Spoiled Rotten

Zongzi vs. Peking Duck

Mornings were always so peaceful when the restaurant was closed. One day a week never seemed to be enough, but the staff all deserved a day off.

Sunday mornings were usually spent up in the small office above the kitchen for book keeping and the like. You usually liked to work alone with your coffee (and as the day got on, tea, upon Brownie's insistence), but today Zongzi appeared with Brownie and lunch.

"Is there something wrong?" Your voice comes out funny, but neither of them seem to mind.

"It's just..." Zongzi didn't seem to know what to do with his hands. They drifted to his sword for a moment, before his fingers laced themselves together, freed themselves and began forming odd little shapes at his front. "You're always locked up in here. I worry about you."

"I told him you were fine, Master," Brownie told you as he set out your lunch on your desk, "but he wouldn't have any of it."

You gave Zongzi a curious look. "You've been with me longer than most, Zongzi, why're you so concerned? You know I do this." After a long pause, a thought dawned on you. "Are... Are you worried I'm avoiding you?"

The red flush creeping up his neck, down his ears told you everything. Or so you thought. "Are you jealous of Brownie?" you laughed, but immediately felt bad about it.

Not that bad, but just a twinge of guilt.

"No! No, no. Not Brownie, not Brownie..."

You waved him over to the seat across from you. "Thank you, Brownie. Would you leave me with Zongzi for a few minutes?" Brownie's eyes shifted between you two, suspicious, but he agreed.

"You can tell me what's wrong, Zongzi," you urged gently. "I won't force you, but I'd like to know what's on your mind."

There was that awkward, nervous look again, as if he wasn't sure what he was doing. So unlike the Zongzi that would throw himself between you and a fallen angel that far outclassed his skills. "I... It's nothing, Master Attendant," he said, standing suddenly. "I- I apologize for wasting your time."

You sighed. "Should I ask Plum Juice?" you asked, effectively irritated. "Or-"

"No! No, no, there's no need for that!" He sat back down with almost a panicked expression. "I... I just don't trust Peking Duck."

To your curious look, he said, "He... Plum Juice says things that I'd rather not have my master attendant around."

"Plum Juice?" you asked. "What kind of things?"

Zongzi shook his head. "He didn't give any specifics, but I hear that he's up to his elbows in innocent blood."

~

Zongzi stayed with you all morning and though the afternoon, pestering you occasionally to take breaks, or to ask if he could do anything for you.

Eventually, you sent him to take inventory with Pudding. You finally emerged from your study at dusk. The scent of one of the Chinese family's spicy cooking floated through the empty restaurant. Sichuan Hotpot, if you were to guess. She was always generous with the peppers. The balcony was set up for your weekly meeting, the usual tables arranged in a ring facing a long table. There were a few Eastern-height tables in the middle to accommodate for the number of food souls that would be in attendance.

Peking Duck was already sitting at one of these as the children waddled around the tabletop. He acknowledged you almost immediately, not missing the questions you didn't know how to articulate.

"Ah, so he came to you with his concerns, then Attendant?"

You nodded dumbly, confused.

He waved you over. "Come sit."