“Kylix & Cookie-Tin”
The apartment was split in two climates tonight.
At the bay window, Eriko lounged amid a citadel of reference books. A fresh library copy of *Athenaeus’ Learned Banqueters lay open on the armrest, Greek running down one page, Roman commentary filigreed on the facing page. Yellow flags fluttered from every margin like battle pennants. Eriko’s eyes sparkled at a footnote on the proper seasoning of garum.
Across the room, Sammi sat cross-legged on a blanket fort of manga volumes, rereading Chapters 22–23 of Monthly in the Garden with My Landlord. She highlighted every micro-gesture—Ruri’s eyelash quiver here, Hato’s worried hand clench there—with neon pink tabs shaped like hearts. Her pile of sticky notes looked suspiciously like confetti.
Two worlds—Pergamon’s symposium and a cramped modern Tokyo apartment—breathing under one roof.
1 · Scene-Setting: The Clash that Isn’t
Eriko muttered in ancient Greek:
“Τὸ δὲ φιλότιμον ἄχρηστον ἐστίν, ἐὰν μὴ τῇ τραπέζῃ ὠφελῇ.”
(“Ambition is useless unless it serves the table.”)
Sammi blinked. “Uh-huh. Table service got it.” Then she flipped to the manga panel where Ruri nervously threads her fingers through Hato’s hair and mumbled, “Look at this emotional mise-en-scène. Hato’s spine is literally the tension arc!”
Eriko looked up, eyebrows arched. “Your mise-en-scène just used geometry.”
“Your Greek just scolded ambition,” Sammi shot back, giggling. They grinned—battle lines blurred.
2 · Parallel Revelry
Eriko’s Banquet
In her mind, lyres played and silver kylikes clinked. She underlined Athenaeus’ description of a courtesan quoting Sappho, then penciled: queer female voice within a male banquet—proto-Ruri? Eriko felt the symposium pulse with gossip, gossip with philosophy, philosophy with desire. The whole thing was an academic playground.
Sammi’s Hot-Pot
Sammi watched Ruri sling a grocery bag over her shoulder, cheeks pink, while Hato pretended not to stare. Subtext, subtext everywhere! She scribbled: Chapter 23 = curry concession + couch covenant. It was a romance playground.
One woman communed with antiquity’s gourmands, the other with modern manga’s wallflowers. Both, strangely, were studying care—the meal offered, the hand extended, the line crossed.
3 · Convergence: A Table for Two
The kettle whistled. Sammi leapt up first, but Eriko reached the stove at the same time. Their hands brushed; electric.
“Well,” Eriko said, “Athenaeus recommends diluting Chian wine one part to three of water. I thought perhaps we could dilute genmaicha with a splash of honey?”
Sammi’s face lit like New Year fireworks. “And I’ve got store-bought curry bread aging by the minute. Ruri would weep if I let it go stale.”
They set the low table—a compromise banquet. Genmaicha in mismatched mugs, curry bread sliced on a chipped plate, with paprika to mimic garum’s salt hit. Eriko quoted a toast from Book 15; Sammi responded with Hato’s line, “I bought too many napa leaves—maybe on purpose.”
4 · The Symposium-Manga Dialogue
While they ate:
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Eriko compared Athenaeus’ endless quotations to the way Hato’s art samples classic shōjo paneling—both are patchwork feasts.
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Sammi pointed out that Ruri mends Hato’s cushion just as Roman diners reclined on embroidered couches—domestic repairs as intimacy.
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They debated which was more scandalous: a courtesan reciting Sappho in a male symposium or an idol napping on her fangirl landlord’s lap. Verdict: tie.
Eriko finally confessed, “The more I read, the more I suspect the ancients also lived off subtext.”
Sammi tore a fragment of curry bread and nodded. “And the more I reread, the more I see how subtext becomes text the moment someone offers you tea.”
5 · Epiphany
Snow grazed the fire escape. Eriko closed Learned Banqueters with a satin whisper. Sammi stacked her manga volumes into a tiny ziggurat.
“Your world,” Sammi said, “is full of poets disguised as gluttons.”
“And yours,” Eriko replied, “is full of gluttons disguised as poets.”
They laughed, understanding each other perfectly.
Then Eriko took Sammi’s sticky-note–dotted hand, placed it atop the leather cover of Athenaeus, and said, “Let’s annotate this together—pink heart tabs included.”
Sammi’s breath hitched. “Only if you’ll margin-note my manga with Greek quips.”
Deal struck. Two scholars, two fandoms, one shared table.
Coda: Kylix Meets Cookie-Tin
Later, Sammi dozed, head on Eriko’s shoulder. Eriko resumed reading—this time, though, she underlined a passage about mixing laughter with learning and stuck a neon heart next to it.
Somewhere between Pergamon and Tokyo, a footnote winked into existence:
Eriko & Sammi, Winter Banquet
Love, like wine or hot-pot broth, gains flavor when shared across cultures—and across pages.
And the worlds of choice, instead of colliding, braided themselves into one long, delightful scroll.
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