A/N: 'Lo this is just a project to get me back into writing. It's a KHR drabble, each one one will be anywhere between 500 - ~1000 words.

Disclaimer: I do not own KHR. Solomon and any other OCs belong to me.

Chef

Preparing meals for the Varia household could be called hectic. It could also be called stressful, harrowing, terrifying and – if done incorrectly – life-threatening. The safest job was setting the table, the servants had learned (through trial and error) to have every plate, utensil, and cup in place and to get the fuck out long before their masters reached this part of the house. The most dangerous part of meals was debatable. Serving the food left you in range to their…dissatisfaction, if the meal was not up to par. But as the cook you would feel the full force of said dissatisfaction and quite possibly your life slipping away. But, in Solomon's sincere opinion, the servers had it worse. At least as a chef he would have a few seconds – precious, precious seconds – to hop the boundary wall and hightail it out of the immediate vicinity. There were even rumors of a chef making it out the country between the moment Master Xanxus' bullets started flying and the moment loud 'VOOOIIII's echoed off the kitchen walls. Solomon hoped that never happened during his tenure with the family, although he was pretty sure he could clear the city at a push.

Solomon checked the clock again giving the Fagioli soup a quick stir – turning the heat down- and ducked and weaved briskly through and around the active group of cooks preparing the general meal and to the much less crowded but no less active area where specific meals were made for the members of the upper echelon. Varia was host to an eclectic group which had an equally eclectic taste in food, so there were five separate/head chefs that catered to them. Solomon headed to his area in the far back, which was the most isolated of the workstations, and for good reason. He opened up the grill, using his fork to gently turn the slab of steak making sure all sides were evenly cooked and that there were no burns. Good. Master Xanxus' meal was always the most trying, more because of the man himself than the actual food. Solomon valued life though, so you weren't going to hear any complaints from him.

Truthfully, he had originally been brought in as the chef for Prince Belphegor, but due to a series of unfortunate events, some quick thinking on his part, and a gruff mutter of 'not as bad as the other trash', he had been (ordered) requested to handle any and all meat portions of Master Xanxus' meals. It wasn't that much of a hassle in the beginning. Prince Bel was a picky eater, but when it came down to it, so long as it was looked, smelled, and tasted well enough for one of his status, he was a pretty happy camper. Or, well, he didn't aim for any lethal areas when he eventually took to tossing his knives. Solomon knew Master Xanxus would be a difficult customer from the gate, but being awoken in his small apartment at 2:00 a.m. by Varia assassins trying – and succeeding – in kidnapping him and dumping him in the kitchen with brisk orders for a roasted beef with red potatoes to be delivered to his room in forty-five minutes, was something he hadn't prepped for. Which led him, of course, to finally become a live in cook like the other head chefs.

Solomon closed the grill, wiping his hands on his apron, another fifteen minutes on high, and it would be done. That left him ten minutes to get Prince Bel's dinner onto the serving plate then -

The door from the back of the kitchens burst open – There was a startled silence, as the group of unknown Mafioso marched into the kitchens. "Alright, all you line up against the wall, the first person to make a ruckus gets a bullet through the head." The self-appointed leader smirked gesturing from them to the back wall with a wave of his gun. The silence had turned from startled to incredulous.

Solomon stared in disbelief. They had fifteen minutes. Fifteen fucking minutes to get lunch out the door and into the dining room and these dumbasses chose now to attack? Are you serious?

"…Well?" The Mafioso waved his gun again when none of the staff moved. Almost as if coming to a unanimous decision the staff continued their preparations for lunch.

Solomon was back at his first station ladling the soup into a clean bowl and dabbing the edges carefully with a towel and putting a light dash of parsley, and rosemary in the middle.

"H-hey! Didn't you fucking hear me?!" The intruder pointed his gun at a nearby worker. There was a sigh and a whiz through the air. The Mafioso yelled as his wrist was run through by a desert fork. The moment he went down clutching his hand the others started firing. Solomon huffed bringing a cast iron skillet from the stove top to block the spray of bullets, and swung it at one of the intruders. From the sizzle and scream, he had caught one of them.

Sol ducked a knife as he placed the bowls of soup down on the tray, caught the returning skillet, and hurried back to check on the meat.

He sighed ignoring the screams and the gun shots that were starting to die down. He glanced over the meat one more time and, deeming it acceptable, put it on a special plate to keep it nice and hot until it arrived at the dinner table. By the time he turned back around to the main area, a majority of the plates had been placed on the server table and the kitchen boys had just finished tying up the intruders to deliver them to TI.

A Varia Quality Kitchen Staff did not suffer fools lightly. Especially during meal times.

The final dish was added to the platter just as the servers hurried in, barely giving a glance to the mess and the bleeding trespassers in the corner, they picked up the platters and with a quick nod, heading back out the door.

Silence.

A beat.

Then another.

The doors opened and the servers walked back in with empty trays.

Solomon leaned against the counter in relief. Nerve wrecking and trying, but he couldn't really see himself anywhere else.

He pushed off the counter wiping his hands on his apron.

Now for Dinner.