Spring, Day 7, 514AV
The time had finally come. Both thrilling and depressing all at once, the end of Leftover Days was here at last. Outside of the kitchen, an army of hungry, fidgety, and excitable orphans filled the air with ceaseless chatter, debating amongst themselves what the cook had in store for them that evening.
No, the evening. Because they sure as shyke weren't getting another meal this fine for at least three more seasons.
"I hope it's Poteesy soup," a round faced boy sighed, spoon and fork held ready in each of his grubby hands.
Thomas, the dark eyed and blunt mouthed trouble maker beside him, snorted. "Don't be stupid, Loy. We can have that anytime. 'S not everyday we get a New Year's feast." Loy frowned in annoyance, but Thomas paid him no mind. He swung his skinny legs back and forth, twirling about a chewed up looking fork on an even more chewed up looking plate. "I 'ope luver boy in there doesn't petch this up."
"I HEARD THAT!" Nov bellowed from the kitchen, startling the kid so hard he yelped as his knees hit the underside of the long, wooden table. Loy smirked, stifling a giggle, and commenced fantasizing about delectable soup.
Empty night, Nov cursed as he toiled away at his duties. His knife hit the cutting board with violent force. How was it that the whole town seemed to know about him and Mae? He'd stayed the night once. He didn't even know what the red headed Isur was up to these days. And, yet, there were no shortages of quips to be thrown his way.
Out in the mess hall, the runts were still at it. "Serves you right," Mira huffed from across the table. She raised an eyebrow as she tapped her spoon against her cheek. Chocolate hair, eyes, and skin, with a smile darling enough to warm the blackest of hearts, but not a single sweet bone could be found in that conniving little wildling's body.
Thomas threw down his fork and sneered. "Ya only say that 'cause yer in luv with the petcher."
"I'm his protege, moron. If you even know what that means."
The scrawny boy threw up his hands and feigned the most high-pitched, obnoxious voice he could muster. "Ohh, thank ye so much Mister Big, Strong, 'n Handsome for savin' me life! 'Ow can I ev'r repay this debt? I'm too young fer the likes of you, but maybe in ten years, I can have yer bab--"
Thomas screamed as a heavy, pewter plate slammed into the front of his face without warning. The other orphans began pounding their fists and chanting as Mira raised the dinnerware for a second blow, her small figure silhouetted against Syna's sinking rays as she stood there, right on top of the table, looking for all intents and purposes like she was ready to murder the boy. Five ticks later Nov was looming over them both, nostrils flared and eyes narrowed with irritation as he held Mira's slippery little wrist in one hand and her plate in the other. The she-devil was squirming in his grasp, clearly not done wreaking whatever righteous indignation she had left against her wide eyed, bloody nosed compatriot.
"Enough," the cook spat, glaring at Amira before dropping her wrist and slamming her plate down in its proper place. The girl sniffed, then strode off the table to plop glumly back into her seat. "Thomas," he sighed, tilting back the kid's head with a rough jerk to check the bleeding. "When will you learn to keep that nasty mouth of yours shut around your boss, eh?"
Thomas sputtered something. Mira grinned. "Stop interrupting me, or you're all going hungry tonight," Nov warned, then stormed back to his post. Ungrateful little wretches. Here he was, dutifully trying to make them the best dish he'd ever attempted. Chicken kabobs, complete with potatoes, peppers, onions, and tomatoes, and a hot cream broth to accompany it. And what thanks did he get?
A bloodied plate and banged up orphan, that's what. Krysus, Mira, when are you ever going to act even just a wee bit lady like?
Nov shook his head and turned over a few more of the kabobs, stirring the soup now and then to make sure nothing stuck to the bottom of the giant pot. He sprinkled a bit of zest and seasoning over the grilled meat and veggies, then tossed the finished ones aside to heat up new ones. The smell was making even him salivate, and the cook hummed off-tunely to himself as everything boiled and sizzled.
Mm, mm, mm. They were going to eat good tonight.