chosen fates // sunrise & mach

He's trying to remember all the way back to health class freshman year as he contemplates his lunch plate. So far he's ordered: a turkey sandwich, spaghetti with meatballs, and now he's got a fresh cobb salad with the dirty plates stacked neatly to his left. He spent close to five hours training with weapons that morning. What's five hours of hard manual labor in calories? For that matter, how many calories in a mayo-slathered sandwich?

He turns around to order a protein shake when a girl he doesn't recognize slides into the seat next to him, right in front of his dirty plates. "I'm Sunrise," she says and his brow furrows. What's the etiquette math now? Should he move the plates? But if he moves the plates to his right then he's likely to knock them off the table. Tricky.

"Good job," he says lightly and then reluctantly lifts the sauce ladden plates and moves them beside his right elbow. Having cleared a place for Sunrise, he offers her a quick smile. "You did what you wanted to. And hi back. I'm Machiavelli," he opens his palm, realizes there's a streak of mayo on it, and then quickly shoves it into his napkin. "Still getting used to this whole 'eat with utensils and cloth napkins' thing," he says, kind of joking but also, the last time he really sat down and ate a meal with the whole table setup was a holiday. "Are you here to eat or just size up the competition?"