After the Banquet

On the white-washed castle walls silver streamers were hung. From the bank of TV's on the wall sultry presenters, plushly made-up, gazed forth, announcing the new banquet in the great hall. Venus herself seemed reclining among silk cushions there.
Everyone was dressed in white, the queen and her maids came in in silk brocades and dressfronts, giggling, the trumpeters delighted to see them, persian cats licked at pure white cream. All around were banks of cushions, sheen-red, luxurious, where the fat auspicious patrons reclined.
In the centre was a long brown-wood table, varnished and glowing healthily, set with candelabras, cluttered and laden with silver and gold platters of food, delicacies, jellied meats, glazed pigeons, stuffed pigs, exotic fruits bursting into ripeness. At the table neat chairs were drawn up, and the patrons that entered to the fanfares of trumpets sat daintily at their places, smiling prettily like medieavel princesses. Fat kings were there also, chuckling and biting at chickenwings. All the 4th year kids from the local sinful high school drew up chairs, licking lips, still half-ragged and smelling of eraser dust and chalk, but delighted, transformed in their raptures to princes and princesses, ennobled. They loosened school-ties, gripped wood, pilfered gold coronets which they set atop their touseled heads, relaxed with spiced wine.