even more closely. Was there dissension in the Princess ranks?

Belle watched Cinderella meaningfully as she continued. “She talks to animals,” Belle explained. “And she thinks they talk back.”

The children stared at her owlishly.

“I’m not crazy, though,” Belle assured the children with an air of superiority and a scornful laugh. “I don’t talk to animals!”

“…I talk to furniture.”

With that,  she picked up a fork from the table.

“Bonjour!” She said, holding the fork up to her face. “What’s your name?  …Pierre? Well, bonjour Pierre!”

Ariel and I watched in utter amazement.

“Laura,” Ariel addressed me, without taking her eyes off of the spectacle of Belle babbling like a lunatic to cutlery, “get me a fork. Get me a fork right now.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” I obliged, scanning the restaurant for an empty table and sneaking a roll of silverware into my pocket. Ariel unrolled the napkin hurriedly and grabbed the fork, and with a victorious smile, strolled into the seating area, contentedly combing her flowing red tresses with the utensil.

As she (deliberately) wandered past Belle, the inventor’s daughter’s attention instantly snapped to the fork.

I watched in anticipation from the vestibule.

Belle jumped up and pursued Ariel across the dining room, ultimately snatching the fork from her fingers.  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” She cried out, as diners began to look on in dumbstruck amazement.

“My treasure!”  Ariel exclaimed, making a grab for the fork.

Belle spun around,  blocking Ariel’s reach and cradling the fork sympathetically. “Pierre! Speak to me! Are you all right?”

“But Scuttle said–” Ariel began.

“I DON’T CARE WHAT SCUTTLE SAID,” Belle retorted. “You leave Pierre alone!”

Ariel stomped her foot. “GIMME BACK MY DINGLEHOPPER!”

I snickered. This was epic.

My earpiece crackled.  “Showcase 30 for Norway.”

I keyed my radio. “Go for Norway.”

“We have a situation in Morocco again,” my manager said. “Might be a while before I make it over to you. Everything going smoothly?”

I glanced back at the bickering princesses. “Well, where’s that sea witch now,” Belle was saying, “because you need to be quiet!”

“We’re fine,” I told my manager. “We’re all fine, here, now, thanks.  …How are you?”