Chapter 276 - Cooks and Crooks VIII
Lia awoke the next morning to a quiet sunrise. It was colder out than usual, thanks to the chilly morning breeze, but as a ball on the roof of her shop, she hadn’t noticed until she stirred to life. Half falling off the building, she dropped down in front of it to find the doors already open. Hardly a surprise. She had expected her apprentice to wake up and run off come first light. She had never asked for the details, but he always had some sort of business in the mornings.
What did surprise her, however, was the fact that Claire and Sylvia were already seated at the desk, with one attentive and the other unconscious. The sleepy, wide-eyed cat immediately spun around and looked down the street. Surely enough, the sun was exactly where she thought it was, just high enough above the horizon for the orange, morning glow to have finally faded away. And it remained in position even after she cleaned her glasses and pinched her cheeks.
It was not because she had the only key that she was so utterly bamboozled, but rather that they were present at all. Neither had a particularly strong work ethic, and their regular schedules dictated that they shouldn’t have arrived for another three hours.
“Good morning.” Lia waved with one hand while stifling a yawn with the other. “You’re here early.” For some odd reason—she couldn’t quite tell what exactly—the shop felt a little more spacious than usual, but she soon shrugged it off as a figment of her imagination.
“Welcome to the ridiculously named shop on Fourth Street. How might I be of service today?” The moose returned her greeting with a picture-perfect smile. The contents of her words aside, she was putting on a masterful performance, exactly as expected of a star employee. Not that any such employee existed.
“There’s nothing wrong with the name,” huffed the cat. “It rolls right off the tongue.”
“Wrong.” The friendly air vanished, replaced in a heartbeat by the lyrkress’ usual blank stare. Just cold and empty enough to send a shiver up the catgirl’s spine. “It’s a mouthful.”
“We’re not having this argument again.” Natalya was about to enter the counter when she looked towards the private rooms. “Looks like Ruben’s still here.”
Because it was difficult to determine if a room was in use at a glance, the trio had devised a system that made use of the fox’s magic. If the room was empty, the door would appear as usual, but if it was occupied, an illustration of the occupant would be carved into its panel. Technically, it was the second iteration. The original system had made use of a paper ledger kept at the front desk, but Natalya was the only one that had ever bothered to keep it up to date.
“He tried to leave a few minutes ago,” said the lyrkress. “I told him to sleep in. We’re going to be having breakfast soon.”
“Breakfast?”
Lia followed the lyrkress’ eyes, but even then, it took her a while to realise that something was amiss. For the first few seconds, her groggy mind failed to process the scene laid before her. But the longer she stared, the stranger it seemed. The dining hall was much larger than it had been just a few days prior, and the kitchen at its far end was no doubt a new addition. Just like the person standing inside it.
His species was the only familiar thing about him. He had a massive, ten-foot frame covered in thick, silver hairs, many of which were tinged by a gold faded in days long past. His arms, which were just as lightly fuzzed as the rest of his skin, were so muscular that they were thicker than her waist, and his head was adorned with a flowing mane slicked back and tied with thick leather bands. His emerald gaze was sharp but mellow, gentle but judging, kind but cruel.
As far as technicalities were concerned, they were derived from the same race; he was a cat-sith that had strayed far from the norm, a man that had chosen to forgo the humble, laid-back nature typically possessed by one of his sex. And he had the battle scars to match. His body was marred by faded cuts, evidence that he had been heavily wounded by a cursed weapon and subsequently repaired by some unskilled priest or other. Either that, or they had been left intentionally, as a means of refining his image.
His darkened nose was a tell-tale sign of his age, even more distinct than the colour of his mane. He could have easily been her grandfather, or perhaps an ancient ancestor. Which of those was true, only the man would know. For while his second ascension, like hers, had granted five hundred years of life, it was impossible to tell when exactly it had been earned.
“Are you the owner?” He spoke in a rough growl. His voice was so deep that it rattled the cutlery as it pulsed through the floor.
The catgirl’s half-awake brain was immediately shaken free of its shackles. Her bleary vision cleared, and her slouched back snapped straight as a rod. She nearly assumed him an intruder, but Claire’s inattention was reason enough to deduce that he was only present with her consent. Of course, that much was given from the kitchen’s remodelling. Sylvia would never have made the mistake of randomly following a stranger’s instructions.
“I am,” She walked up to the man and extended her hand. “I’m Natalya Vernelle, Armidian Fastpaw, and the general manager. Who might you be?”
The much larger cat eyed her mitt for half a second before grabbing it with his own. “Garm. Panterloch.” He gave it a solid shake before crossing his arms and looking her over again. “I heard that you were looking for a cook,” his voice was relaxed, but his eyes were still sharp, “And I figured that we could help each other out. If we happened to impress each other.”
Natalya paused for a moment to examine him more closely. “You aren’t Paunsean, are you?”
“My parents were, but me, I’m Vel’khanese through and through.” He continued to speak as he got to work. He gently picked up half a dozen eggs in his claw-tipped hands and broke them in a bowl. “Allergic to anything I should be aware of?” Though his tool of choice was a massive, lion-sized ladle, he had no trouble beating the unborn seabirds into a creamy, homogenized paste.
“I’m not.”
“Good.” He threw another handful of eggs into the mixture before pouring it into a large pan. Even without a fire, the cast-iron skillet was red-hot, courtesy of the lightning he ran through its frame. “I can make most things if you get me the ingredients, but this is pretty much all I can do with what we’ve got on hand.” He pointed at the chalkboard behind him. The menu was on the simpler side, featuring a small list of omelettes and meats. “But you’ll probably be better off just trusting me and letting me do my thing.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” said the relatively hairless cat.
“Good choice.”
A toothy grin on his lips, the obscenely muscular lion grabbed an onion off the counter. He chucked it into the air, just to bash it into his pan with his ladle. He flattened it with a second strike and cubed it with a third, cutting it easily with the metal spoon’s edge. While it looked somewhat ridiculous, it was an ability that proved his prowess as a chef. Using the right tool would certainly facilitate the process, but cooking was not the sort of task that required some specific implement or other. Cutting a watermelon with a boulder, for example, was not impossible—it only took more time and patience than it would to saw it apart with a knife. A more malleable chef could make do with an even cruder tool, or perhaps even find a way to prepare the melon without a tool at all.
Before long, the building was filled with the scent of sizzling meat, dressed perfectly with spices from the underwater forest nearby. The delicious aroma wafted outside, attracting the attention of the local commuters as well. They veered into the shop, two or three at a time, just to inquire about the food. But alas, with their chef still in the midst of negotiating the terms of his employment, Lia had no choice but to apologize and turn them away. On the lion’s end, it was a good impression. He was already proving himself an asset, capable of providing an uptick in business with just his standard fare.
“Alright, it’s done.” He tapped a small bell atop his counter as he frisbeed a set of plates onto a nearby table. “Five orders of honey wheat pancakes with sausage omelettes and Ryllian herbs.” The food and cutlery followed soon after, flying through the air and onto the plates, where it was arranged with haphazard perfection. “Give it a shot. Tell me what you think.”
“It looks really good,” said Lia. She pulled up a chair and sat down, with everyone else joining her at the table soon after. Boris was first. He warped straight onto the wooden platform and positioned himself on top of a dish, while everyone else slowly wandered over.
Sylvia began to stir when her face was placed next to her plate, her nose twitching all the while, but Ruben had to be shaken, though it was difficult to say if he was made more conscious by the lyrkress’ efforts. The killer-turned-receptionist had churned him with such vigour that he wound up collapsed at the table, his eyes swirling like a storm.
“Of course it looks good,” said the man, with a snort. “I used to make hundreds of these a day.” He walked out from behind the counter and approached with his arms crossed. “Now what are you waiting for? Hurry up. Dig in before it gets cold.”
Nodding, the cat picked up her tableware in a way that immediately earned the lyrkress’ disdain and set her sights on her omelette. The eggy outer layer was every bit as fluffy as it looked, bursting with a few hints of a still silky yolk when she cut it with her fork. When she pressed a piece into her mouth, she found her eyes sparkling and her tastebuds flooded with flavour. Thick, meaty juices poured out from within and escorted her tongue to the realm above.
“This is delicious.”
When she looked around the table, she found her opinion very clearly shared. The kid was still not conscious enough to eat, but Sylvia was humming and Boris had already finished his portion, plate, fork, and all. Claire was the only one who hadn’t reacted, though that, Lia felt, was a given.
“Glad to hear it.” The man threw his apron over his shoulder and cracked his neck. “Now it’s your turn.” His knuckles soon imitated the bones in his spine, popping as he flexed his bulging muscles. “Meet me in the other room when you’re done.” He marched into the auditorium, humming a popular children’s song as his face became a predatory grin.
Lia waited until the door was fully closed behind him before she started to speak. “I was definitely expecting something, but not this,” she said, in a whisper. “Where the hell did you find him? This is even better than most of the stuff you find in high-end restaurants.”
“The northern wharf,” said Claire. “Where else would you find a pirate?”
“You know that’s not what I meant,” mumbled the cat, as a second bite reached her lips.
“He’s not the only one we found either!” said Sylvia, her chest puffed up with pride. “We even managed to get this doctor lady thing. I think she’s supposed to be coming in a little bit later.”
“After lunch,” said the longmoose. “Now hurry up and eat.” She magically lifted the rest of the omelette off the cat’s place and bumped it against her cheek.
“I’m tryi—” Her breakfast was crammed into her mouth the moment she opened it to speak. Claire slid it down her throat without mercy—omelettes, pancakes, toast, and all—and denied her both the opportunity to taste or chew. There was a brief moment of silence after the fact, followed by a gulp as the cat’s throat flapped about in confusion. “Claire!”
“What?”
“I was going to take my time with it.” The strength drained from the Paunsean’s limbs as she realised that her delicious breakfast had been thoroughly denied.
“You can do that at lunch. Now go beat him up.” She assumed her lyrkrian form just to pluck the cat out of her chair. “You’re keeping him waiting.”
“Okay, okay. I get it already. You don’t have to be so pushy.”
“I’m not being pushy.”
“Mmmnnnn, I dunno Claire,” said Sylvia, with a fork still in her mouth. “You’re literally pushing her right now.”
“No I’m not.” The lyrkress wheeled the cat forward as she spoke, not even blinking as her lies were brought to light.
Lia was still a little suspicious, but knowing that Claire would have done a much better job of hiding her feelings if she was up to no good, she decided not to mind it. For the most part, her evaluation was not incorrect. Claire was mainly ushering her along as a means of recouping time lost. Planning and executing the morning event had cost her a fair bit of sleep, and she had every intention of getting it all back. With that said, she still wasn’t quite sure if she needed it in the first place—she wasn’t the slightest bit tired—but whatever the case, she was in the mood for a nap. And with Sylvia so dysfunctional, she would need the cat to return to desk duty before she found herself a bed.
“Wait a second!” shouted the humanoid hat. “You were just thinking something super rude, weren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A faint smile on her face, Claire dropped the cat inside the auditorium and returned to her seat. There was already a customer approaching the empty front desk, but he would just have to wait his turn. Delicious as it was, her breakfast wasn’t going to savour itself.
Chapter 276 - Cooks and Crooks VIII
Lia awoke the next morning to a quiet sunrise. It was colder out than usual, thanks to the chilly morning breeze, but as a ball on the roof of her shop, she hadn’t noticed until she stirred to life. Half falling off the building, she dropped down in front of it to find the doors already open. Hardly a surprise. She had expected her apprentice to wake up and run off come first light. She had never asked for the details, but he always had some sort of business in the mornings.
What did surprise her, however, was the fact that Claire and Sylvia were already seated at the desk, with one attentive and the other unconscious. The sleepy, wide-eyed cat immediately spun around and looked down the street. Surely enough, the sun was exactly where she thought it was, just high enough above the horizon for the orange, morning glow to have finally faded away. And it remained in position even after she cleaned her glasses and pinched her cheeks.
It was not because she had the only key that she was so utterly bamboozled, but rather that they were present at all. Neither had a particularly strong work ethic, and their regular schedules dictated that they shouldn’t have arrived for another three hours.
“Good morning.” Lia waved with one hand while stifling a yawn with the other. “You’re here early.” For some odd reason—she couldn’t quite tell what exactly—the shop felt a little more spacious than usual, but she soon shrugged it off as a figment of her imagination.
“Welcome to the ridiculously named shop on Fourth Street. How might I be of service today?” The moose returned her greeting with a picture-perfect smile. The contents of her words aside, she was putting on a masterful performance, exactly as expected of a star employee. Not that any such employee existed.
“There’s nothing wrong with the name,” huffed the cat. “It rolls right off the tongue.”
“Wrong.” The friendly air vanished, replaced in a heartbeat by the lyrkress’ usual blank stare. Just cold and empty enough to send a shiver up the catgirl’s spine. “It’s a mouthful.”
“We’re not having this argument again.” Natalya was about to enter the counter when she looked towards the private rooms. “Looks like Ruben’s still here.”
Because it was difficult to determine if a room was in use at a glance, the trio had devised a system that made use of the fox’s magic. If the room was empty, the door would appear as usual, but if it was occupied, an illustration of the occupant would be carved into its panel. Technically, it was the second iteration. The original system had made use of a paper ledger kept at the front desk, but Natalya was the only one that had ever bothered to keep it up to date.
“He tried to leave a few minutes ago,” said the lyrkress. “I told him to sleep in. We’re going to be having breakfast soon.”
“Breakfast?”
Lia followed the lyrkress’ eyes, but even then, it took her a while to realise that something was amiss. For the first few seconds, her groggy mind failed to process the scene laid before her. But the longer she stared, the stranger it seemed. The dining hall was much larger than it had been just a few days prior, and the kitchen at its far end was no doubt a new addition. Just like the person standing inside it.
His species was the only familiar thing about him. He had a massive, ten-foot frame covered in thick, silver hairs, many of which were tinged by a gold faded in days long past. His arms, which were just as lightly fuzzed as the rest of his skin, were so muscular that they were thicker than her waist, and his head was adorned with a flowing mane slicked back and tied with thick leather bands. His emerald gaze was sharp but mellow, gentle but judging, kind but cruel.
As far as technicalities were concerned, they were derived from the same race; he was a cat-sith that had strayed far from the norm, a man that had chosen to forgo the humble, laid-back nature typically possessed by one of his sex. And he had the battle scars to match. His body was marred by faded cuts, evidence that he had been heavily wounded by a cursed weapon and subsequently repaired by some unskilled priest or other. Either that, or they had been left intentionally, as a means of refining his image.
His darkened nose was a tell-tale sign of his age, even more distinct than the colour of his mane. He could have easily been her grandfather, or perhaps an ancient ancestor. Which of those was true, only the man would know. For while his second ascension, like hers, had granted five hundred years of life, it was impossible to tell when exactly it had been earned.
“Are you the owner?” He spoke in a rough growl. His voice was so deep that it rattled the cutlery as it pulsed through the floor.
The catgirl’s half-awake brain was immediately shaken free of its shackles. Her bleary vision cleared, and her slouched back snapped straight as a rod. She nearly assumed him an intruder, but Claire’s inattention was reason enough to deduce that he was only present with her consent. Of course, that much was given from the kitchen’s remodelling. Sylvia would never have made the mistake of randomly following a stranger’s instructions.
“I am,” She walked up to the man and extended her hand. “I’m Natalya Vernelle, Armidian Fastpaw, and the general manager. Who might you be?”
The much larger cat eyed her mitt for half a second before grabbing it with his own. “Garm. Panterloch.” He gave it a solid shake before crossing his arms and looking her over again. “I heard that you were looking for a cook,” his voice was relaxed, but his eyes were still sharp, “And I figured that we could help each other out. If we happened to impress each other.”
Natalya paused for a moment to examine him more closely. “You aren’t Paunsean, are you?”
“My parents were, but me, I’m Vel’khanese through and through.” He continued to speak as he got to work. He gently picked up half a dozen eggs in his claw-tipped hands and broke them in a bowl. “Allergic to anything I should be aware of?” Though his tool of choice was a massive, lion-sized ladle, he had no trouble beating the unborn seabirds into a creamy, homogenized paste.
“I’m not.”
“Good.” He threw another handful of eggs into the mixture before pouring it into a large pan. Even without a fire, the cast-iron skillet was red-hot, courtesy of the lightning he ran through its frame. “I can make most things if you get me the ingredients, but this is pretty much all I can do with what we’ve got on hand.” He pointed at the chalkboard behind him. The menu was on the simpler side, featuring a small list of omelettes and meats. “But you’ll probably be better off just trusting me and letting me do my thing.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” said the relatively hairless cat.
“Good choice.”
A toothy grin on his lips, the obscenely muscular lion grabbed an onion off the counter. He chucked it into the air, just to bash it into his pan with his ladle. He flattened it with a second strike and cubed it with a third, cutting it easily with the metal spoon’s edge. While it looked somewhat ridiculous, it was an ability that proved his prowess as a chef. Using the right tool would certainly facilitate the process, but cooking was not the sort of task that required some specific implement or other. Cutting a watermelon with a boulder, for example, was not impossible—it only took more time and patience than it would to saw it apart with a knife. A more malleable chef could make do with an even cruder tool, or perhaps even find a way to prepare the melon without a tool at all.
Before long, the building was filled with the scent of sizzling meat, dressed perfectly with spices from the underwater forest nearby. The delicious aroma wafted outside, attracting the attention of the local commuters as well. They veered into the shop, two or three at a time, just to inquire about the food. But alas, with their chef still in the midst of negotiating the terms of his employment, Lia had no choice but to apologize and turn them away. On the lion’s end, it was a good impression. He was already proving himself an asset, capable of providing an uptick in business with just his standard fare.
“Alright, it’s done.” He tapped a small bell atop his counter as he frisbeed a set of plates onto a nearby table. “Five orders of honey wheat pancakes with sausage omelettes and Ryllian herbs.” The food and cutlery followed soon after, flying through the air and onto the plates, where it was arranged with haphazard perfection. “Give it a shot. Tell me what you think.”
“It looks really good,” said Lia. She pulled up a chair and sat down, with everyone else joining her at the table soon after. Boris was first. He warped straight onto the wooden platform and positioned himself on top of a dish, while everyone else slowly wandered over.
Sylvia began to stir when her face was placed next to her plate, her nose twitching all the while, but Ruben had to be shaken, though it was difficult to say if he was made more conscious by the lyrkress’ efforts. The killer-turned-receptionist had churned him with such vigour that he wound up collapsed at the table, his eyes swirling like a storm.
“Of course it looks good,” said the man, with a snort. “I used to make hundreds of these a day.” He walked out from behind the counter and approached with his arms crossed. “Now what are you waiting for? Hurry up. Dig in before it gets cold.”
Nodding, the cat picked up her tableware in a way that immediately earned the lyrkress’ disdain and set her sights on her omelette. The eggy outer layer was every bit as fluffy as it looked, bursting with a few hints of a still silky yolk when she cut it with her fork. When she pressed a piece into her mouth, she found her eyes sparkling and her tastebuds flooded with flavour. Thick, meaty juices poured out from within and escorted her tongue to the realm above.
“This is delicious.”
When she looked around the table, she found her opinion very clearly shared. The kid was still not conscious enough to eat, but Sylvia was humming and Boris had already finished his portion, plate, fork, and all. Claire was the only one who hadn’t reacted, though that, Lia felt, was a given.
“Glad to hear it.” The man threw his apron over his shoulder and cracked his neck. “Now it’s your turn.” His knuckles soon imitated the bones in his spine, popping as he flexed his bulging muscles. “Meet me in the other room when you’re done.” He marched into the auditorium, humming a popular children’s song as his face became a predatory grin.
Lia waited until the door was fully closed behind him before she started to speak. “I was definitely expecting something, but not this,” she said, in a whisper. “Where the hell did you find him? This is even better than most of the stuff you find in high-end restaurants.”
“The northern wharf,” said Claire. “Where else would you find a pirate?”
“You know that’s not what I meant,” mumbled the cat, as a second bite reached her lips.
“He’s not the only one we found either!” said Sylvia, her chest puffed up with pride. “We even managed to get this doctor lady thing. I think she’s supposed to be coming in a little bit later.”
“After lunch,” said the longmoose. “Now hurry up and eat.” She magically lifted the rest of the omelette off the cat’s place and bumped it against her cheek.
“I’m tryi—” Her breakfast was crammed into her mouth the moment she opened it to speak. Claire slid it down her throat without mercy—omelettes, pancakes, toast, and all—and denied her both the opportunity to taste or chew. There was a brief moment of silence after the fact, followed by a gulp as the cat’s throat flapped about in confusion. “Claire!”
“What?”
“I was going to take my time with it.” The strength drained from the Paunsean’s limbs as she realised that her delicious breakfast had been thoroughly denied.
“You can do that at lunch. Now go beat him up.” She assumed her lyrkrian form just to pluck the cat out of her chair. “You’re keeping him waiting.”
“Okay, okay. I get it already. You don’t have to be so pushy.”
“I’m not being pushy.”
“Mmmnnnn, I dunno Claire,” said Sylvia, with a fork still in her mouth. “You’re literally pushing her right now.”
“No I’m not.” The lyrkress wheeled the cat forward as she spoke, not even blinking as her lies were brought to light.
Lia was still a little suspicious, but knowing that Claire would have done a much better job of hiding her feelings if she was up to no good, she decided not to mind it. For the most part, her evaluation was not incorrect. Claire was mainly ushering her along as a means of recouping time lost. Planning and executing the morning event had cost her a fair bit of sleep, and she had every intention of getting it all back. With that said, she still wasn’t quite sure if she needed it in the first place—she wasn’t the slightest bit tired—but whatever the case, she was in the mood for a nap. And with Sylvia so dysfunctional, she would need the cat to return to desk duty before she found herself a bed.
“Wait a second!” shouted the humanoid hat. “You were just thinking something super rude, weren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A faint smile on her face, Claire dropped the cat inside the auditorium and returned to her seat. There was already a customer approaching the empty front desk, but he would just have to wait his turn. Delicious as it was, her breakfast wasn’t going to savour itself.
