Somewhere, sometime, far away from the fume-spewing chimneys of Kazdel’s industrial nightmares, and the slave-trading whip crackers of the Scar Market, a tiny clearing shuffled aside a crowd of oyamel firs laid down with all its grass fields and flowerbeds. With butterflies frolicking, fowlbeasts singing, the sun dimly breaking through the trees’ prickly umbrellas, a little company of mismatched souls took refuge under Mother Nature’s gentle gaze. Tents sprung high, the clearing turned into a real campsite, filled to the brim with tarps, crates and wooden constructs - some meat thrown onto a rack or two, nurtured by a flesh-loving fanatic. Grumbling and rumbling, the inhabitants sat around, clutching their stomachs and mumbling. “When’s the food coming?”, a question repeated over and over, more common than anything, than breathing at this point. In the middle of it all sat a grand open air kitchen, fit with every piece of culinary equipment a wicked mercenary’s soul might need. Hunched over a gigantic pot with flames ticking its steel belly, stood two opposites, a man and a boy, staring down into the bottomless pit sprinkled with a few dashes of oil. Gun oil, that is.
“... I reckon we let it simmer for a bit. Burn out the ori enzymes, all that toxic shit.” The devil spoke and nudged his companion in the ribs. “Unless you like eating rock-cancer extract, huh? What do you fuckers even eat in that shithole of yours?”
“Much better food than whatever you’re planning.” Mumbled back the shadow of a person by his side. With a little effort, he shoved the man back and turned away from the pot, huffing and puffing. As much as he’d love to argue and bicker with W, Andy couldn’t help but feel a little wave of excitement washing over his entire nervous system and waking his cells right up, even filling them with a sort of electricity that hasn’t been welcome in his body in quite some time. Despite the putrid stench coming from the dish, he knew it’d soon turn to the delicious smell of fried onions and other vegetables him and Ines managed to snatch during their last supply run - a smell familiar to all mercs present, a reminder of their humanity. As thick as the paint that drew them in the image of mindless, moralless machines was, each and every single one of them bent and caved when met with the premise of a warm, delicious meal at the end of an excruciatingly painful day.
“That’s why I got you here, no? Since you’re apparently such a food expert, let’s see what you can cook up, hm?” W hopped over to the boy’s side, leaving the pot alone to cleanse of all its ori-toxins. With a little wave to a few disgruntled casters walking by, a smile hopped onto his face, stretching those rubbery lips of his across his entire mug. “... Might’ve picked a shit time to cook. Should’ve probably, eh… probably should’ve started all this an hour or two ago.” He scratched his chin, watching a few more, sword-carrying Sarkaz warriors glaring at their field kitchen from a safe distance. “Ah, well. Not like we’re obliged to cook for them, right? They eat when they eat, these dogs should be happy they’re getting anything at all, hehe~.”
“Mhm.” Andy murmured back, picking out a nice cutting board made by Hoederer himself. A few weeks back, in a grandiose display of swordsmanship, the giant took a tree stump meant for firewood and masterfully cut it to pieces with his zweihander, turning it to a real fine piece of kitchen-aid. Or was it Ines who carved it with one of her many daggers? Or W, who just simply stole the thing off the Scar Market’s mobile platform? Andy had troubles remembering. “You could stop yapping, too. I’m pretty sure they’ll tear us apart if we don’t start throwing anything into that pot soon.”
“Blah, blah, blah, threats, threats…” With a sigh, W took to grabbing a few vegetable crates and carrying them over to the boy’s work-station. “... Besides, since when are YOU giving ME orders, huh? Lawdog, I can hang you anytime I want and nobody’d bat an eye.”
“Yeah, but who’d cook you dinner, then?”
“Duh? I would.”
“No, I mean, who would cook you EDIBLE dinner?”
YOU ARE READING
"No Life 'Til Leather"
FanfictionSometimes shit happens. Hey, it's not always your day, it's alright. One moment you're riding high, soaring above these mud-riddled plains with the king of mercs by your side, another, you're running far away from the crater he blew himself up in. Y...
