"Who's the baldy?" Sabrina asked, trying to see around Talon, who still stood defensively between the newcomer and the rest of the kitchen.
The cook was a hooded vulture, lanky and almost skeletal in his build. A puff of soft white feathers, like a ruff, erupted from the collar of his red cook's uniform, a stark contrast to the wrinkled, bare skin of his long neck and bald head. His dark, beady eyes were large and alert, and a powerful, hooked beak dominated his face. He looked both ancient and unnervingly sharp.
"Yes," Talon said, spreading his wings slightly. "Who are you?"
"I'm the cook," the vulture croaked, lifting the bisected pig on his shoulder slightly. "Who are you?"
Talon's wings snapped quickly to his back. "You work for Ms. Reepia?"
The vulture nodded his bald head, the motion an odd, sinuous movement of his long neck.
Talon quickly stepped out of the cook's way and looked back at the others. "We should leave. It would be rude to bother Ms. Reepia's employees."
"I thought Reepia said there wasn't a daytime kitchen manager," Kev said, ignoring Talon, who was already walking towards the bar door.
The vulture slapped the pig down onto the table that was covered in plastic wrap. "I'm not a manager. Now..." the vulture picked up the cleaver and turned to face Kev. He ran a thumb lightly along the edge of the blade, the metal gleaming under the kitchen lights. His dark, beady eyes, ancient and unblinking, were fixed on Kev. "...who are you, and why are you in the kitchen?"
"I... uh... we..." Kev stumbled on his words, "wanted some breakfast."
"And what made you think," the vulture said, beginning to walk towards the odd, furless mammal, the cleaver held loosely at his side, "that you could get breakfast here?"
"Reepia said we could!" Sabrina called out, rolling towards the pantry.
"Likely story," the cook said. "Reepia hates breakfast food. She only makes it for Mr. Fang."
"And Horns," Kev added.
"And Horns," the vulture conceded. "Now, get out of the pantry! What are you doing?"
"Nothing!" Sabrina laughed as she disappeared around the corner by the buckets.
"Wait! Right there, girl!" The vulture looked between the three strangers who were invading his workspace, his beady eyes darting in frustration.
"I'm so sorry," Talon rasped quietly from the bar door. "Sister is feral. Please don't tell Ms. Reepia."
"Who are you?!" the vulture wailed suddenly, and he squatted down on the ground, hugging his legs, the cleaver still tight in his grip.
"Whoa," Kev said, looking over at Talon. The eagle looked equally shocked at the cook's reaction. "Uh, you okay, buddy?"
The vulture was a tight, coiled ball of misery on the pristine kitchen floor. He had his eyes squeezed shut, his bald, wrinkled head tucked down between his knees. The puff of white feathers at his collar was the only soft thing about his tense, angular form. The cleaver, still clutched in his hand, held tight against his leg, its sharp edge a stark, dangerous contrast to his sudden, complete emotional collapse.
"Did he have a stroke?" Talon asked, slowly stepping forward. "Should I perform CPR?"
"No," Kev held up a hand, his gaze still fixed on the vulture, who seemed to be having a panic attack. "Hey there... vulture friend," Kev cringed at the awkwardness of it. "Are you okay? We didn't mean to make you anxious."
Talon walked over and looked down at the man in the fetal position on the ground. "Sister has this effect on some people."
"Shh," Kev waved blindly at Talon again before focusing on the vulture. "Reepia invited us to breakfast if we could catch her here in the morning. If she's not here, we can leave and let you get back to work."
The vulture-man was still for a few moments, and Kev was about to go wrangle Sabrina when he spoke, his voice muffled. "Reepia hates breakfast food."
"I don't know what to say," Kev raised an eyebrow, surprised that Reepia's disdain for breakfast was so well-known that her offer would be met with such disbelief. "She did. We can leave."
"There's no way she did," the vulture pulled his head up from his arms and looked at the human, his eyes red-rimmed. "Don't lie."
Kev sighed. How could he prove that? "You're right," he said, standing and turning, hiding a grin. "We are here to steal all of the food."
"NO!" The vulture-man looked up, his face a mask of panicked determination, and pointed his cleaver towards Kev. "I won't let you!"
Kev didn't have a chance to stop Talon this time. He should have known not to make stupid jokes.
Talon moved with a shocking, silent speed. In one fluid motion, he closed the distance. His right hand shot out, his talons precisely striking the vulture's wrist with a sharp clack. The cleaver clattered uselessly to the floor. Simultaneously, Talon's left leg swept out in a low, controlled kick, hooking the vulture's ankle. With a surprised squawk, the cook's legs were taken out from under him, and he fell sideways, crashing hard into one of the stainless steel prep counters with a loud, metallic CLANG.
"Talon, what the hell?!" was all Kev could say, knowing that Talon would say something along the lines of, he was pointing a weapon at you.
"He threatened you with a blade," Talon said, his voice flat.
Kev looked down at the vulture, who was now raising his arms and kicking his feet towards Kev and Talon as if they were trying to jump on him. "I won't let you take the food!" he screeched.
Kev put a hand to his forehead. Great. Two birds who don't understand jokes. "We aren't going to take all the food," he said. "Talon, help him up."
Talon handed the cleaver to Kev before reaching down and pulling the red-robed cook up onto his feet again.
"Oh, brother," Sabrina said, rolling towards them with a carton of eggs and a bag of shredded cheese on her lap. "You're such a gentleman, helping the vulture up after he swallowed your bone."
"Sabrina!" Talon shouted, quickly stepping away from the scavenger bird.
Sabrina cackled, putting her pilfered goods on the counter next to the other things she had gathered.
"You... you said you weren't taking the food!" the vulture croaked, his eyes wide with renewed panic. "Reepia is going to think I'm scavenging!"
"Reepia is my girl," Sabrina chirped, as she reached across the too-high counter for a box of matches against the wall. "She would totally fire your ass if you tried to stop me right now." Sabrina attempted to reach the matches once more before groaning loudly. "Wait, why am I cooking when there is a cook here?"
"An inventory is taken every morning and night," the vulture said, his voice a despairing whine as he began to sink back down into the fetal position. "If she thinks I was eating the food, she's going to kick me."
"Hey, I'll talk to Fang about it," Kev said. "I'll just say I wanted something different for breakfast, to be prepared for the big meeting tonight."
"Nobody just talks with Fang," the vulture scoffed, his arms already around his legs.
"That's all they do!" Sabrina declared. "They haven't even tied the knot yet!" She laughed loudly.
"Ew," Kev said. "Don't say that."
"What?" Talon looked between the two.
"Wait," the vulture looked up, his panic momentarily forgotten, his beady eyes wide with a different kind of shock. "Reepia said Fang had a... You're Fang's fiancée?!"
"Not exactly, but... yes," Kev said, not wanting to get into the complicated relationship.
"Yes! Now make me some breakfast, baldy!" Sabrina commanded. "As Mr. Kev's closest and most dear friend, and also Reepia's trusted confidant, it would be awful if I needed to wake Fang up to motivate you."
The vulture looked between Kev and Sabrina before jumping to his feet. "Right away!"
"Don't listen to her," Talon rasped. "She is a hellion."
"Yeah," Kev said, watching the vulture quickly light the stove. "You don't have to cook for us. I'm sure you're busy."
The vulture looked back at the half-pig on the kitchen island behind them before catching sight of Kev again. He shook his head and turned back to the stove, where he was now buttering a pan. "I should have realized it was you. Everyone said you look so... uh..."
"Bald?" Sabrina asked loudly.
The vulture looked slowly over at Sabrina. "Bald is beautiful."
"Yeah," Sabrina grinned. "Maybe during a tornado."
The vulture frowned and sank back to the ground once more, hugging his legs.
"OH WHAT?!" Sabrina's eyes went wide. "You're crying?! Over a bald joke?!"
"I'm not crying," the vulture murmured.
"Sabrina, leave him alone." Kev looked down at the bipolar bird and reached his hand down. "Talon's right, ignore her. My name's Kev. I'm sorry I've been rude and haven't introduced myself yet." He realized he still had the cleaver in his hand and quickly put it on the counter before trying once more.
The vulture reached his hand forward. "That is nice of you to say." He stood up. "My name is Scabs."
"Did you say... Scabs?" Kev couldn't help it. A surprised laugh burst out of him. And when the vulture sank back down to the ground a fourth time, he felt a little bad.
"Yes," Kev could hear the muffled croak come from where the cook was hiding his face.
"Did we come on a bad day?" Kev asked. "We really can leave if you're not feeling it."
"He's bald every day," Sabrina commented from the sidelines. "Just like you, human."
A muffled croak came from Scabs. "Bald is beautiful."
"It makes it easier to clean," Talon nodded, "and it makes you more streamlined."
"And it doesn't really matter, because no one can control it," Kev said, offering his hand, hopefully for the final time, to the depressed chef. "Except people that choose to be bald."
Scabs looked up at Kev. "You know people who choose to be bald?"
"Yeah," Kev raised an eyebrow. "It's a style."
"Maybe a human style," Sabrina commented. "Might as well spread that radiation burn all over."
"Look, Scabs," Kev said, "we are going to go so you can get back to work."
The vulture took Kev's hand. "No, you can't." The vulture stood and turned back to the eggs he was about to crack. "If I sent away a hungry family member, Reepia wouldn't just fire me..."
"If you insist," Kev said, stepping away to give the cook space.
Sabrina, however, rolled forward. "So, baldy, why are you here all alone? Did the other chefs make you cry too much?"
"Ha! Like any of those flame jockeys could bother me," Scabs glanced at the chair-bound bird. "Other than Ms. Reepia, of course."
"Then why are you here, outcast, like us, during the day?" Sabrina asked with flair.
"When else would I be here?" Scabs cracked an egg skillfully into the hot pan. "I'm the prep cook."