Breakfast was not on the level. We descended, although only a floor below, following dozens of others who looked just as confused as I was. Hallways we navigated began narrow but as we funneled into the carpet-infested atrium, opened in a jagged, angled way. The aforementioned carpets were just as geometric: featuring straight lines, triangles, squares, all in mustard-yellow and brown colors, all to contrast with the faded reds the majority of the carpets featured. Staircases were made of compacted sand: slip-proof.

  Before entering the food-oriented auditorium proper, we had to navigate an octagonal room that had no feasible purpose other than to visually announce to any awe-struck guest that they were about to enter the food room and should act as such. Carpets converged into this sort of…lobby place and made yellow rings that compressed into a bullseye in the center.

  By acting food-appropriately, I meant we had to sit and wait. Staff made a few announcements that I couldn’t be bothered to remember, all to stall us from taking breakfast early. Then, the early birds among us were set free.

  Through the sluggish mass of people swarming over breakfast, I noticed Rebecca lagged, possibly for a minute. I followed her perspective, ending up at Joh. He looked as stylish as her- red wireframe pattern blazer and pants with a navy color underneath, wooden clogs, dark brown button-up, wireframe tie of matching colors, but the lines were tilted roughly by forty-five degrees, with, with, I think I see a J embroidered in the middle? He had a cane as well, despite clearly looking like he didn’t need it. Was he old? Maybe. Was he so old that he looked deflated? Not at all.

  She moved on before I could read her intentions. That makes two bad impressions now. I sat down, only taking a plate and smearing a bit of food that would easily dry out, but I didn’t take anything.

  I was the first person to sit down. We were at rounds of eight dressed with orange tablecloths. There were a few banquets in the middle, likely for staff members or group leaders who knew what they were doing with themselves at this event.

  There wasn’t really a trend on who took what. Well, that’s not true. A lot of people took muffins, I guess because they stood out. I think it was some sort of berry muffin with frosted sugar on top. As I scanned not only my group, I noticed nearly everyone in my view had a muffin. Except for Rebecca. She had food, though. She just had a pancake sprinkled with powdered sugar, honey, and figs. She also had a few slices of fruit, like cantaloupe. Oh, and the famous muffin. It was noticeably on the smaller side, but it looked like she grabbed something for the sake of having a plate as much as everyone else.

  She commented on others’ breakfasts, confirming observations. Everyone else’s voices seemed to blend in with the rest of the dining room. It was the tone more so than the volume. As a result, I couldn’t help but focus on the only one I could hear. From what I noticed, having food for her had to have been a strategy, not a preference.

  She held out a muffin to the peer’s muffin next to her. “I can’t believe you stole my idea. I guess one of us has to fight to the death,” she shrugged and smiled.

  What she received was a light chuckle. Rebecca moved on, giving only a brief second to convey genuine emotion. I’m not sure if anyone else saw that moment.

  Anna pointed her knife at Rebecca from across the table. “You think we’ll see that new band today? I’ve been dying to listen to their stuff,” was something I could make out, but took all of my concentration to.

  “Yeah, I’ve been concerned this whole time,” she shrugged again, only to freeze momentarily, realizing she’d made that gesture in rapid succession. “I’ve been on edge whether or not they’d make it, seeing as they’ve been teasing their first songs since before everything began to happen.”

  Anna was chewing on scrapple while talking. “Nah, I’m not that worried, though. I caught almost a complete sample, and so far, it seems pretty tight. Like, they’re probably gonna drop dates to their first performance here. Well, probably, like, if they’re still alive. I mean, you can’t just die right before your gig, can you?” Then she finished her bite with her fork in her mouth.

  I saw Rebecca give an awkward laugh. “I’m with her,” I thought. I wouldn’t want to be the first to jinx it either. Now I think of it though, the question about survival began to formulate. I acted upon those thoughts by elbowing the sorry soul next to me.

  “Do you guys know how many people, like, you know…get bitten?” was my very delicate way of asking a touchy subject.

  My victim, the man with curly hair from earlier, looked at me with glazed eyes and a fading grin. “You know, I haven’t really thought about that. It’s pretty crazy, you know…” and he continued to talk, but I couldn’t hear him, nor did anything he said provide any ability for me to respond or engage at all, especially not meaningfully.

  And he kept going. And kept going. This lasted for minutes, all wasted since my attention was divided between him and Rebecca. One or the other; it’d be nice if I could just focus. After he finished his spiel, one which didn’t even open questions up or let anyone else into the conversation, I gave not even an agreement but a sort of affirming grunting noise to close the mistake I made in trying to talk to him.

  I tuned back into Rebecca. It felt like a fight broke out the way everyone was talking over each other. They’ve begun arguing over that band. I want to say Rebecca orchestrated it all, but she wasn’t the main belligerent.

  Someone else had the loudest voice: “You had the chance to see them! They were there months ago; that would’ve been the perfect time!” It was a woman who had a horrifically hoarse voice. Hair brighter than her skin, short as can be, and looked like glittery pudding. I couldn’t help but look right through her as if the walls behind her were more visually appealing.

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  I think it was one of the guys who was getting pelted the hardest. “Look, I just, look, I just wasn’t in the area. I had other plans, and I’m just grateful I didn’t end up where everyone else started getting bit.”

  Rebecca’s eyes began to widen.

  Anna contributed: “Well, I was there, and I was fine. Maybe you’re just chicken!” Almost all of the girls, aside from Rebecca, chanted with Anna, calling this poor but somewhat reserved guy chicken. Maybe reserved wasn’t the right word since he wasn’t afraid to speak the moment something popped into his mind; you could just see it the moment he received a thought like mana from the sky falling into his hands. He just muttered, and it looked like it would actually kill him to put some emotion into what he said.

  He looked visibly amused as if he were above it all. “It’s like, you sound like you’re not over your ex,” and Anna blew up in rage but he continued: “you’re not going to get him back no matter how long you stay in the area. Just get over it.”

  Everyone threw shots after that point, again, except for Rebecca…and I. She hung back, lips gently pursed, keeping her eyes away from any particular person. I think she was trying to avoid drawing attention to her.

  Most of the girls tossed insults focusing on the anatomy of each of the guys, oh, also, one of the guys joined the girls side. Most of the guys, aside from the one, had their butts planted in their seats. Whatever happened to being excited to see a band? Was it ever about listening to their music?

  After enough rage and fighting reached its decibel peak, Rebecca finally found her place again. Before she jumped in, she curled nearly her entire face into a determined smile.

  While the rest of them hurled insults before they could think, she, in a medium volume, yelled: “Seethe seethe seethe seethe seethe seethe seethe!” until the rest of them tempered out.

  Conversation lulled back into its normal pace. None of whatever that was seemed productive, although maybe I didn’t understand what relationship fans had with their favorite musicians. Something felt off about Rebecca pulling out of the argument mid-way, though.

  Someone tried talking to me. I asked them to repeat themselves. Then, again. Then, I waited patiently to confirm whether or not I was slow to put together what words I believed they were trying to convey, but…I asked them to repeat again. We shuffled interaction until it was too awkward to continue. They looked upset. I didn’t mean to ignore them, but I can’t change their inability to function properly. Attention shifted back to who didn’t assimilate in the formless blob of sound that made up the entire food hall.

  This time, it was Anna. Rebecca didn’t look like she recovered well: now being interrupted, somewhat drained expression, worn smile, arms crossed. Anna knelt with her hands planted on the table. She was also eating while talking: very efficient.

  “And look, if they serve couscous again, I’m throwing it all up!” She hit the table.

  I…don’t know what couscous is. I waited to receive context clues.

  “Okay, but you admit they’re good at seasoning, right?” One of the guys said with his arms crossed.

  “They always make it too sweet! Like, we’re eating lunch. Okay? Why make it all slimy and all the vegetables to remind me that they’re actually fruit? Lunch is supposed to be savory!” She continued.

  I saw some people getting sucked in again. I could see how someone would find arguing for the sake of arguing enjoyable. It’s somewhere between a challenge and a comforting pain, like bashing your fingernails on a hard surface. I almost thought about intervening, but what’s the point? It’s a subjective topic layered with a subjective topic.

  Rebecca caught the others’ attention: “And I think we should all eat deliciously baked pies and sweets and desserts at all hours of the day.” It was hard to tell if she was fed up, mocking them, playing with them, tired, energetic, or anything, as she encompassed a wide range of emotions, like a dish that contained every flavor at once. Like a summer wind, I was hit with a thick wave of signals, giving me the key to more context than anyone else during this spat.

  So, I stood up and slammed the table back at Anna: “You just gonna waste some perfectly bad sludge just to give us perfectly good sludge?” I nearly tossed the table if I had more energy.

  Everyone shouted in unison, “What?” and, after a decisive moment of silence, laughed, with Rebecca laughing the most uncontrollably.

  Anna shook her head with her eyes opened to their full extent: “I didn’t know you were into that.”

  I pretended to look shocked at what I said. “I…didn’t know either,” I slowly sat down: “Maybe I’m just hungry.” hoping my joke will be passed off just as a joke.

  We began winding down our chat as other groups really started to fill the banquet hall. They got antsy, putting the subject back to the exhibit booths. No one really wanted to be the first to get up, lest they killed the already dying vibe. I didn’t particularly hear any of them make requests for a particular booth to aim for, rather they just kept saying over and over how excited they were or whatever. No substance.

  “I would rather savor the time we have here,” she shrugged and smiled. “Maybe it’s not a big deal, but I feel like this occasion is different than usual.” and concluded with a small giggle.

  “Oh yeah, like we can go visit everything. We got the time and everything,” said one.

  “It’s not like we’re going anywhere or anything,” another said.

  From my point of view, that doesn’t sound like they were listening to her. There was a subtext to what she was saying, something I wanted to ask her to elaborate on. But whatever, it took Anna, Rebecca, and I to finally get up and go. Despite taking the initiative, the rest of them got up to go first, as if automated.

  She ended up hardly eating anything. Last to get up, she quietly distributed her side dishes to the other plates. I tried not to observe too obviously, but I lagged near but behind the group.

  “Did you actually want to eat breakfast? Wait, maybe that didn’t make sense. I noticed your plate stood out and felt like there was a reason for it.” I bumped into Rebecca when she looked alone.

  “Oh, yeah, I guess,” she then pulled closer to me after she quickly scanned her surroundings: “I just needed a reason to fit in with them,” she pushed away and laughed recklessly.

  That was a relatively concrete signal. I want to keep inquiring and digging into her intentions, but she clearly trusts me to be hush-hush. I gave her one last stare, in hopes it would be an appropriate response to her signal, then moved onto Anna.

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