“So it’s said the Amarr have always been the most technologically advanced race.” I said as I took another swig of my beer, while my U’K alliance mates jeered and booed at my opening comment.
During the previous several weeks, I had started becoming a part of the team, a brother to be relied on, no matter what the task. It felt good to be surrounded by Matari, like-minded people dedicated to the eradication of slavery and piracy but not bogged down by the minutiae of political maneuvering.
“But it wasn’t always so.” I continued, resting my beer on the table, wiping dribble from my chin with my sleeve. There was a quiet murmuring of anticipation now, my audience waiting for the inevitable tale I would tell.
“My great ancestor, the first Matar Colonel Wieler in our proud line, archived an experience he had with perhaps the original Amarrian priests to come to our worlds.”
I deliberately paused, drawing them in further, waiting for them to hang on my every word. I enjoyed telling a good story.
“These two Amarrian priests were curious about our people; intrigued by our tribal way of life, by our strong clan ties.” This, of course, received many hoots and hollers, some Brutor even pounding on their chests in recognition that we were Matari.
“It so happens that they decided to travel among us inconspicuously, trying to blend in, if you can even imagine such a thing.” A few chuckles, a few snorts of derision.
“‘Blessed Elder Brother,’” the first priest said to the other. “‘I hunger. We should find ourselves some sustenance among these primitives.’”
Boos! Bahs! from the crowd. I smiled.
“‘There, brother! Look!’” the priest said, and I pointed to some imaginary place outside, many of my audience turning to look. I shook my head and laughed.
“They happened upon a hot dog stand.” I said, a wide smile on my face, already knowing the punch line.
“‘This is good, elder brother.’” the younger priest said. “‘They eat dog as well. Perhaps they are civilized after all.’”
I had to shush the hissing and booing from my alliance mates.
“‘Let’s hope so, lesser brother.’” the other priest replied.
They ordered themselves two hot dogs, both of them ravenous with hunger. Several minutes later, they sat down with their foil wrapped food.
The lesser priest unwrapped his hot dog, his mind consumed with the need to eat. His eyes bulged round, his mouth hanging open, and he quickly wrapped the food back up, placing his shaking hand on the elder priest’s sleeve.
The elder priest looked to his younger brother, genuine confusion and rising alarm etched on his face.
The lesser priest spoke, his voice trembling.
“‘What part of the dog did you get?’”
I have never heard a group of Matari laugh so hard to this day.