Army of Sin - Season 2 - The Gathering

Episode I - Behind Closed Doors

Location: South East France…

The French countryside was beautiful this time of year. It beckoned to those that could afford it, a getaway like no other. The smell of the Mediterranean Sea wafted into the nostrils as one drove along the coast and towards the mountain upon which stood the tiny village of Eze. Tucked neatly between Nice and Monaco, the village which required crossing bridges over cliffs and winding roads, offered sights of cruise ships and yachts which at this height looked like diamond studs along the blue belt of the coast. Nestled within this village that still held the stamp of the medieval era stood Le Sanctuaire restaurant. The village of Eze had indeed been outfitted with various tourist mainstays, yet the feeling of entering a walking, talking museum weighed upon the senses. Le Sanctuaire held both tourist and art lover in its spell. Its outdoor assembly of rustic benches and oil lanterns aglow by evening -  indoor slabs of stone cut to different seating capacities - seemed to grow from the sides of the walls and from the floor, its clay composition adding a cool, welcoming aura.

The two members of restaurant staff busied themselves from guest to guest. The twins, Marriel and Leelah never needed a notepad. Friendly smiles always on display, they balanced bowls of soup and other dishes along the length of their arms, blood red locks neatly plaited into a ponytail that hovered at the base of each curve of spine. Rounding out the remainder of the restaurant staff, was the buxom Madame Maxime, Maitre D’ and designated head of Le Sanctuaire's household. Her smile was just as radiant; greeting newcomers and regulars as if they were long lost members attending a family reunion.

This little jewel of a dining spot was not one to be visited only once. Billionaires, millionaires and even more common folk all dined contentedly under its small but welcoming roof. Past the rows of seats, even further past the bar counter was the pair of airtight doors above which read 'Kitchen Staff Only Beyond This Point'. Behind these hallowed doors - chaos!

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Water sloshed against the walls of the stainless steel basin as the human dishwasher reached for another dirty plate. His hair was obediently wrapped in cloth, a bullring hanging from a nose shiny with the sweat that beaded his upper lip. Behind him, a junior cook cut the required vegetables with alacrity, wielding his blade with deadly artistry as he danced through sweet peppers, cabbage and onions. He would lift the rag hooked into the front pocket of his apron ever so often to dab at the sweat escaping his sous chef's hat.

"Où est ma poitrine de poulet!?" boomed a voice from across the room.

"Coming Chef!" a trembling reply came from the young cook, Abigail who stood near the stove, silently willing the chicken breast to cook faster.

"Bon dieu! A quoi sert un plat de viande sans la viande!?" Chef barked, slamming the meat of his fist on the countertop. His features were stern, face devoid of both hair and laugh lines, shrewd eyes burning a hole between the young cook's shoulder blades.

So what if she was new? The restaurant was his jewel and to disturb its lustre was to hear his voice.

Tears pricked her eyes even as she saw the chicken breast finally turn the appropriate colour. Fighting back her hellfire personality that threatened to brim to the surface, Abigail made her way back to the counter with the chicken. Heat from the platter seared her palm as it offered her only a moment of distraction. The burly chef offered a frustrated exhale as Abigail crossed the distance toward him. Taking in sneaky tendrils of hair plastered to the side of her face, shoelace trying its best to worm its way away from her shoe, he felt no pity for her. Instead, he commented in rumbling French, "It is a good thing these walls are sound-proofed or you would have chased all our guests away with your failings.”

Abigail's chin trembled even as her eyes flashed for a brief second, "Oui Chef," she replied in poorly accented French, before turning to return to her station, knowing it would not be long before he called for the mushrooms that would accompany this dish.

"Remy!" Chef barked.

"Oui Chef?" the cook slicing the vegetables for the bubbling soup replied calmly, eyes focused on his task.

"Combien de temps plus longtemps pour la soupe? How much longer?"

"Five minutes, Chef!" Remy replied, his French response smooth although the language was not his mother tongue.

"Bon homme!" Chef boomed in approval.

Abigail's hand tightened on the knife, a dangerous action that could have thrown off the rhythm of her cut and sliced her. Why couldn't he have nice things to say to me also? She fumed to herself. Didn't he know it was my first week? Or was it that he just didn't care? Tossing the chopped shallot and mushrooms to cook, she grit her teeth and once more attempted to will the mushrooms to cook faster.

As luck would have it, Abigail’s had run out. Once more the voice boomed across the kitchen, ‘’Mushrooms!" this time in heavily accented English. As the heat crept up her face, the young cook and aspiring chef dropped the spoon she held, flinching at the sound it made against the tiled floor even as she whipped around to face her immediate superior.

The earful she had planned to deliver aborted its mission as she found herself facing not only Chef, but Madame Gigi, owner and head chef of Le Sanctuaire. Heart caving in, she nodded softly as the slender woman simply pointed toward the direction of her back office.

Turning off the burner, lest she ruin the mushrooms altogether, Abigail picked up the discarded spoon and crossed over to where Moggo continued washing his wares.

It was the quietest she had ever heard the kitchen - so quiet she could hear the roar of her own blood.

It hadn't even been a week yet...

                     END OF EPISODE