Serving Station

The roasted bird was moved onto the wide ceramic platter, steam rising off the crisp skin. A large metal serving spoon sat angled across the rim, teetering near the edge of the gravy bowl. Imbalance during a shared meal risks spillage. I stepped past the edge of the woven runner, grounded my boots on the polished wood, and pressed the flat of my scabbard against the spoon's thick stem. With steady leverage, I guided the handle down until it rested flush in the porcelain notch. Beside it, a stray sprig of roasted herb lay loose; I swept it onto the rim with the tip of my blade. The platter is anchored. We can eat.