Born a Monster

371 271 – Lazy Winter

Winter was quiet, mainly because I was under house arrest. Or, not formally under arrest, but there were town guards at the front, back, and side entrances waiting to publicly arrest me. Even though no actual citizens had been harmed, it seemed the governor had already tried me in absentia and determined that a public beheading would do me good.

So I got to learn our embassy fairly well. It had originally been a butcher and deli, with two floors of family above that. People still came in for an occasional sandwich, since the deli had been converted into a charming (if under-tooled) kitchen.

Remember how I learned a variety of teas, including that useless one that restored sanity? I almost didn’t, and it turns out the required herbs just weren’t available locally. And so, I set about finding an alternate recipe the hard way, filtering through my system. Turns out the easy way (infusing the tea with emotional faith, and then using Calm Emotions upon it) worked better.

Well, not for Kismet. Somehow, she, Gamilla, and Narces had similar execution orders. “Don’t let it get to you, it’s just laziness on the part of the governor.”

“YOU don’t get to tell me to calm down!” she said, setting down her empty tea cup. “YOU are not highly social. YOU don’t have a Charisma score. YOU don’t actually like talking to people.”

I tapped the barrier between the kitchen and the dining room. “There’s people right here.”

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Me walking around in a waitress uniform, getting my butt pinched?”

“Huh? No, I meant just sit out there and read a book or something. People like talking to you.”

“And I can subtly pick up rumors, spread ones of my own. Rhishi, you’re a genius.”

.....

“Actually, that wasn’t...”

But being Kismet, she was hearing none of it. She had her action plan, which involved cooking a lot of free food on my part. Incidentally, running a diner isn’t like doing meal call for soldiers; everyone came in wanting their own unique food, and they wanted it NOW.

Don’t get me started on the people who wanted special ingredients, or without standard ones. Just don’t.

But by the time the winds reached a bone-chilling normal temperature, the guards were taking their meals inside, and the ambassador had purchased a set of four tables and associated chairs for outdoor seating. (Which the guards immediately took advantage of.)

What did I get? I got Bethany, prospective chef and accomplished fumble-fingers. And she had a promising career as either a Torturer or perhaps a brander of cattle. “Well it’s not my fault! She exploded one day. You’re just sneaking all over the kitchen, all silent like. And I swear you don’t even push the air in front of you when you move. And you’re just so agile, making this all look simple. But it’s NOT!”

Suddenly, Kismet was there. No, literally. It was like she used Shadow Step or Flash Step. “What did you SAY to her?”

“I only said...”

“Shut it. Mouth. Shut.” and to Bethany, “Oh, sweetie, just ignore the mean lizard. Here, have a seat and a cup of tea. I’m sure everything is...”

Squish.

“Rhishi, why am I standing in oatmeal?” Kismet demanded. “We have customers waiting for breakfast, and it’s on the floor? What...”

Bethany broke out in tears, and Kismet left the oatmeal long enough for me to get the pot back onto the oven. Then, the dustpan to remove the worst part of the hazard, and THEN new oats and water, the already cooked part into bowls and sent to the front. Flip the toast before it burns, and then the mop.

And that was actually one of her better days, if not one of her better days for handling it. Don’t misunderstand me; Bethany was a net good for the kitchen, and was the natural choice for when I left. AND she actually imbued food, which I would have thought would be common in a world with an actual Cook class that specialized in it. And, to be fair, she picked up recipes fairly quickly. I could tell her biscuits and she would know the ingredients, without her eyes glazing over to show she was looking at a System list.

Perhaps I am, as Kismet suggested, being a food snob. Being praised by so many others for what I thought of as normal cooking, I set my bar for food quality too high.

I just missed the taste of bread worth twenty nutrition for two slices, of stew worth...

But enough of my whining; I was forced to make things fast, which led to Rapid Imbuing as an ability, which cost thirty points to get as an Inherent. Thirty points!

And yet, instead of breaking my sanity, the pace and uncertainty of the kitchens actually helped keep me distracted. It gave me time to heal, and a reason to stay healthy. Plus, spilled food only lost one nutrition per serving, so I could keep up with my new one hundred fifty nutrition per day requirement.

Let me break that down for you. Body mass of three, Might of five, and level equivalent of ten. Or in other words, about five times what an adult civilian would eat. And yes, although ten is the normal split between Champion and Hero, I got none of my Hero benefits at that time.

Gods, it was a lot of food! Enough that I could cook dishes before meal-times and eat them myself if nobody ordered them. Sadly, between Bethany and I, we were good guessers at what to cook and when.

For her part, Bethany ate a mere thirty six nutrition, a little above normal but nothing to take note of. She would smuggle home little bits of food for her family, and once dared to take a whole pie. She seemed ashamed when I asked her to make certain to return the dish we cooked and served them in.

But it was winter, and food wasn’t plentiful, and under Kismet’s guidance, we put together daily food packages for her to take home after that. It’s a wonder we made any profit at all, but apparently we did quite well.

For my part, I never saw the books, but the math just didn’t add up.

Primarily, it kept me fed at a time when half my pay was being taken back by the embassy. Whatever we made or didn’t make with the restaurant, it was chicken feed compared to what the Spiro loan had cost. Any profits from that had accompanied Gamilla into her service with the dragon, or gone toward the loan.

So add financial failure to the list of ways I had failed, I guess. Maybe I’d get a less challenging assignment, like a guard post alone on the plains. Something elevated, with high visibility, and open sides to make it easy for archers to pick me off.

Oh, and there was the robbery attempt. Some street rat grown lean and mean into an adult just came in the back door and Flurry of Blows with a knife all over my backside. “Bwah!” I said, taken by surprise.

“What?” he said, seeing me still standing there. “Crap on this, I’m out!”

Having one hand on a heated pan and another on a whisk, I was in no state to follow.

Two city guards came in. Their reaction time was actually pretty good. “Sir,” one of them said, “we have reason to believe a crime was just committed.”

“I was stabbed.” I said, “by that young gentleman.”

“Sir,” the younger guard said, “we need you to come with us and answer some questions.”

Oh, THAT wasn’t happening.

“Where are you standing?” I asked.

“What?” asked the elder.

“Your feet.” I said. “Where are your feet? Those planks are embassy territory.”

“But eminent domain...” the younger said.

The older waved him off. “If you won’t assist us in identifying your assailant, he’ll likely get away.”

I shrugged. “He took me by surprise.” I said. “I’ve still got 74 of 80 health. If he comes back to finish the deed, I’ll deal with him.”

“Well, I’d like to take the knife as evidence.” the younger said.

“Take the knife. It’s not mine.”

Fwish! Three steps, and the knife vanished into his inventory, along with most of the blood. Neat trick, that.

“Is there any other evidence?” the elder asked.

“The blueberry muffins.” Kismet said, having padded up to the open doorway between the kitchen and the serving room. “Your blood got spattered on them. I can see it from here.”

What? No, they hadn’t. They hadn’t been in range, and there was a pristine white towel over them, to keep in the heat. But I clamped my will down on that; not all truths need to be spoken.

Besides which, they were already claimed. A few more pleasantries, a quick mop, and other than being behind a basket of muffins, we were good.

Well, Kismet and I were good; Bethany needed to sit down with a pot of tea for an hour and a little bit.

It certainly beat out the nightly questioning by Kastorlopos and Aelektra, usually about some moment of heroism or other by their daughter. My mission wasn’t a total failure; the Empire had offices in Neo Esteban and the Girdle, good relations with many of the native tribes, and a reputation as a land in which champions were exported.

But with Spring came time to escape, for which Kismet had a plan.