"Oh, more than alright," Sato smiled. "It'd be privilege. Truly, there's such an invigorating freshness in designing somebody's unknown fantasy--and putting it on a plate."
Good grief, this was making her hungry. She'd sampled some of the land's manitou before, but that'd been ages ago. Plus a random spirit and a surviving archetype were hardly the same sort of meal. It was like foia gras and PB & J: no comparison. (Though Sato had nothing but respect for peanut butter and jelly.)
The drinks arrived as did the first of the food. Sato tasted her portion with academic interest; no doubt the chefs was making a particular effort on this meal, but it was good to check the dish even when it was supposedly at its best.
If only to keep them nervous.
"Now I realize you're still revising the guest list," she said, idly noting that they'd gotten very nice shark this week. "But do you have any starting notion of what the wedding audience will entail? Your own pantheon will attend, non? And Rave, well, she's somewhat related to the drug family, I suppose?"
The bog of the New Gods relations was tough to chart.