Pleasure and Friendship: An Epicurean Philosophy Fantasy

The tap spilled cool water into my hands and I sighed with relief as the water rinsed away the sticky honey smeared on my fingers. I lathered my hands with one of the goatsmilk soap bars Sky had made during the August Suds Spectacular, a week-long soap-crafting workshop that anyone interested in could attend. Sky's soap smelled like lemons. The dinner bell gonged, its resonant, golden song ringing out from the courtyard. I rinsed my hands and smiled; River and I had put the finishing touches on tonight's honey-glazed scones just in time. I walked back into Swallowtail Kitchen, untied the blue cotton apron I'd been wearing around my waist, and picked up one of the large trays of scones. "Just in time," I said, smiling at Adobe. Adobe tossed the apron they'd been wearing - one covered with a child's in-expert embroidery - and tossed it into the hamper. Adobe was a tall teen with high cheekbones and incredibly clear brown skin. I'd never spotted any trace of acne on their face. Lucky. Adobe picked up another two trays while I tossed the blue apron in the hamper. I opened the kitchen door for us and we strolled down a bright hallway, the buttery scent of the scones filling our noses. The sounds of chatter, clanging dishes, and squeaking chairs grew louder and we entered the cafeteria. Bison Hall, where the entire community came to graze.