AN - I know it's a long chapter, but I have neither the time nor the willpower to review a thing to let me post two consecutive chapters.
~
The Wild Boar
Buffet, located in the Duraham Woods (named after how a child pronounced the
name of one of the dullahans that roamed around in it promptly before he was
killed by it), was a famous hotspot for adventurers and those that could afford
them. Its owner, Marco Dublais, was a professional monster chef, someone versed
in the art of preparing monster dishes. The buffet was his pride and joy,
something he had saved up for since he had left magic college.
His location of
choice was something he relied on, as there was a large variety of edible flora
and fauna just ripe for the picking and killing.
Now, Marco, a
scrawny man with auburn hair, wasn’t the best monster chef in the world. He
could easily dice a walking mushroom or roast a silver-crested duck, but he
lacked both the combat skills and knowledge of most species to be considered a
true practitioner of the monstrous culinary arts. His fame simply came due to
the fact that he was one of the only human chefs in a style commonly practised
by demons. Due to this, he had no clue how to react when three large dragons
violently barged into the lobby.
“Hey! We’re here
to eat!” Fruity growled. Tank and Big Slick pumped their claws into the air,
letting out two roars in unison. Marco, who had stepped out of the kitchen to
work at the reception, ducked underneath the desk. One of the waiters, a young
elven lad, crawled up to him, sweat dripping from every pore.
“Mr. Dublais,
what are we going to do?” the waiter asked, flinching as the dragons roared
once more.
“Don’t worry.
I’ve hired some of the best adventurers as guards. They should be able to
handle this,” Marco said, doing his best not to stop his teeth from clattering.
As soon as he said that, a body flew over their heads, before colliding into
the wall opposite of the two. Its metal armour popped off before the rest of
his body fell with it. “And that would be one of them.”
“Hello? Is there
someone here?” Tank asked.
Marco’s blood ran
cold as soon as he looked up. The snout of a green dragon peered out from the
desk. It sniffed the air twice before retreating back. Marco sighed in relief
before jumping to the side as the waiter leaned against him. On closer
inspection, it turned out that he had gone into shock.
“Hello, can you
provide us with some assistance?” Fruity asked. Marco slowly looked behind him,
turning face-to-face with a large, blue, angry-looking dragon. Frost puffed
from its nostrils as it squinted.
“H-h-how m-m-may
I b-be of s-s-s-service?” Marco asked. He tried to move his legs, his arms, any
part of his body, only to find them completely frozen. He silently whispered
one final prayer to himself before closing his eyes.
“Yes, we’d like a
table for three...well, make it nine,” Fruity said.
“I-I’m sorry,
w-what?” Marco asked, his confusion briefly trumping his fear.
“We’d like a
table. We even have the coin for it.” The blue dragon pulled a sack off of his
back, dropping it in front of the frightened chef. He then pulled out a slip of
paper, one Marco was very familiar with. “We also have a coupon.”
“Ah,” Marco
sighed. He had deduced that he was going crazy. After all, what kind of dragon
would come barging into a buffet and ask for a table? The denial of reality had
wiped away all the fear in his body, and he managed to jump to his feet without
a fuss. With a smile on his face, he took the coupon out of the blue dragon’s
hand. “I'm sorry, this expired a few days ago.”
Fruity clicked
his tongue.
Marco took the
bag of gold, retrieved a few coins, and gestured towards his new patrons.
“Follow me, please.”
With the courage
of a blind idiot, Marco lead the three dragons through the shabby restaurant.
Dirt and grime lined every crack and corner. Marco couldn’t reasonably hire any
janitors willing to travel out so far, so he was usually forced to clean
whenever he could, and he usually just focused on the kitchen. The decor wasn’t
spectacular either: the buffet tables were draped in stained cloth, the seats
were just basic wooden tables and chairs, the walls were slightly rotting, and
a musky scent wafted through the building.
Marcos remained
oblivious of the attention he was getting from everyone else in the dining
room. Some looked at him in confusion, some in fear, but most in admiration of
the chef that lead three dragons without fear.
“Here is your seat,”
Marco gestured towards a long table. He bowed before leaving them to their own
devices.
“He didn't even
take our order,” Tank whined, shoving the chairs out of the way.
“This is a
buffet, Tank,” Fruity muttered, slamming his tail into the chairs on his side.
He pointed his claw towards the row of tables in the corner, where several
patrons were either staring at the three or trying to ignore them. “We pick the
food from there and bring it back here to eat.”
“We’re not going
to eat it here, though, are we?” Big Slick asked. A small grin grew on Fruity’s
face before he coughed into his fist.
“Of course we’re
not going to eat here. Huddle up,” Fruity ordered. Tank and Big Slick pushed
their table out of the way as they grabbed each other’s shoulders and formed a
circle around them with their wings. “Here’s the plan. We’re going to carry
back as much food as we can back to the cave.”
“Can we not eat
here?” Tank asked, patting his stomach.
“No. We need to get
food back first and foremost,” Fruity explained. “We’ll have a feast when we
get back. A rationed feast, but a feast nonetheless.”
“Got it,” Big
Slick said, nodding her head. “Just grab whatever we can and then we leave.”
“Oh no. I’m not
letting Big Slick near the meat,” Tank muttered. “She’ll have eaten most of it
by the time we leave!”
“Hey!”
“No, no, Tank is
right,” Fruity nodded. “Big Slick, you handle the vegetarian isle for us. Tank
and I will take everything else.”
“…Fine…” Big
Slick grumbled.
"Wrap the
food in tablecloths. It’ll make it easier for us to carry back,” Fruity
ordered. “We'll meet up back at the entrance and then ditch this place."
"Did we have
to get into this circle just for this?" Tank asked. "You could've
explained this while we walked there."
"Yes, but
this is more fun," Fruity chuckled. "On three, we leave. Three!"
The three dragons
broke the circle before they approached the buffet tables. Fruity split from
the group first, eyeing the wide variety of vegan dishes shoved into the
corner. Big Slick immediately forgot about her job and grabbed the nearest dish
— a slightly burnt cockatrice broth — before slurping it all down. Tank sighed.
Not wanting to deal with the strongest member of the trio, he moved on, walking
to the back table filled with an assortment of small hand foods.
A family of three
elves stood frozen as Tank walked over to the first open basket of breadsticks.
He ripped off the corner of tablecloth before tying the ends together to form a
makeshift bag. He mindlessly tossed the breadsticks in one by one before the
cloth filled up.
“What are you
doing, Mr. Dragon?” an elven boy asked innocently. His parents quickly covered
the boy’s mouth while Tank ripped off another section of the tablecloth.
“Getting food,”
Tank answered, moving onto the next plate filled with small dumplings. He
tossed them in mindlessly. “Got to make sure to have enough for a while.”
“But won’t it
rot?” the child asked, managing to speak as his parents fumbled for his mouth.
“That… I didn’t
think about that before,” Tank murmured. He thought about it briefly,
confirming that, yes, most of the food would rot in the next few days if they
brought it all back. He shook his head, trying to get that thought out of his
head and finish wrapping the dumplings. He paused as his eyes laid upon the
boy’s outstretched plate. Tank pointed to the one yellowish brown food taking
up most of it. “What’s that?”
“That,” the boy
said, pointing to the tub right next to him. Tank peeked into the pile of brown
wedges piled up mostly at the back. Hesitantly, he grabbed one with his
fore-talon and held it up to his nose.
Tank, who had,
for the better part of three years, never eaten anything other than goat, was
bombarded by a kaleidoscope of smells. Was it fruity? He couldn’t tell. Nutty?
Still, he didn’t know. What he could tell, however, was that it smelt entirely
unlike goat entrails. The smell wafted around his head as it ensnared him into
a light daze. The moment Tank finally awoke from his food fever dream was when
he dropped the wedge into his mouth.
For a minute,
Tank silently chewed on the wedge before swallowing it. Then, he grabbed
another wedge from the tub and placed it on his forked tongue without a moment
of hesitance. Then he grabbed another. Then another. Then, he scooped up a
chunk of the pile. Finally, he took the tub itself and poured everything it had
down his throat.
This strange
foreign delicacy felt like solid ambrosia as Tank voraciously chewed and
swallowed each chunk he had in his cheeks. It was at sometimes crunchy, then
sometimes chewy. He hummed in glee as he tasted each little flake of the
lightly salted substance. He savoured each bit he could; each completely
un-goatlike bit. It took him only a few seconds to finally swallow everything,
but to him, it felt like an eternity.
“What is this?”
Tank asked excitedly, jerking his head towards the elf family.
“Potato wedges!”
the mother squealed.
“Potato wedges…”
Tank whispered. He looked for a member of staff, grinning as one stepped in
from the staff room. “Hey! Get here!”
“R-right away!”
the dwarven waiter, who had unknowingly walked towards a fire dragon, exclaimed
as he ran up to the table. Sweat trickled down his forehead as he stood at
Tank’s beck and call.
“Get me more of
these…potato wedges,” Tank ordered, pointing towards the empty tub. The waiter
questioned the dragon’s demand before taking the tub and walking back into the
kitchen. Tank grinned before remembering about Fruity’s orders. He collected
himself before ripping off a third part of the tablecloth and turning it into
another makeshift bag.
The elven family
exchanged glances with each other before looking at the dragon as it scooped
fries into its bag. They put their plates on the table before they slowly
stepped back.
“Hey,” Tank spoke
up, frightening the boy’s parents. The dragon pointed towards a gooey yellow
triangle on the mother’s plate. “What’s that?”
“Uh...p-pizza,”
the other mother whimpered.
“Pipizza, huh?”
Tank muttered to himself. Something about the strange yellow triangle looked
appetizing to him. Even more so than the potato wedges he had scarfed down
before. He looked over the rest of the table’s dishes. “I don’t see any Pipizza
here. Where did you get it?”
“O-over there,”
the other mother whimpered again, pointing to a counter in the corner of the
serving area. Tank, with a sparkle in his eyes, bowed his head before walking
away, leaving the sacks of breadsticks, dumplings, and fries behind. The boy
grabbed a few dumplings before his mothers pulled him away and ran out of the
restaurant.
Tank walked
across the serving area, passing by Fruity stuffing the entire fruit table into
one large sack. He stopped in front of the counter, where an array of cooked
goods laid in rows for anyone to pick up. Tank briefly scanned through the
items, unable to find the pizza he was looking for.
“Hello? Is there
any pipizza here?” Tank asked, looking behind the counter to an open kitchen.
Everyone who had been previously cooking before had tried to escape once word
of the three dragons had reached their ears. The only one currently inside was
Marco, who blissfully chopping lettuce unaware of the dragon looking at him.
“Hey! Poofy head! Why is there no pipizza here?”
“Has the pizza
finished?” Marco asked. He didn’t break eye contact from his work as he
dutifully pushed the minced garlic and laid another few cloves onto his
chopping board. “It always runs out quickly. We have another one in the oven,
if you’re willing to wait.”
“Fine,” Tank
muttered, laying his head on the counter. “Just tell me when you’re done.”
“If you want,
there should be a plate of baby roc legs on the counter,” Marco noted. Tank
looked over the spread in front of him before taking the plate filled with
crispy brown chicken legs. He knew he had to save most of the food he had to
collect, but he couldn’t help himself as he scarfed the plate down in one fell
swoop. The crispy meatiness of the baked roc legs gave him a fuzzy nostalgic
feeling before the rumbling of his stomach made him realize what he had done.
Marco simply chuckled before returning to his chopping. “Sounds like you were
really hungry.”
“It’s been a
while since I’ve had bird,” Tank admitted, licking his lips while simultaneously
shaking his head in regret. “Though, it seems to be missing a little something…”
“Really? I thought
I got that batch right. I even made sure to peel off the skin.”
“Why did you peel
it off? That’s the best part!”
“If you cook it
for too long, then it releases a horrid odor. I don’t know how anyone could
stomach it.”
“It’s the
feathers that stink! Don’t you pluck them completely?”
“Baby rocs don’t
have feathers!”
“They do! They
just haven’t grown yet!”
“O-oh,” Marco stuttered.
As he brought the knife down, he missed the onions, nipping his finger in the
process. He winced. Tank watched, amused by the chef’s ineptitude.
“Are you really a
monster chef?” Tank asked. “You don’t exactly seem to be the type of person to
go out with a sword and slay a monster yourself.”
“Heh, I get that
a lot,” Marco sighed. “But no, despite my physique and reliance on others to
hunt the ingredients, I am a professional monster chef.”
“Why are you,
then?” Tank asked, laying his head on the counter. “What’s the point of
declaring yourself to be a monster chef if you can only do half of the job?”
“The reason, my
dear customer, is because you and I have different standards of what it means
to be a monster chef,” Marco stated. “You may see it as someone who is able to
effectively kill and cook a monster, and that is certainly the standard.
However, I see it as someone who is able to take a monster, one of the many
dangers of everyday life, and turn it into a delicious meal for someone to
enjoy.”
Marco took a
break from the onions he had been chopping and walked over to the brick oven in
the corner of the kitchen. He grabbed the wooden peel off the rack before
facing the oven with a grin on his freckled face.
“Look around you,
friend!” Marco exclaimed as he excitedly jabbed the peel inside the oven. “Each
dish in this restaurant has a bit of monster in it! The veggies are grown on
the back of world turtles! The meats are hunted in this very forest! Even the
dough for the bread is taken from wild breadmancers! A piece of monster lies in
every dish I serve, and you cannot say that they aren’t delicious!”
With a swing,
Marco pulled the peel from the oven, tossing the freshly baked pizza onto an
awaiting pizza tray laying in front of Tank. Marco tossed the wooden tool away
before pirouetting, eyes closed, towards the counter.
“That, dear
customer, is what makes me a monster chef. Bon appetite,” Marco said, ending
with a flourish. He bowed his head before cracking one eye open. Once he saw he
had been talking to a one-ton green fire-breathing dragon, Marco froze solid.
Tank eyed the
pizza with a skeptical look. It looked very appetizing; both his eyes, nose,
and slobbering mouth agreed. However, he knew he should save it and bring it
back with him. He couldn’t look Fruity or Big Slick in their eyes if they knew
he had eaten something so good looking, despite the fact they did so in front
of him on a regular basis. Eventually, his hunger got the best of him, and Tank
dove into the pizza, gobbling it down with a voracious passion.
“This…is amazing!”
Tank exclaimed, his eyes sparkling from delight. “It’s so chewy, but the
underside is all crunchy, and the things on top are sweet, and, and… I don’t
know how to describe it!”
“I-is that so…”
Marco said, falling back into his delusion. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I need
to splash some water on my face. Again.”
As Marco turned
to leave, something began to awaken inside of Tank. Some hidden, childish desire
that had been suppressed suddenly sparked for the first time in years. The last
moment he could remember was when he had plucked the feathers off the roc, not
because he was hungry, but because he wanted to eat something delicious.
“Hey, wait up for
a second,” Tank called out, climbing over the counter and into the kitchen.
Marco froze up once more before turning to face the dragon.
“Wh-what can I
help you w-with, sir?” Marco asked, losing the same bravado he had earlier.
“How do you
become a monster chef?” Tank asked excitedly. Marco was taken aback by the
question, so it took a while before he could properly convey an answer.
“W-well, you
usually have to go to m-magic college and take c-cooking as a major,” Marco
began.
“Is there any way
of doing it faster?” Tank asked.
“I g-guess it’s
possible to become a chef by just h-hunting monsters and cooking them yourself.”
“I would still
need some place where I can cook though. You know, like this restaurant of
yours…”
“Y-yeah, I guess
you would.”
“Hey, Mr…uh…”
“Marco.”
“Marco, yes. Do
you mind if I ask something from you?”
“N-not at all?
What can this h-humble chef give to you?”
“Your restaurant.”
“I-I’m sorry,
what?” Marco asked as Tank grabbed the monster chef with one claw and leaped
over the counter. The two charged through the restaurant, knocking chair,
table, and patron alike, before skidding to a halt in the middle of the
building.
Many of the
guests, wary of the monsters to begin with, paused as they saw the green dragon
holding the chef in one hand. They ducked to the ground in fear as Tank let out
a mighty roar, shaking the restaurant to its very foundation.
“Listen up,
everyone!” Tank roared, stamping his other three feet on the ground while
holding Marco with his fourth. “I’m the new owner of this restaurant, and I
want everyone in it to scram!”
Points: 31420
Reviews: 414
Donate