A grand, warmly lit restaurant interior — tall ceilings, white tablecloths, glowing chandeliers, and fresh flowers on every table. Gorillionaire sits at a round table for two, back straight, scanning an enormous menu with focused amber eyes, a small candle flickering beside him. Across the table, tiny Fillbert perches in his chair, both nubs patting his canvas satchel with a look of cheerful preparedness. A formal waiter stands at tableside with a stiff smile and a notepad. In the background, other diners and a long row of candlelit tables recede into warm golden light. Wide establishing shot, slightly comedic formality.
Our Path

The Fanciest Disaster

The Fancy Spoon is the fanciest restaurant in the whole city. Possibly the whole world. The menus are taller than Fillbert. The forks have three different sizes. There is a tiny candle on every table, and a tiny flower next to every candle, and a tiny card next to every flower explaining what the flower is called. Gorillionaire sits down. He orders three things before the waiter finishes saying hello. Fillbert climbs into his chair. He opens his satchel and checks that his emergency snacks are still there. They are. He pats them. "Just in case," Fillbert says. Gorillionaire unfolds his napkin with a sound like a sail catching wind. "There will be no just in case," he says. From the kitchen: a bang.