Plum and Peach Seated at Different Tables and I, a Tomato, Clocked Every Second of It
Sources close to the situation — that source being me, a tomato, standing four feet away behind a potted fern — can confirm that Plum and Peach attended Tuesday's Quarterly Rind Council and did not once share a bread roll. Not one. The rolls were abundant. There was no logistical reason for this. Draw your own conclusions, though mine are already drawn and laminated.
Peach arrived first, selected a seat with clear sightlines to the door, and arranged her cardigan with the energy of someone who had rehearsed this. Plum entered eleven minutes later — I counted — and chose the farthest available chair, which happened to be directly next to Tangelo, who looked deeply uncomfortable and spent the remainder of the evening reading the laminated fire safety card.
Lemon, to her credit, attempted a seating intervention at approximately half-past seven, placing herself bodily between the two factions in what can only be described as a humanitarian breadbasket maneuver. It failed. The rolls remained separate. The silences remained loud.
I attempted to ask Peach for a comment as she left. She said, and I am quoting directly, "I don't know who you are." This is a lie. I am Persimmon. I am a tomato. I have been covering the social deterioration of the rival rag's staff since before Plum had legal representation, which she now does. My credentials speak for themselves, and so do eleven court transcripts, all of which contain factual errors that I intend to appeal.