Kael Voss stayed at the counter, elbows crossed and eyes glaring even through the beak helmet. I knew because she made it obvious enough with her tiny grunts.
"My sister has quite an eventful day," the brother said behind her, sitting on the chair where Torren had been before. He rested the rifle against his lap and waved.
I waved back because that's all I could do. Kael's glare did not move. I gulped.
'Okay, ignore the hot, scary woman. Focus on your job. It's just cooking. Cooking I can do... which I proved to be true! Even though it was mildly successful. I'll take anything at this point.'
"Can I please see your... game?"
Kael raised an eyebrow. "T'fuck is that?"
Right. Game is... that's probably not even a word.
"Your bounty?"
That seemed to be the right answer. She brought up a bag I hadn't seen her drag in and dumped out what looked like a chicken bred three times its size. The long throat had a gushing hole in it—single shot, clean through. The brother's rifle made more sense now.
"Thank you, K-Kael. That's your name, right?"
"It is." She raised her other eyebrow. "Are you sure you're the cook here? You're scrawny. And you sweat too much. I don't want sweat in my meals."
I was sweating. She wasn't wrong about that. My forehead had been damp since the moment she walked in, and probably before that—hard to tell when your kitchen is the inside of a living animal.
"Why don't you take a seat while I get this ready?" I gestured at the rickety chair across from her brother. The only other chair.
Kael looked at the chair. Then at me. Then at the chair again.
She sat and I must have exhaled louder than I meant to because both hunters stared back briefly.
I crouched and started picking up the mess on the floor—my mess, technically, since the System had dumped everything there after the quest reward. The floor was warm under my knees. Body heat—the tortoise's, not mine. I was still getting used to that.
The hunting knife went on the counter. The rod and net I shoved against the wall because I didn't know what to do with them and now wasn't the time to figure it out.
The Cookipedia was the heavy one. Leather-bound, thick as my forearm, and when I cracked it open the first page was blank. So was the second. And the third. I kept flipping—rough paper, empty, empty, empty—too many to count before I gave up and flipped back to the front.
[Recipe Acquired — Gullmaw Broth]
The first page wasn't blank anymore. Ink had filled itself in while I wasn't looking, or maybe because I'd finally opened the damn thing. Gullmaw Broth—ingredients listed with actual measurements instead of "whatever was in the jar," preparation steps that assumed I knew what I was doing. Which was generous, considering I'd been winging it with a passive skill doing half the steering.
One recipe. Barely 1/8th of a page filled out of... I hadn't bothered to count. It was a lot.
I set the book on the counter next to the dead bird. It was still warm, and the smell had started—raw meat and iron-sharp blood from the throat wound. I wiped my hands on my pants, which didn't help because my pants were also damp.
"Are you gonna get our order?" Kaen asked.
'Order? The first guy didn't order anything. He just sat there and ate what I gave him.'
I opened my mouth to ask what they wanted, then closed it. I had nothing to write with. No paper besides the Cookipedia, no pencil, no board, nothing. And I couldn't stand at that counter with Kael two feet away for another minute without my hands shaking. If she'd stayed there any longer she would've choked me out, and not in any way I'd enjoy.
All the thinking strained my body the same way it had when I'd summoned the Status screen—that full-skull squeeze, like flexing a muscle behind my eyes—and a panel blinked into view.
[Order — Awaiting Input]
> ...
I stared at it. A cursor. Blinking. Waiting for me to say something.
"Hello?"
[Bzzt.]
> "Hello?" — No match found.
'So this is what I use to take orders. It's literally a catalogue.'
Kaen waved back like I was talking to him. Well, of course—because it looked exactly that way. "Hello, cook. Order please?" He shifted the rifle to his other knee and smiled. "We're ready."
"If she gets sweat in the dish, it'll ruin my camouflage," Kael said, folding her bow in half. Bows can do that? "You know this, Kaen."
I made my way over to the twins, the Order system blinking in front of me. I did a little bow. Arms at my sides, slight bend at the waist. I'd seen plenty of K-dramas. The maids usually did a cute little bow before taking requests.
'Am I even a maid...?'
"What the hell was that," Kael whispered behind a blocking gauntlet to Kaen.
"No idea."
'Noted.'
"So... what can I get you?"
Kaen looked at Kael. Kael looked at the bird on the counter. Back to me.
"Cook it."
"Just... cook it?"
"Did I stutter?" She leaned back in the chair and crossed one leg over the other, the folded bow resting against her thigh. "The Velmora is fresh. Kaen got it clean through the neck so the meat's uncontaminated. Cook it however you want, I don't care."
The System caught it before I did.
[Order — Kael Voss]
> 1x Velmora (Low Rank) — Preparation: Open
[Order — Kaen Voss]
> 1x Velmora (Low Rank) — Preparation: Open
'So it fills in automatically when they say the name. And "open" means I pick the method. That's... actually not terrible.'
Two orders. One bird. The Velmora was big enough for both—probably. I'd figure out the portions when I got into it.
"One thing."
I stopped halfway back to the counter. Kael hadn't moved, but her voice had gone flat.
"Make it sour."
"...Sour?"
"Bitter-sour. Tart. Whatever you want to call it. Acidic base brings out the camouflage properties in Velmora fat. Every cook knows that."
Every cook except the one who's been cooking for approximately forty-five minutes.
The Order updated.
[Order — Kael Voss]
> 1x Velmora (Low Rank) — Preparation: Open Requirement: Acidic Base
I turned back to the kitchen. The jars on the wall. The clay pots, the wooden boxes with lids that didn't sit right. I'd used salt and dried herbs from those jars for the broth. Maybe one was vinegar. Citrus powder, even. Would've helped if any of them had labels.
I opened the first jar and smelled dried leaves, earthy and flat. The second was some kind of ground powder, smoky. Third was salt again—or the same salt. Hard to tell.
Seven jars and not one of them was sour or bitter or anything close to an acidic base, and the counter had a dead bird, a mostly-empty cookbook, and a chipped knife, which wasn't going to help either.
'Where the hell am I supposed to find something sour?'
I looked at the jars. Then at the Velmora. Then at the leftover carcass from Torren's Gullmaw, still sitting in the corner where I'd shoved it.
The green sac. The one behind the ribs I'd been told not to puncture.
'Kael, you're gonna get your wish.'