Sattire Attire part X: Sharp wit, sharper sword

"The man has a gun, he knows how to use it. Nine millimeter Browning, let's see what he can do... Dirty animal." - The Gun by Lou Reed
The waitress unsure of the situation, sought to clear up any potential misunderstandings, "Together or separate?"
"Together. The three of us." replied Dmitri in a tone that was meant to remain unchallenged. "Mine, his and her's. Check please!"
"Her's too? But she's not on the table that I'm serving..." The waitress did not wait for a response. She complied and walked off, completely overwhelmed by the storm that was brewing inside Dmitri. Only the agonizing restraint in his voice and his piercing gaze gave any indication of the rage that was going to overcome his usually calm demeanor.
Dmitri's attention had now been diverted to his friend, Sylvester and Sylvester's new, ill-fated friend, Fate.
He got up and fixed his tie. Tightening it almost to a choke-hold. He put on his jacket and buttoned it up. One. Two. Three. And then he walked up to his friend, where he could hear Fate leashing his friend, Sylvester, with an almost witch-like charm... "...that's the most wonderful thing anyone's ever said to me, Sylvester."
"What did he say then?" interrupted Dmitri with a tone that lacked all emotion; neither friendly nor angry. And then with the same tone, he asked Sylvester, "What did you say to her?"
The battle had begun. Dmitri knew it. Fate knew it. Sylvester did not. With his loyalties inexplicably torn between the two, he was a casualty of war before it had begun. For now, his only two companions were pity and sadistic pleasure.
But for the present, Sylvester was caught in a strange predicament; he was confused. His friend, Dmitri, who had always been his friend was acting like an infuriated stranger. On the other hand, the stranger, Fate, was playing the part of a supportive friend. He kept staring at salt-shaker on the table, as if his supposed diverted focus would exempt him from partaking in choosing a side in this battle. A friend, not acting like a friend or an amiable stranger? Of course a friend! Except, the friend in question was pointing a gun to his head...
"What did you tell her then?"
...while asking him to point his gun towards the amiable stranger...
"If you don't want to tell me... do say it to her again. She would not mind, it's the kindest thing she's heard. She says so herself."
Fate, at this point, was maintaining a composure that only mysteriousness can. Mysteriousness backed by uncertainty.
"Are you his friend then?"
"A friend. A guide. A companion. A shepherd. A brother."
"And yet you insult him like he's your livestock...a shepherd more than anything I would say."
"That I must, for he easily gets fattened by any butcher that feeds him. His gluttony knows no bounds."
"If I may correct you, gluttony is the act of outdoing the bounds."
"You digress."
"You contradict." And she said that with a wink and a smile. Dmitri did not know whether to let his guard down or to put it up.
Meanwhile, Sylvester had managed to slip away back to table 8, where he was busy staring at another salt-shaker. He was perspiring. Drenched as if there was a cloud of the monsoon over his head. And the voice in his head spoke: "Why is it that fate is always ill-fate?"