Timidly, Rincewind emerges from the kitchen. He has the look about him of someone who has been told that the next special of the day will be headcheese (with significant eyebrow rise) have we made ourselves clear then? He is balancing a tray very carefully. As he approaches the table, he makes himself smile. It's supposed to be a smile. Either that, or he's suffering from acute gastric distress. "Here we are sirs!" Rincewind burbles. "Your wine." He sets the glass in front of Lucius. He hadn't dared risk bringing the bottle. "And your tea. Green. Not over-steeped." He hopes. He sets the saucer down, managing to slop just a little. The cream and sugar. And a basket of rolls and butter. "Um," Rincewind says, his eyes jittering. "I've forgotten the bread plates. And the cutlery." He gulps. "Oh, and the towel. I'll be right back." A rock and a hard place would be heaven compared to this, he thinks as he scurries back to the kitchen.