#1142 Mixer is Short for What?

“It’s a mixer!!!”

I am Rita-Shiera, a courtesan.
…But still.

What on earth is happening here?
They’ve sat me down at a big table, with seating arranged so that men are on one side and women on the other.

And I’m on the women’s side.

It’s like they want us to have some sort of conversation, men talking to women, face to face.
But what exactly are we supposed to do?

“This is a mixer!!!”

That excited hollering comes from the same guy who greeted us when we arrived.
He’s not sitting with either group; instead, he’s standing in the middle, acting like some master of ceremonies.

“A mixer is an ancient and noble courting ritual from my homeland! A crowd of young men and women all sit around a table, eating, drinking, chatting, and at the end, everyone picks the partner they click with the most!!!”

So that’s it.
A big, group-style matchmaking event, huh?

A bunch of guys on one side, us women on the other.
But the women’s side is all courtesans like me, and on the men’s side, you’ve got a bunch of former mercenary adventurers...probably roped in to help settle this frontier.

Neither side is taking this well.
We courtesans aren’t the only ones confused; the men look just as bewildered.

Think about it: they’ve been stuck out in the boondocks, probably going crazy without any female company.
And now, they finally see a bunch of courtesans but get forced into this weird farce instead.

Because we’re sitting right across from each other, our eyes inevitably meet.
And every time we lock gazes, they give me this awkward little smile, which is…not great.

Amidst that painful tension, the organizer himself…

“Wheyyy! Let’s get hyped, people! Zagin-see-sue-Okemaru Suisan Harakiri Samurai Sushigeisha! Chiss chiss! Thanks a bunch, wiiiss!!!”

…is working himself into some bizarre, incomprehensible frenzy.

Watching him, the woman who showed up earlier with her kids steps in.

“Dear, what are you doing? That’s a kind of partying I’ve never even heard of, and you’re scaring the kids. Junior and Norito are freaking out!”
“Huh?! Don’t be like that, Platy! Here I am doing my best imitation of the in-crowd...even though I have no clue how they actually behave!”
“You shouldn’t force yourself to copy something you don’t understand!”

So these two are married, apparently. Well, it’s obvious they know each other inside out.
I can’t help wondering if they’re really the rulers of this land.
I’ve spent nearly twenty years around bigwigs and high officials, and most of them carry themselves with more dignity than this.

“But I have no choice! Mixers are something the extroverted in-crowd would do! Sitting face-to-face with total strangers of the opposite sex and opening up right away is way too tough for us introverts!”
“That doesn’t mean you should just pretend you’re one of them!”

They’re in the middle of some ridiculous squabble now.

“In the end, you can dress up like an extrovert all you want, but if you’re really an introvert, it shows!”
“Stop! Don’t confront me with reality! I’ll melt away and disappear!!!”
“Discoooo.”
“Saturday Night Feeeeeeeverrrrr.”

Even the kids jump in with random comments?!
What is even going on?!
They can have all the happy family fun they want, but do they realize how awkward this is for the unmarried people watching from the sidelines?

They’re basically flaunting their family antics right in front of us single types.
Do you ever think about how we feel?

And I’m not the only one feeling stranded, everyone else here seems the same!!!

“Um…!”

The man sitting opposite me timidly speaks up.

“So…uh…wh-what do you do for fun…?”

He’s obviously grasping at straws, trying to fill this silence with small talk.
I get it. Sometimes it’s the only thing you can do.

Well, I’m a top-tier courtesan.
Playing along in conversation is part of my job. Social skills are crucial in my line of work!

“Hmm… I suppose I like gathering juicy rumors.”
“R-Rumors?”
“Yes. In this profession, you need endless topics of conversation, so I make a point of staying on top of the latest news.”
“I see, you’re very studious then…”
“Oh, it’s not that big a deal.”
“A-ha…haha…!”
“Ohohoho…”

We’re both sounding each other out, but neither of us really wants to be here.
Still, it is what it is.

“Yeah! That’s what I’m talkin’ about!!”

Eek!
Where did he come from?!
That master-of-ceremonies guy just popped up right next to me out of nowhere!

“L-Lord Saint…?!”
“Keeping an open mind and trying to understand each other is the key to any mixer! Mutual understanding! Honest conversation! Do it often enough, and eventually, everyone can get along!!!”

Isn’t that kind of an overblown statement?
This is just a group matchmaking session.
Don’t go acting like it’s a solution to world peace.

“All right, everyone, let’s get chatty! The more fun we have, the easier it is to tear down walls between people. And I’ve got just the thing to help us get there, because I’m the host for tonight’s mixer!”

Who asked for that?

“That’s right! I’m the twisted little cupid bridging the gap between lonely hearts! And my first contribution is…this!”

He sprints away from the table, then returns holding…
Something...big.
He plunks it right down on the table.
What on earth…?

“French fries!!!”

A large plate sits before me, piled high with… what exactly is this?
It’s a dazzling golden-yellow color, almost shining, and made up of countless thin, stick-like pieces stacked on top of each other.

Okay, but what is this?
I mean, it’s served on a plate, on a table, so it has to be food, right…?

The man keeps making trips back and forth, carefully placing more plates across the table so that everyone has their fair share.
And without exception, every single one of them is loaded with those mysterious golden sticks.

Watching this unfold, the noble lady...

“…Why are there only french fries, Dear?”
“Because at young folks’ parties, you can never go wrong with fries! They’re cheap, delicious, and everyone loves them! The best bang for your buck! All young people adore french fries!!!”
“Aren’t you generalizing a bit?”

I’m a high-class courtesan who prides herself on being in the know about all the latest trends…and I’ve never heard of this dish.

But it’s too soon to draw conclusions.
Maybe “french fries” are actually a local delicacy with a huge following in some remote region. If that’s the case, it’d make sense that a big-city courtesan like me wouldn’t know them.

Yes, that must be it.
I have my pride as a top-ranking courtesan. I must be on the cutting edge of culture, so for me to be ignorant of something is unthinkable.

Food is one of the most vital parts of culture, after all.

So if I don’t know about these french fries, they must be some provincial staple. A country bumpkin dish.
Please, let it be so!

To see the truth for myself, I pick up one fry and pop it in my mouth.

“You can choose ketchup or mayonnaise as your dip.”

Oh, ah.
Thanks…

...Munch.

“This is…what in the world is thisssssssss?!?!”

Delicious!
Absolutely delicious!

The crispy outside gives a delightful crunch, while the inside is soft and fluffy, creating a wonderful contrast!
And it’s extra fun because I can pick whatever seasoning or sauce I like!
It’s fried, but it tastes so fresh...maybe they use really high-quality oil? There’s not even a hint of greasiness; it’s almost refreshing!

I can see why everyone would love this!

Ugh… Even as a top-class courtesan, I have to give these fries the credit they deserve...!
They’d be a smash hit in any city!

Coming out here to the middle of nowhere and finding something totally new… I guess even I still have a lot to learn.
Being a high-class courtesan doesn’t mean I know everything.