Meanwhile, in the dining section, Ethan was running around like a headless chicken. As the Service and Utility Officer, his snake-type spirit gave him incredible agility to weave between tables, but the sheer volume of custom orders had completely fried his brain.
He stood before an armored guard's table of hungry gang members, clutching three different paper slips in his trembling hands.
"Wait... okay, so who ordered the Szechuan Dan Dan Noodles, and who had the five Tomahawk Steaks?!" Ethan stammered, his eyes darting back and forth in terror. "Did the gentlemen from the Food Critic Society want the Lamb Rack, or was that for the old lady near the tree?! Oh god, I mixed up the tables!"
An armor-wearing guard slammed his fist on the table, impatiently. "Hey, snake-boy! We've been waiting for our meat! Don't tell me you gave our steaks to those fancy pants over there!"
