concoursec | (no subject)

Characters: Champloo and Open (with a thread closed to Pinkie Pie)
Location: The Cafeteria (and the Home Ec classroom)
Rating: PG?
Open/Closed/Finshed: Open
Summary: Unsurprisingly, Champloo remembered very keenly the offworld holiday that required cooking an obscenely large feast.

A year or two ago -- Champloo couldn't quite remember which, since as a demon years seemed much shorter than they did to a human -- someone had introduced the concept of a Thanksgiving feast to Garden. The introduction hadn't been perfect, of course. Champloo had no idea of the precise schedule the holiday was supposed to follow, but that didn't matter, did it? The important thing was that friends and family gathered around a well-laden table to stuff themselves silly and be grateful for all the good things they had in life.

To the Home Ec Instructor, such a holiday was the very flavor of perfection.

Thus on this day, beginning with lunch and carrying on late into the evening, those Garden residents who sought out their meal in the cafeteria would find not the standard lines awaiting the perpetually short-supplied hot dogs and sundry other meals, but tables piled high with all the treats of Thansgiving. Roast turkey and stuffing, cornbread and green bean casserole, salad and cranberry sauce, gravy and pies of all flavors and sizes. Champloo himself zipped about, passing out plates and silverware and cups, pouring wine and juice, and explaining the purpose behind the feast in food-metaphor-laden terms.

For a couple of hours in the evening, though, the demon chef went absent. He left behind plenty of food for the residents to carry on in their revelry, but he wanted a more private dinner with a certain someone...

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

All that food made for a strange assortment of smells Namur wasn't used to smelling in the halls. And while it didn't appeal to his stomach, per se, it certainly appealed to his sense of curiosity. What the hell was going on?

Namur remembered the last time he'd wandered into a room that smelled this heavily of human food, so it was with caution that he approached the cafeteria, entering as inconspicuously as he could manage and hanging back next to the wall to watch. Sure enough, Chammy was there, busy as a ship's cook. What was it about cooks and fussing over everybody when they're trying to eat? Namur didn't get it, and probably never would. He chuckled quietly, folded his arms, and leaned back a little sideways to the wall, squinting a bit to watch people moving back and forth and picking up bits of intelligible conversation from all over the room, though none of it made any sense without context.

Oh, it's that large shark person that had entertained certain levels of jealousy towards him! Champloo turned, coincidentally brandishing a chef's knife.

"Welcome to Garden's Thanksgiving feast! Have you come to partake?"

"Never heard a that," Namur only looks slightly less confused. "Some kind a holiday, huh? From yer world?" They certainly never did anything like this in Trabia, he would have remembered.

Champloo grinned broad, folding his arms. "It is a holiday taught to me by a fellow offworlder, one which remained in my head quite firmly. In it, people gather about a feast to give thanks for the many things they are grateful for! Such a perfect holiday would be unheard of in the Netherworld!"

"Figures y'd talk sense 'bout food an' whaleshit 'bout everythin' else," Namur smirked. "Like the sound a this thing, though. Not too far off a what we'd do as a crew after nastyass fights, sheheheh! Got any fish?"

"As it was described to me, the centerpiece of this holiday is a cooked stuffed fowl." Champloo stroked his chin thoughtfully. "However, there is so much food besides that, I do not believe fish is enjoined. Shall I cook some?"

"Ehh, not if y' ain't already done it," he ran his hand over the back of his head. "Already told y' raw's better anyway. Got more life in 'em when y' swallow 'em whole still flippin' their fins, sheheheh! Might bring my crew down though. They'd love this."

Champloo had absolutely no qualms about Namur's preferences except that it really was very little challenge for a chef to prepare.

"You should come not just for the food, but also for the sentiment! Both are vital ingredients in the final holiday blend!"

"Damn right! 'S why I need 'em," Namur glanced over at the table, thinking about Ace- or more specifically, Ace's bottomless pit he called a stomach. "Tell y' what though, yer goin' t' need a hell of a lot more food than that if I get Ace down here. Li'l shit sucks down everythin' faster'n a whirlpool. Think yer up t' the challenge a feedin' a D?"

"Hyahyahya, ahyahyaya!" Champloo leaned against the wall behind him, putting one hand to his forehead as he laughed. "Will you next challenge a Carolina Reaper to be as spicy as a jalapeno? You are speaking to a cook! To fail to feed even the hungriest of men would be to betray the essence of the Kitchen Fist!"

"Laugh while y' can Mosschops," Namur couldn't help chuckling a little himself. "Ace'll give y' a run for yer money. Good luck!" He clapped Champloo on the shoulder and backed out to go find his brothers.

It isn't long before he's back, Ace in tow.

"Here we are, Grill Pit! Have at!"

Ace sat down and was all but drooling at the spread of food. "You sure weren't lying Namur. As much as I want right? I can eat till I'm full!?" He really was exceptionally excited about the food.

"Hyahya, of course! Eat as you will! I will cook more if need be." Champloo gestured invitingly to the spread.