Closed [Orphanage] Dinner With A Rat (Noven)

[Mirian Jade]

30th of fall, 514 a.v not quite evening The sun had begun to descend, washing the world in a warm yellow light that would soon enough turn golden, then orange and red and eventually darken into night. There was at least an hour to such a turn, however, which was what gave Mirian at least some measure of comfort as she ran through the streets of the Slum, a bag of apples clutched to her chest. Her breathing was rough and labored and she couldn’t feel her legs, but she didn’t dare stop. She sheer hatred with which he had looked at her… she had no doubt that the previous owner of the apples would kill her if he had the opportunity to. She had been running for longer than she could remember, running from those eyes that burned in her mind even as her pursuer had eventually fallen out of sight. Her shoulder had gone numb with pain; her victim had managed to deliver a shiv-slash to her arm as she had escaped, but that pain was little compared to what she had won; with violence increasing and no sign of food coming in from anywhere, it was up to the people of the city to feed themselves without mizas. Mirian didn’t know if she could feed herself only on apples, but apples were better than nothing. The sun was close to touching the horizon when Mirian’s legs finally gave out, sending her tumbling to the dirt in a shallow alley. When the dust settled, Mirian could only lay there, gasping for breath even as the air was filled with overturned filth. She realized vaguely that she must be close to the Orphanage, but that information was slow and creeping. For a moment, all she could do was lay there, limbs leadened, and wait for the burning agony of exhaustion to recede from her body. She didn’t know how long it was until she finally hauled herself into a sitting position, and she didn’t much care. She had skinned both of her knees in her fall, but aside from the grit that was embedded in her flesh it didn’t look like there was deeper damage. She hoped. Turning with all the speed she could muster, which wasn’t much, Mirian turned to crawl to where her apples had fallen and spilled across the ground, not bothering to tend to her knees; she had to gather them up as quickly as possible, before anyone else saw. She couldn’t let something as precious as food fall into someone else’s hands.

[Noven]

Noven slammed his skillet back on the griddle.

"Oim tellin' the truf!" Thomas insisted, throwing up his arms for emphasis. "This thing here's too heavy for me. Look, oi'll prove it."

The scrawny boy tugged, pushed, and shoved the barrel of refuse every which way he could, but it would not budge. Sighing, Nov set his pan aside so the food wouldn't burn. "Watch the fire. And don't touch anything unless it's burning down the kitchen."

He didn't like the idea of Sunset being set on fire again, not during a time like this. Shuddered at the very thought.

Thomas barely managed a nod before the cook stormed out with barrel in tow. It was grueling, even for him, though more from the stink than anything else. Normally, this simple chore was taken care of by the runts. But with the gnawing hunger that came to plague all of them this season, very few of the orphans could manage anything more than getting out of bed. They still did their main chores, like sweeping and folding laundry, but the rest was left to the adults.

As it stood, Noven was really one of the only adults around to do the heavy lifting. And while he grumbled and complained like he was expected to, he knew no one, except maybe the bandits, was to blame. All of Sunberth was going hungry. Even the merc himself felt weaker than usual, for the first time having plenty of mizas but not enough food to buy.

"Where the petch does this shyke even come from?" Nov muttered to himself as he dragged the refuse all the way to the back. "It's not like we got that much food. And even if we did, we'd eat every scrap..."

He went on like this for a while until he reached the corner. Dumping his burden with palpable relief, Nov was just about to turn back when a billowing of dust caught his eye.

"Not another one," the cook sighed, thinking it was another starving citizen turned corpse. And when he reached the spot where he'd first spotted the dust, it didn't seem he was that far off the mark. It was hard to tell, with Syna making her daily descent and Leth not quite out in full force yet, but the figure now lying gasping on the dirt floor looked to be a dark haired lass no older than eighteen or so years. What peaked his interest more, however, were the bright, shiny apples that had rolled haphazardly in all directions when she'd fallen.

Those look good...Nov found himself thinking. Calculating. Staring out from the cover of darkness with eyes full of lust.

Before he could react, the girl started to move again. He wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or irritated that he lost his opportunity. Though, in all honesty, the cook wasn't the type to steal from the weak and dying. Nona would rise from her grave and beat him bloody if he did.

But it might be that he would need to intervene, one way or the other. The girl looked to be in bad shape. Her shins were scraped and there was a wound slashed across one of her arms. Not to mention there was a delirious look about her, as if she was worried someone might catch up to her any moment and take those precious apples right out of her hunger-weakened arms.

And that's when he heard it. The telltale pattering of angry footsteps. Someone was chasing her, not to any amount of surprise on Noven's part. Seeing no time for proper introductions, he stepped out of the shadow of one of the walls and half-whispered, "Oy, girl. Whoever's chasing you is getting close. You can drop the apples and hope he doesn't kill you, or you can follow me. I work at Sunset Orphanage. It's right around the corner."

Had it been any other occasion, Nov might have relished a fight. But there was dinner to get back to. A meager but hard earned dinner that he was itching to get a taste of himself before he fed it to an army of hungry orphans.

[Mirian Jade]

At first, Mirian was too frenzied to notice the man that had caught sight of her; she clawed at the apples around her, rolling them back into the bag one by one with ragged breaths that did little to slake her burning lungs. What she did notice, however, were the footsteps. They were faint, at first, little more than little pitter-pats in the distance, but they grew louder and louder until, with a jolt, she realized what it was. He was catching up. Struggling to conjure up even a bit of energy, Mirian clumsily scooped the rest of the apples in a haphazard sweep, bringing them to her chest along with a mass of rocks and dirt. She hauled herself to her feet, dumping it all into the sack, and then nearly fell back down in surprise when a voice appeared from nearby. “Oy, girl.” Mirian wheeled wildly, searching for the voice and finally catching sight of the man watching her––a solid, well-formed man with a haircut she wasn’t going to attempt to decipher right now. “Whoever's chasing you is getting close,” said the man helpfully. “You can drop the apples and hope he doesn't kill you, or you can follow me. I work at Sunset Orphanage. It's right around the corner." She clutched the bag even tighter to her, eyes wide and fearful; her pursuer was approaching, but she knew nothing about this man. In a last attempt to choose neither, she tried to lurch sideways and away from both, but her legs nearly gave out beneath her. She couldn’t outrun the man she had stolen her apples from, and she could see without a doubt that she wouldn’t be able to outrun this man, either, should he decide to chase her down and take her prize for himself. And so, unwilling to leave herself to the certain fate of the man chasing her, Mirian reached into the last bit of strength she had, took a leap of faith and followed the stranger.

[Noven]

He watched as the girl tried to make another run for it. Tried, and failed. She was clearly too worn and ragged, and Nov was certain the current food shortage hadn't been kind to her either.

In the end, she chose the only logical path left. The lass followed him as he lead a quiet but guaranteed way back into the kitchens. Noven threw back a few glances along the way to make sure her pursuer hadn't caught up on top of watching for any signs of prying orphans; he was nothing if not prudent after all these years working around scheming runts.

No sooner had they passed through the back door than the cook caught sight of a furious looking fellow rounding the corner. His angry gaze darted left and right, sweeping the area as his breath labored.

Unfortunately, the man noticed all the marks his prey had left in the dust and dirt. It was only a matter of time now before he spotted the rest of the trail.

"Thomas!" Noven hissed as he burst through the door.

The boy jumped to attention and spun around. "Wut? 'ho's that? Wut 'appened?"

"No time to explain. Help me empty out this cupboard."

Both cook and orphan worked frantically to remove all the wrinkly, stunted potatoes from the largest cupboard and piled them into an empty basket. Without all of its starchy contents, the space was big enough for at least four orphans to cram into. Once this task was done, Noven looked up from their handiwork at Apple Girl.

"Get in there and hide," he ordered. "He'll be here any ti--"

A series of thunderous poundings interrupt the cook mid word. "OY, OPEN UP!"

"Now!" Nov quickly donned his apron, much as he hated the thing, and plopped the skillet back on the griddle. He didn't even bother to check of the lass had properly hidden herself. There was no time to. Her raging pursuant sounded like he was about to kick down the door. "Thomas, go get it."

The boy gave him a petulant look and sighed, right before he squared his shoulders and stuck his chin sky high. Thomas sauntered over to the vibrating back door and called out, "Eh? What is it?"

"OPEN UP THIS BLOODY DOOR! YE'VE GOT A THIEF IN THERE!"

Thomas obliged, though with every drop of scornful disbelief he could muster. "Quite yer racket, old man," he sneered. "Wut's this about a thief? We only got hungry orphans and an ugly sod for a cook around here."

I'll get you for that later you little petcher.

The man glared wildly all around the tiny kitchen, but there truly was only a scrawny looking orphan and a surly eyed cook behind a rusted griddle. There was hardly any food inside either, just a basket of moldy potatoes and whatever mystery meal was being fried in a dented skillet.

"Did ya hear or see anything then?" the man asked, calming a little. "A lass maybe this tall with dark hair and a sack of apples?"

Nov didn't exactly agree with the girl stealing; this man might have had his own family to feed. But he wasn't about to turn in such a banged up looking waif either. "Didn't see nothin', but we heard someone banging on the door before you came along. Sounded like a young lass, said something about needing help. We ignored her and she ran off that way."

The cook stabbed his wooden spatula in a random direction, hoping the man would take the bait. Their ruse seemed to work, though it took a few ticks, and their unexpected visitor's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Bah, she must be long gone by now. But by the gods, if I see her again, I'll..."

At Nov's signal, Thomas tossed a small, lumpy sack at the man's feet. "We don't got much, but maybe this'll help."

The man blinked at him in confusion, unable to believe he was actually being given food for free. "Just take it, old man." Nov insisted. "We're all going hungry this season. Everyone's a thief 'cause everyone's starving. Take the bag and go, we don't want no trouble."

It wasn't much, just a few well-aged potatoes and carrots, nothing near the amount of apples he'd lost, but the man took what he could. "Ye have my thanks."

Once he was gone, Nov set the skillet aside once more and knocked on the cupboard door.

"You can come out now."

[Mirian Jade]

He led her through the alleyways, and though it was a struggle to keep up Mirian managed to avoid falling behind. They rounded a corner, found themselves at what looked to be the back door of a very large building, and before the thief could begin to contemplate exactly where they were her gruff might-be-a-savior led her through the door. Once inside, the man snapped for the attention of the boy that had been idling there, and the two of them set to work emptying a cupboard. Exhausted both mentally and physically and with no direction from anywhere, Mirian simply stood dumbly, watching them, clutching the bag to her chest and praying to whatever god might be listening for her pursuer to lose her trail. The man that had led her there looked up. “Get in there and hide.” She didn’t need to be told twice. “He’ll be here any ti––” The door rattled under the force of a vicious fist, and Mirian jumped. There was a split second as she realized who it must be even before he began screaming about her, and without another thought she leaped over to the cupboard and curled up inside, flinching as the boy slammed the thing shut after her. The pounding continued, then stopped. The wood around her was thin enough for her to hear the words being spoken, and she listened with bated breath; if something went wrong and he came in looking for her, there was no way for her to get out of this contraption without wasting more seconds than she cared to think about. There were no more options for her. She had to trust the man that had led her here. Then, at last, "Bah, she must be long gone by now. But by the gods, if I see her again, I'll..." There was a thump, and then the boy: "We don't got much, but maybe this'll help." "Just take it, old man," said her savior. "We're all going hungry this season. Everyone's a thief 'cause everyone's starving. Take the bag and go, we don't want no trouble." They were giving him food. Mirian clutched her apples a little tighter. There weren’t many reasons someone would let food go. Not unless they planned on getting more. Her pursuer departed, and Mirian closed her eyes at the footsteps she knew were coming for her. There was a knock at the door. “You can come out now.” Not for the first time in the last few minutes, Mirian tried to think of an alternative. He would want her food, that she knew for sure. Why else would he have let some of his own go? He wanted what she had, and what she had was something she couldn’t afford to lose. But what choice did she have? There was nothing she could do in this cupboard but wait, no way out except for the door upon which he was knocking. And not for the first time in the last few minutes, Mirian could only see one thing to do that would end with her heart still beating. Pushing open the cupboard door, Mirian scooted into the open and slowly got to her feet, arms still wrapped around her sack of treasure. Upright, she could look at her savior fully, although her eyes held nothing close to gratitude. There was caution there instead, made hard by the crinkles in her forehead of one who was prepared to assume the worst. She didn’t waste any time with introductions or politeness; those would just prolong the encounter uselessly. “You want my apples, don’t you?” she asked, cutting to the chase. Her voice was hard, but not aggressive; she knew that she was outmatched and that if the man wished harm upon her, there would be little she could do to stop him.

[Noven]

Side by side, cook and orphan stood, watching, as the pantry door was slowly pushed open. Their unexpected guest hardly made a sound, even as she scooted herself out of the cramped space and emerged warily into the light. Clutched like a babe to her chest was the bag of apples she had stolen. There was nothing, however, motherly about her, and her eyes bore no gratitude, only naked, unflinching distrust.

Nov could guess her concerns long before she voiced them.

For once, Thomas had nothing flippant to say. He was hungry. They were all hungry. And this girl was clearly not going to give over her apples without putting up a fight. She had, after all, gone through quite a bit of hell to steal them.

"I'd be lying if I said we didn't," the cook finally responded after an uneasy silence. "But we won't take it from you, if that's what you're worried about. "

Thomas looked rather peeved that Nov wasn't going to claim the apples. Then again, he also looked rather unsurprised. The cook had met one too many new, female aquaintances, one after another, in the past dozen days. Thomas suspected this overdose of feminine interaction had something to do with the erosion of Noven's usually indifferent and taciturn approach toward random folk in distress. He certainly would have taken the apples, had he been in the cook's shoes. The orphan was totally untroubled by tears and pleads from the opposite sex. Or so he liked to tell himself.

Noven, meanwhile, was deliberating what he ought to do with the girl. Just kick her out of the kitchens? That would be the logical thing to do, right?

Both of their internal struggles, however, were interrupted by a steady march of footsteps from the second floor. Frowning, Nov turned to check on Syna's progress outside a dingy, rusted-shut window. Well, shyke. He'd been so caught up in hiding the girl and dealing with her angry pursuer that he hadn't finished preparing dinner. Which meant, weakened as they were, he was going to have to deal with a hoard of disgruntled, ravenous children.

The cook shot their temporary guest a questioning look. "You can keep your apples, but there's no such thing as a free lunch, eh? If you want to repay us the favor of saving your hide, you can help us cook."

Nov scooped one up from the basket, dunked it into a bucket of stale water, and rubbed it clean as he could before picking up a small knife. "The name's Noven. That there's Thomas. And we'd be much obliged if you could help us feed some very hungry, very nasty orphans."

Walking over to the girl, he offered both potato and knife. "You know how to skin 'em?"

[Mirian Jade]

The air was still. The question had been laid bare for the man to confirm or deny. The next move was his, and Mirian found herself unable to breathe in the crystalline suspension of the air. “... I’d be lying if I said we didn’t,” he finally admitted. “But we won’t take it from you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Mirian blinked. Alright, so it wasn’t the worst answer she could have imagined, but it was the one she had least expected. She knew somewhere in the back of her mind that she should be glad that he wasn’t going to take them from her, but the rest of her mind remained in the confused daze that had settled over her since the man before her had first guided her out of harm’s way. Mirian didn’t know what to say. And apparently, at the moment, neither did he. They remained locked in what felt like an eternity of mutual uncomfortableness, one that Mirian was too afraid to break because of what would surely be said once it was broken. She didn’t know how long it might have lasted, because before either of them could muster up a solution that came close to being appropriate for the situation the boards above them began to creak under the weight of dozens upon dozens of young feet. Feet that were too light to be full-grown. Mirian wasn’t at all surprised to have it confirmed that she had ended up in the Orphanage––she’d expected it to some degree, but only now had she been given any real opportunity to ponder her location––and in all honesty, she felt a bit relieved. She didn’t trust children any more than she trusted adults, but the Orphanage was the closest thing Sunberth had to sacred ground. At least she knew she wouldn’t be gutted here. "You can keep your apples,” said the man suddenly, shattering Mirian’s thoughts, “but there's no such thing as a free lunch, eh? If you want to repay us the favor of saving your hide, you can help us cook." As Mirian watched, he snatched a potato, doused it in water and began to scrub at it somewhat hastily. "The name's Noven,” he volunteered. “That there's Thomas. And we'd be much obliged if you could help us feed some very hungry, very nasty orphans." With those words he crossed the distance that lay between the two of them, offering her the potato alongside a knife. “You know how to skin ‘em?” If the simple fact of being in the Orphanage had given her some measure of security, it was the man’s words––Noven’s words––that drove it home. ‘There’s no such thing as a free lunch,’ indeed; Mirian knew that as well as any native Sunberthian, and he had saved her whether either of them liked it or not. She owed him now, and she didn’t like owing people. She might have actually been more suspicious if he hadn’t asked for anything in return, but here he was, offering her a knife and potato with a deal that was simple enough to understand. If you want to repay us the favor of saving your hide, you can help us cook. Mirian nodded curtly at his question. She may not have had much experience with potatoes in her lifetime, but she did know her way around knives. And she’d peeled other things before; how difficult could a potato be? Without much else to do with her current burden, Mirian just dropped her bag of apples and kicked it behind her, between her ankles and the cupboard they’d stuck her in where no one could sneak up on it. With her hands empty, she was free to take the knife. “I got you,” she said, turning the potato in her fingers. “Name’s Jade.”

[Noven]

Both orphan and cook watched in mild amusement as their guest kicked her bag of apples into the pantry she'd just emerged from, once she had agreed to Nov's terms. The lass certainly wasn't one for small talk; she nodded once, took the knife, and introduced herself with neither fan nor fare.

"Jade..." Thomas echoed while the grown ups got to work. Then his face cracked into a thoughtful grin. "That's a pretty name."

Whatever it was going on in the boy's head, Noven only wished he didn't know. Exotic was the first word that came to mind in describing the lass, who looked old enough to be Thomas's eldest sister, and green enough to be Nov's youngest. She had oddly well-kept hair, thought it was a little mussed from her narrow escape. It was a dark brown that complimented her desert bred skin, which the cook was now able to discern, what with his growing number of foreign acquaintances. She looked bit like the good doctor, he realized. Just without the pure, black eyes and minute stature.

All in all, she was a pretty, young thing. And Nov knew better than to trust those any farther than he could throw them.

But she appeared reliable enough so far, and he was in more dire need of help than he cared to admit. Dragging a stool, the basket of tubers, and two buckets, one empty and one filled with water, Noven dumped it all right in front of the guarded cupboard. He had a decent little set up for the girl in no time at all, complete with a knife for peeling and brush for scrubbing.

"Right then," he began, pointing at the old and battered but serviceable equipment, "Clean the spuds there, peel 'em over this bucket here, and when you're done Thomas will do the rest."

The cook had expected a whine or groan of protest. But, much to his surprise, the kid provided neither. "Aye, when you've finished wif one, Oi'll 'elp you cut 'em up, Miss Jade."

Krysus, this runt had a head the size of a barrel of ale if he thought he was getting anywhere with this sudden development of chivalry. Any other occasion Thomas would be a proper menace with manual labor, weaseling and chafing and carping until Nov finally kicked him out due to sheer irritation. Leave it to a pretty face to get the nearly pubescent kid working like the upstanding citizen he never was.

Then again, the cook considered, it worked in his own favor, to have a third pair of willing hands...so who was he to complain?

Deciding to take full advantage of this rare bit of luck, Noven finished stirring around his sizzling vegetables and dumped them onto an already partially filled bowl. It would take too long to boil the potatoes into a soup at this point, so fried taters it was going to have to be.

He scraped off any remaining charred bits from the skillet, gave it a decent scrub in the wash basin, and set it back on the griddle. As soon as Thomas finished dicing his end Nov would dump the little, uneven cubes of potato to fry. It was quick but careful work, as the spuds could easily burn at such high temperatures and the timing had to be right for one batch to cook while the other was prepped.

It was cramped, but warm and toasty as well in their tiny kitchen. Better inside with food to be had than out there in the cold. Thinking of this, along with the rather automated work, made Noven curious about their new guest. She seemed harmless enough at the moment, but who was to say? Best get some context just to be sure, the cook told himself. Plus, poking around a handful of potatoes whilst occasionally adding a dash of salt wasn't exactly the most stimulating of activities.

"So, ah...Jade," he initiated, back still faced toward the cupboard as he pushed around cubes of golden tuber, "you from around these parts?"

Not the most sleuth-like of questions, Nov knew. But he needed to start somewhere. Just because Jade didn't look like a deadly assassin or axe-wielding murderer, didn't mean she wouldn't have a thing or two to hide like most normal folk. Hell, if she knew of the crimson veins webbed over his entire left hand, of the kinds of things he was capable of doing because of them, Little Jade might want to turn tail and run all over again. But such was the way of it all; everyone had secrets, and Nov was convinced he'd be better off safer than sorry. Sunberthians were paranoid by nature, and he was a spawn of the Berth through and through.

[Mirian Jade]

It turned out to be the young lad that continued the conversation with a thoughtful “Jade… that’s a pretty name.” Mirian looked at him, searching his face for any sign of manipulation or ill intent. What she found there instead was a complete lack of it, space taken up instead by a sort of… wistfulness. Whatever had caused him to say what he had, he meant it. Mirian pulled on a smile. “Why, thank you,” she said. Noven returned from wherever it was he’d gone off to after giving her the knife, toting a stool, a basket of more potatoes, a bucket of water and a bucket of air. He set the things down, presumably for her, and Mirian moved to give him more room, even pulling the stool out of his way when it looked like it was becoming an obstacle. If she was going to be helpful, she’d give it her all. Noven rattled off what it was she needed to do, and Mirian gave another curt nod of understanding and took a seat. Thomas, however, had his own words to add: "Aye, when you've finished wif one, Oi'll 'elp you cut 'em up, Miss Jade." The miniscule flicker of surprise on Noven’s face was enough to signal that such selflessness was not the normal way of things. Was the boy sweet on her? Well, that was something she could handle. Turning and giving Thomas another smile, Mirian inclined her head in gratitude. “Thank you, Thomas,” she said. “If I need help, you will be the first person I ask.” If he was on her side, he might help her protect her apples. Or maybe he was just trying to weasel his way towards them. She didn’t know. She still kept them behind her, but she would play the lad’s game if it meant one less person to worry about. The potato in her hands was tough and perhaps a bit older than was advisable, but it wasn’t yet to the point of spoilage. That, in itself, was something to say for the state of the place, especially in a time like this. Mirian wondered vaguely if she would be invited to dinner. She probably wouldn’t. The first one was clumsily done, with little bits of skin still clinging here and there. As hastily as she could, Mirian scraped off what she saw and handed the thing to Thomas, who set about to his own task. The second potato was better; she allowed herself to slow down this time, look more carefully at what she was doing. Each individual slice took a bit more, but since she didn’t have to go back and redo it she ended up finishing it far quicker than the first. She and the boy fell into a steady rhythm of skinning and slicing, interrupted every so often when the potato cubes were passed to the cook. “So, ah… Jade.” Mirian looked up, startled at the sudden break of wordlessness. Noven was obviously speaking to her, but he remained facing his skillet. “You from around these parts?” She had rehearsed the answer to that question so many times that it hardly felt like a lie anymore when it fell through her lips. “Yeah.” A single word. Simple. And hopefully enough of an answer for him not to press.

[Noven]

Nov took the girl's tight-lipped reply in stride and went on frying the tuber cubes. He hadn't exactly expected her to pour out her life story right from the get go.

But, as frugal as her answer had been, it wasn't without its tells. Jade had responded too easily, too simply. During all his years in the Berth, Noven had learned one thing about asking questions: if the answer you got was vague enough that you'd dismiss it at first without thinking, then someone was hiding something.

Whatever secrets Jade was harboring, the cook decided it might be better to let her keep them, so long as they brought no trouble to the orphanage. He only hoped that the man chasing her would never see her again. And if he did, let it be no where near the kitchen.

The lass seemed to have a decent attitude, barring her suspicious unwillingness to talk about her origins, and had grown steadily more confident with the peeling. Noven glanced back every now and then to check on her. It was more for his sake than hers; he disliked having strangers where he couldn't see them at all times. The man was nothing if not paranoid.

Unfortunately, if Jade didn't want to talk, then it meant Thomas would.

"Well Oi've been 'ere me whole life, Miss Jade," the boy boasted as he chopped at the freshly peeled spuds. Nov silently wondered if Thomas might hack off a finger if he talked long enough. Alas, the runt was far too competent with a knife for his own good. "Came 'ere when Oi was just a baby," he babbled on, pausing mid-chop to nudge one thumb towards Noven. "Known this fella's ugly mug since the beginnin' and not a day goes by Oi en't tired of lookin' at it. Now Oi'm almost a man grown, goin' on sixteen by next Summer. Funny how time flies, eh?"

"If by sixteen you mean twelve," Nov interrupted, letting his skillet bang back onto the griddle with a clatter, "then yeah, it is pretty funny how time flies. Especially when I'm beating the shyke out of your skinny, lying arse."

"Oy! Who d'you fink--"

"Thomas, shut up and get back to work."

The boy stuck his tongue out, proving just how old he truly was, and went grumpily back to dicing the potatoes. This didn't stop him from sneaking peeks back at Jade when he thought no one was looking, though.

Even with Thomas's grumblings and pseudo death glares, things went by much quicker with two extra pairs of helping hands, Nov found. It helped that there weren't many potatoes to begin with, but they were lucky to have any at all. Before long, the cook was frying up his last batch of spuds and dumping them into a large serving bowl. With the potatoes done, they were finally ready to serve dinner--and not a tick too soon, either, judging from the growing clamor of hungry chatter outside in the mess hall.

"Alright you two," Noven announced, "Thomas, you carry the vegetables. Jade, the spuds. I'll get the beans. Hopefully this will be done quick."

Once everyone had their assigned burdens ready to be moved, the cook signaled their march to begin with him in the lead. He set down his rather heavy pot of cooked beans onto the serving table first and waited for the rest to arrive. As soon as they did, he withdrew a ladle and two large, wooden spoons from his apron. The rest of the mess hall had gone dead quiet the moment all three kitchen workers had stepped out with the food; hundreds of eyes followed the procession of pots and bowls with palpable greed and never left. It was as if they were all collectively holding their breaths, waiting for some kind of sign.

Noven opened the lid to his pot of beans and picked up the ladle, clanging it once against a metal side. "Alright runts, line up!"

A wave of noise broke out as chairs scraped, voices clamored, and feet stampeded toward the serving table to form a chaotic but functioning line of hungry orphans. Each held their own plate, which were as dented and ancient as Nov's pots and pans, but also every child's ticket to dinner. If they didn't have a plate, it meant they were being punished.

"A spoonful for each and no more," the cook muttered to Jade before their rapid service began.