Scabs made the breakfast food quickly. Kev was impressed. Despite his earlier emotional rollercoaster, the prep cook moved with a practiced, almost balletic efficiency. His long, lanky limbs, which had looked awkward and gangly before, now moved with purpose. He cracked eggs one-handed, deftly flipping them in the pan, and toasted bread to a perfect golden brown, all while keeping a watchful eye on the sizzling bacon.
"Do you cook a lot?" Kev asked.
"Of course he does," Sabrina said. "He's a cook."
"I know that," Kev said, pointing back towards the pig still lying on the stainless steel table behind them. "I didn't know if he just portioned out the meat, or if he was making soups and stuff like that."
"Ms. Reepia doesn't let anyone else make the soups," Scabs said, piling a few plates with eggs, toast, and the bacon he had cooked. "I mostly butcher the whole stock that comes in. We get a lot of fresh, whole food, and most of the other cooks never got their cleaver certificate."
Kev cocked his head. "You need a certificate just for a cleaver? Do all types of knives need their own paperwork?"
"Yes," the vulture passed out the plates to the others, who accepted them gratefully. "The only other cook on staff trained on cleavers is Ms. Reepia herself. She has her culinary degree."
Kev thought about Reepia and how abrasive she was. If Fang was telling the truth, and Reepia had been a cactus her whole life, it must have been very difficult for her to get a fine arts degree. In the engineering classes he'd taken all those years ago, the students could be a bit abrasive or socially inept, as long as their addition was correct. But in the semi-subjective world of cuisine, where tempers and egos needed to be earned, she had still managed to earn her prize using just her talent and time-honed skill.
"I told Talon to get a certificate for a sword," Sabrina said between bites of toast, "but he is too much of a wimp."
Talon shook his head. "What reason could I give for needing a sword?"
"Just tell them you get your butt kicked all the time," Sabrina said with a loud, crunchy bite into her bread.
Talon rolled his eyes and tried to ignore his sister, concentrating on the fluffy and not-burnt-to-a-crisp eggs before him.
"Scabs, have you worked here a long time?" Kev asked, watching the vulture pick up a fourth plate he had made for himself.
Scabs shrugged a bit. "Eight years. I got hired after the power got pulled, so it's not like I've been here that long."
"That's still a long time," Kev said. "Ms. Reepia must like you."
"Ms. Reepia says I am a coward baby who only works to afford my diaper bill," the vulture was down on the ground, holding his knees, even before he'd finished the sentence.
"I think that means she likes you," Kev offered, trying to console the cook.
Scabs's bald head poked up from between his knees. "Ms. Reepia doesn't 'like' anything or anyone."
"That's just what she tells you," Sabrina said. "Ms. Reepia loves me."
Talon looked down at the melancholic prep cook and offered his hand. "Ms. Reepia likes cooking."
"He got you there," Kev said, thankful for Talon's ability to see the most obvious things. "Just a few nights ago, Fang told me that Reepia is only honest with people she trusts. Maybe she doesn't 'like' you, but she seems to trust you."
Scabs poked his head up again. "Really?"
"Well, maybe not if you don't get back to work," Kev said, and pointed a thumb over his shoulder to the pork awaiting butchering. "But I'll be sure to let Fang and her know that you weren't scavenging."
Scabs took Talon's hand and allowed himself to be helped up. "Please tell her that it tasted good too, and filled you up."
Kev grinned. "It was the best breakfast I've had since I arrived here."
The vulture's smile, a wide parting of his sharp, hooked beak, was not pleasant to look at, but Kev's growing confidence in his ability to understand the beastmen's facial expressions let him know that his compliment was well-received.
"You still need years of practice before you are at Reepia's level," Sabrina said, and as she rolled by, she passed the cook her empty plate.
"The eggs were very good," Talon said, also stacking his empty plate in the vulture's hands. "Having protein for breakfast is important."
"Maybe he can teach you," Sabrina said, elbowing her brother. "How many of the eggs we bought last week even made it into the frying pan?"
Talon frowned. "It does not matter, because we have no eggs."
Sabrina looked over. "Just take some from baldy. Does it really matter if Reepia kicks that wimp?"
Scabs shrunk down on the floor again and muttered, "Please no."
Talon closed his eyes and took a deep breath before saying, "Let's go to the grocery store, sister. We need to buy our own food."
"I'll come too," Kev said, putting his empty plate on the stack that Scabs was holding. "We got a bit interrupted yesterday on our way. I'm really interested to see what the-"
"Sorry, Mr. Kev." Talon shook his head as he caught Sabrina's chair and positioned himself to push her. "I can't look after both you and sister at the same time."
Disappointment twinged at Kev as he watched Talon push Sabrina out through the bar doors. He really had wanted to go explore the grocery store yesterday, and it seemed he had lost his chance to do so again. What were beastmen candy bars like? Did they have self-checkout lines, or was that just a human thing? And most importantly... what was on their cereal boxes? Kev needed to know.
"Don't leave the mansion," Talon called over his shoulder. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."
"Bye-bye, bald boys!" Sabrina chirped, and they were gone.
Kev waved. He knew Talon was probably right. Gus would not be too happy that there really had been a fight in the park yesterday...
He turned to see Scabs looking down at the plates that everyone had piled into his hands. The vulture's shoulders slumped. He walked slowly, almost shuffling, to the dishwashing sink, his earlier, fleeting moments of confidence completely gone. He looked less like a professional prep cook and more like a condemned prisoner on his way to the gallows.
Kev shut his eyes. He really didn't want to wash dishes again, but Lanon's words were still ringing in his ears. He would only ever be a pet if he didn't work. And with a lack of a skill set that matched a five-star sex therapy outing club, he knew he could at least clean up after himself. That damn iguana was such a dick for being right.
"Hey, let me wash those," Kev said, intercepting Scabs before he made it to the basin sinks.
The vulture shook his head. "You can go, Mr. Kev. I can take care of these."
"No," Kev said, reaching out and taking the plates and utensils from the cook's hands. "You have work to do, and I wish I could do more to thank you for feeding me and my friends."
"You shouldn't dirty your hands with this." Scabs reached back for the plates, but Kev turned and brought them to the sink.
"I can't do much else to help," Kev said, turning the water on and rolling up his sleeves.
Scabs watched the human wash the first dish and seemed satisfied when Kev put it on the drying rack. By the time Kev finished, the cook seemed like he was back on track, standing with his cleaver, inspecting the half-pig that lay sprawled on the prep table.
"Does Reepia have something against buying pre-cut pork chops?" Kev asked as he walked over and dried his hands, curious to see the vulture dismantle the pig with just his cleaver.
"No," Scabs said. "She doesn't have anything against any ingredients. If it's edible, she can work with it."
The vulture rolled the pig until it was cavity-up. Then, with a steady aim, he struck with his cleaver. It wasn't a show of brute force, but of incredible precision. THWACK, THWACK, THWACK. Three quick, clean strikes right between the third and fourth rib, expertly severing the shoulder. Next, another trio of precise blows near the rear leg, and the hind ham was removed just as cleanly.
"I'm surprised," Kev said, amazed by the vulture's skill. He knew the beastmen were strong, but so was pig bone. But it wasn't that the prep cook was breaking the bone; the vulture's knife knew exactly where to land. Maybe Talon wasn't the most accurate club employee after all. "Would Reepia make me hot dogs?"
"That is a good one," Scabs said, not looking up. "You might want to keep those words out of your mouth when near the head chef."
Next, the vulture cleaned the loin. A series of cleaver whacks, and the spareribs were separated. He then easily sliced off the bacon and cleaned the ribs. Finally, he ran his cleaver through the fat, trimming down the excess and putting it aside with the other scraps.
"Yeah, she does have a bad temper, doesn't she?" Kev grinned, remembering how Horns had basically shrunk under the rat woman's intense scrutiny.
"Ha! Her temper is nothing," Scabs laughed softly, "not compared to the wolf's."
The chef next took the remaining loin and began quickly hacking it apart. Thick, consistently thick pork chops and loin chops lay spread out like a deck of cards within a minute, the vulture's cleaver not needing a second cut anywhere.
Kev felt an ache of pain shoot through him at the memory of Fang's rage. He considered the vulture-man again. "So, Scabs, do you know much about Fang or the club?"
"Just the normal rumors," Scabs said, beginning to clean and finish the pork chops, chopping off small corners of excess fat and making them all nearly the same size. "All the chefs talk."
"Have you heard any rumors about the locked room on the second floor?" Kev asked.
"Of course," Scabs said, his cleaver not slowing as his other hand easily positioned the pork cuts. "Everyone knows it's off-limits. It's the reason the second floor is restricted."
Kev nodded, finally some answers, he hoped. "What are the rumors?"
Scabs stopped mid-swing and looked over at Kev. "Is this a trick? Why would I tell Mr. Fang's fiancée rumors about the him?"
"I'm just curious," Kev said, before adding, "Reepia told me to try and get Fang to sleep more."
Scabs shook his head. "I'm sorry to hear she has tasked you with such an impossible task."
"Well, any info would be helpful," Kev's voice was flat. He wasn't very impressed with being pitied by the bipolar butcher.
Scabs turned back to the sectioned-up pork. "The cooks say that the off-limits room is where Fang keeps trophies of the different people he's made disappear." The cleaver came down with a sudden smack onto a chop, punctuating his words.
Well, Kev thought, I really don't think Fang is keeping hunting mementos in an old bedroom... He shook his head in disappointment. He'd hoped to learn something useful, but at least he got breakfast. "That's quite the rumor," Kev said with a grin. "but, I'm gonna head out so you can concentrate on your cleaving... Thanks again for breakfast."
Scabs turned and nodded. "Please do not let it happen again," he croaked, before returning to his prep work.
Kev took the hint and quickly left, letting the kitchen door slowly swing closed behind him as he stepped back into the barroom.