The host's Story

The spoon heard the door open and froze. He'd endured days of wandering the table uselessly, collecting his thoughts. But during the hours that the host sat staring at him, he felt enslaved, unable to even twitch. Moving in the presence of humans was strictly forbidden, though none seemed to know why. He watched as the host walked over to the table and sat a small box down. His curiosity peaked. The host tore away the box and the packaging as though he couldn't breathe until it was opened. Inside was a small plate. He felt an explosion of joy at the thought of some company followed by a tinge of guilt at rejoicing even though he knew that yet another would be in his exact same situation soon. The host wiped the wrapping off the table with the back of his hand and sat the plate next to the spoon.

He sat silently, staring at what he'd gathered so far. Just a spoon and a tea saucer.
"Speak to me", he whispered, his voice barely auditory. They said nothing, and he knew that if he were to catch them speaking or moving, they'd need more motivation than just one other item with which to interact. After what seemed an eternity he stood. He felt tired and weak, and for the first time recognized that he hadn't eaten or slept in days. But he couldn't stop now. He walked out of the room, disregarding the litter on the floor. Perhaps he'd stop and eat at a restaurant on his search. Maybe he could slip a knife or fork into his pocket and walk out with it.

He heard the rustling of the host putting his coat back on, and then the door again. He waited a few minutes just to make sure he was really gone, then slide closer to the plate and introduced himself. "I've never seen such a small plate", he remarked.

Outside of a Restaurant Downtown:

He fell into the night face first, trying to slow his fall against the harsh alley pavement with his hands. "And take a bath. You reek", shouted the restaurant's owner out to the host, before walking back into the warmth of his establishment. The host laid in the alley in shock for a moment, running through the past few minutes in his head. The waiter had seen him slip the fork into his pocket and didn't return the bill, instead bringing out the owner and one of the larger chefs to remove him. There, laying on his stomach, he saw it. About five feet from his head, was a bent, rusty fork. The moment the host's eyes met the fork, he knew it was perfect. He picked himself up and dusted off his suit. After taking a couple of steps, he knelt picking it up. He turned it over in his. "Look at you", he said, allowing a grin to spread across his face. "Look at you", he repeated several times, the grin growing larger and larger.

In a Pub Downtown:

The host sank into a bar stool at his favourite pub. It had been weeks since he'd been here last and it looked like they'd redecorated. Staring at the dimly lit wall, his thoughts slipped once more towards his dining set. He had a fork, knife, and spoon. The saucer could serve as a plate.
"A glass...", he murmured aloud.
"What's that?", asked the elderly bartender, leaning in.
"A glass is what I need", the host continued, talking to himself.
"Eh? A glass of what?"
Suddenly, the host was aware of the bartender's presence. Snapping back into the present, he found himself in the middle of accidentally ordering a drink. "Oh.... ummm.... a glass of scotch."
"Sorry, son. Fresh outta scotch."
"That's fine. How about a mug of your cheapest beer then."
The bartender retreated into the back, returning shortly with the promised drink in a stout, barrel-patterned mug. Suddenly the host was ecstatically chatting with the bartender, asking questions about the mug. The old man was quite taken aback at the sudden change in character. He'd seen this man here maybe a dozen or more times, every time quietly drinking alone. The change from that silent figure to this manic interrogator was massive, indeed. Where did he find it? How much was it? What about it caught his eye? He answered these rapid questions as well as he could. But after about five minutes, the barkeep had finally had enough.
"Tell you what," he said hastily. "Why don't you hold onto that mug for now and give it back to me the next time you come here and use it?" The host said nothing, but chugged the beer, shook the bartender's hand, and marched out of the pub with a wild grin on his face. The bartender knew he's never see him again.