Oh god. What did I do?
Tao shifted nervously from foot to foot as he waited for his overseer to return. He had been just about to go home when Chef Yoren had stopped him, a stern look written into the older man's features. His mind was already clicking and whirling with the prospects of what he had possibly done wrong to illcit the wrath of the chef.
He had been trying very hard not to make waves, just follow the orders and keep his nose out of trouble. It was simple, messy work for the most part, largely repeditive and uninteresting, but it was his job, and he needed the money. He couldn't say that he disliked the work; there was something comfortable and familiar about working in a kitchen.
The similarities ended there, however, as the Fleeting Comet was many times larger and more busy than his father's small restaurant, and he was merely one assistant among the rest of the workers buzzing frantically around the kitchen. The majority of the typical chatter slipped over his head thanks to his limited Lhavitian, leaving him working alone and in silence much of the time.
I'm careful; never so much as dropped a plate. I'm do what I'm told and I do it quickly. I don't cause trouble. He pondered, shivering in an attempt to fend off the chilled breeze. So... what could Chef Yoren want with me?
He waited a few more minutes, standing just outside the staff entrance to the kitchens. The majority of the evening staff had left already, leaving behind the few unlucky assistants who had to make sure that everything was in order. At last, the final few filed out, along with his team leader, who appeared to be scowling a little, a book of some kind tucked under his arm.
Fending off a nervous twist in his stomach, Tao waited for Yoren to face him and bowed deeply, having learned on his first day that to not do so was a massive sign of disrespect. The elder man inclined his head in return, brown eyes focused entirely on the boy in front of him. He could not bring himself to meet his eyes, too worried of what he might see in them.
Without a word, Yoren handed him the tome that he had carried under his arm. The book did not appear to be overly old, bound with tanned leather and filled with white pages. On the front was an embossed title: Common to Lhavitian.
“No more translations.” Yoren said suddenly, causing Tao to yelp in surprise and nearly drop the book as it was passed into his arms. Even more usually, he spoke in Common, though his accent was thick and the words unwieldly. “This is Lhavit kitchen. We speak Lhavitian.”
Clutching the book to his chest, Tao swallowed and nodded to show that he understood, not daring to trust his words to get past the sudden lump in his throat. If Yoren was pleased by this development, he did nothing to show it, nodding his head once and turning away, off to make his way home.
Even with the language barrier, he knew that he had been handed an ultimatum.
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