Magic Cooking-Chapter one
"One crab-apple pie coming right up for a Mr. Simmons!" Mathew shouted, or at least he tried to into the deafening room, but well, what can I say? The noise was just too much. So he looked to his brother for help. A brother that was well known for how loud he was.
And Alfred, having caught his eye, winked and stood up to holler out, at the top of his very loud lungs, "Yo, dudes, Mattie's got someone's crab pie ready! Come on up to get it, whoever you are!"
A scramble was started among the patrons that had mainly gathered around the taverns stage, where a bard was playing a sad slow song about a mermaid. After all, it wasn't every day that a crab-apple pie was made, what with them being so hard to take care of once they were cooked and magicked up. Many were trying to get to the kitchen counter.
Mathew shot a scowl his brother's way, he had only let one customer order the darned treat for this very reason, it was all just too much trouble. Alfred, however, was looking away and whistling, and the idiot was a bit too thick in the head anyways to realize just how much of a commotion he'd caused. He needed a good talking to one of these days.
Mathew sighed, turned away, and started parrying the questions on when the pies had come back into stock, which was never. Ever. At least not under Mathew's watch, and with him being the only one able to make them well…too bad for everyone else.
Mr. Simmons was finally able to get to the front of the line and Mathew gratefully passed off his dessert to him, letting him take over in fending off the rabble and keeping a hold of his pie. It kept trying to walk off as soon as he set it down.
A word to the wise who are magically inclined, do not ever, ever, not even once, make any food product that is a cross between two things, especially when one of them claws, bites, or generally wants to hurt you and everyone you love or who even just happens to unluckily be around.
It's never a good idea. EVER.
They are good to market to a rowdy bunch, like the room around him; but, like said mentioned rowdy bunch, crab apple pies, on account of being crabs which are, of course, made out of apples are a hell of a lot of work to magic into being and then a hell of a lot of work to then take care of afterwards so that they don't rot in some godforsaken corner of the room after scurrying off away from you.
The little buggers.
He was still finding them hiding out everywhere. And, this was why he didn't sell them anymore. Or, at least, tried not to.
Mathew sighed, and turned back to his regular cooking. Summoning the jar of salt to his side as he turned back to his huge pot of stew bubbling over the fireplace.
And that was when a certain blond-haired Frenchman walked through the door and gave an appreciative sniff as he smelled what he then decided was going to be his meal for that night.
Considering he was a vampire, he wasn't even sure himself if it would be the stew or the delectable scent of the man he could smell had made it. Even from across a room full of smelly sailors, travelers, and the general dirty populace, whoever had made that soup had a delicious smell to him. And Francis had not had a meal in days.
Yesssssss, yet another new story. I know, I know...BUT YOU CAN'T STOP ME
Mwahahahaha