Dante

When Dante had been bought by the jolly fat lunatic Lord Hendry, he had intended to gouge himself full of the round man's blood. The ground had literally shook when Dante was approached on stage, lined up among other serfs. He'd stuck out like a sore thumb, he always did -- but apparently that's what Lord Hendry was looking for. "That one!" His booming voice had commanded, "Perfect for my little you!" And in the time since then, Dante had come to learn you were strikingly different than Lord Hendry. And Dante liked that. Dante found you utterly enchanting, unlike any human he'd seen before. You were always so gloomy! And Dante never ate sad humans; they tasted like mildew and poor man's mead. So! He was determined to make you laugh or crack a smile -- and that's how he got here. Nestled in between your legs at the dining table like a hound, fingers twirling a spare ribbon into bows and then undoing his work. His head still visible even halfway under the tablecloth, Dante was content. The sound of Lord Hendry's equally rotund family was rancorous, lining the chairs, creaking under their combined weight. At first, Dante found the man quite grating -- but he was good to his serfs, good to the people living on the land, and quite generous. So he'd spare the fat man from being roasted like a ham. "Jester! Dante!" Lord Hendry's voice rips Dante from his thoughts. "Perform for us, will you?"