(Notes: This ended up being more like a nibblet than chapter so I'll update next week as well instead of two weeks from now.)
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Chapter 3 1/2: Smolder
Frisk blinked awake, enjoying a second's warmth and comfort in a nest of blankets wrapped around them on the couch. The room was dark and there was no noise from the bar. As they padded out into the hallway they could see the front room was dark and silent. There was a crack of light coming from the kitchen and they pushed the door open.
Grillby was scraping the top of the large flat top grill, getting all the gunky burg residue off the large smooth metal surface. He had his sleeves rolled up and was wearing the stained green apron, his brow furrowed in effort. Frisk crept closer, leaning on the thick metal legs of the worktable in the middle of the room and watching the fire monster work. He cleaned the scraper and set it aside, wiping his brow and sending a few sparks sizzling down his arm. He grabbed what looked like a scrub pad with a handle next and began scrubbing the surface the grill.
Frisk coughed faintly, pressing their face into their sleeve.
Grillby put the scrub pad down and turned to them, his fingers flicking up in a brief wave that Frisk echoed. He dropped down so he was eye level with them and held out his hand.
Frisk smiled and wrapped their hands around his fingers glowing yellow and orange with flickering flames.
Grillby brought his other hand up and covered theirs, his hands taking on a deeper red.
Frisk closed their eyes and breathed in, slow and deep. Their brow twitched and they coughed hard a few times until they broke up the congestion deep in their lungs. They focused on slowly calming the cough, swallowing hard a few times then took another deep breath. When they breathed out, the air felt hot in their throat and their lungs felt warm and clear.
Frisk opened their eyes and nodded, slowly loosening their grip on his fingers and resisting the urge to clutch after him when he stood up. He went to the stove where a pot was sitting on a low flame and ladled something into a large bowl, turning on his heel and setting it on the worktable.
Frisk perked up as he came back to them and easily lifted them up so they could sit on the edge of the tall work table.
Grillby gestured to the bowl as he went to fetch a spoon.
Frisk twisted and picked up the bowl. It was soup again, though, more of a stew filled with vegetables in a rich tomatoy broth. They regarded it nervously, worried the tomato would sting their throat.
Grillby returned with a spoon and gave it to them, nodding encouragingly.
Frisk took a tiny sip, it was rich and creamy and as they swallowed the food dissipated into magic, leaving only it's warmth to fill their stomach. Frisk smiled and took a bigger bite. The vegetables were soft and tasted like the broth and dissolved just as easily. The food filled them with a warmth like Grillby's fire and fullness that seemed to start in their soul.
Grillby sighed softly, his eyes crinkling.
He patted their smooth brown hair and turned back to the grill, scrubbing it clean while Frisk ate. Frisk swung their legs idly as they watched him move around the kitchen with ease, putting everything away and wiping everything down until the kitchen was spotless and ready for the next day's business. As their spoon scrapped the last bite out of the bottom of the bowl, he plucked it from their hand, cleaning, wiping it down and putting it away in the five steps across the kitchen. The whole kitchen had a faint ashy, campfire smell and gleamed shinily.
Grillby came back over to them with a mischievous look in his eyes, "...dessssert...?" he asked in his strange crackly voice.
Frisk grinned and nodded vigorously.
Grillby rummaged around in one of the cabinets, pulling out two squares of black metal, held together by a hinge, two long, rod like handles on the end. He set it on the stove top and the flame flared to life beneath it to heat the metal. He watched it closely for a moment, flipping it to heat the other side before he leaving. He pulled a myriad of different things from the refrigerator, butter and jams, chocolate and syrup.
Behind them, on the table, a thin sheet of plastic crinkled and fluttered as Grillby lined up the jars and bowls on the worktop. He lifted the edge of the plastic, revealing a little ball of dough which he carefully picked up in a hand what was calm yellow in color and gave off barely any heat as he carried it back to the stove.
Frisk leaned forward, craning their neck to see as much as possible. Grillby opened the black iron square and Frisk realized with delight that it was a waffle iron. He dropped the dough in the waffle iron and closed it, the flames dancing underneath the black metal, his hand pressed to the top, red, white with heat.
Frisk breathed deeply as the sweet smell of vanilla, caramelized sugar and sweet dough began to permeate the room. Grillby pulled it open and plucked out the waffle, bringing it back over to the table. It sizzled and steamed in his hand, molten sugar disappearing into the flame with a burnt sugar smell. He spread butter into the waffle, letting it melt into the pockets and then spread over that fresh raspberry jam, red and pink, studded with seeds. The warm waffle seemed to bring the jam to life, a sharp, sweet berry scent mixing with the vanilla and sugar.
Grillby held it out to them and Frisk took it reverentially. They blew on it cautiously and then took a bite. It tasted even better than it smelled. Frisk closed their eyes and ate it very slowly, trying to make it last. They stopped when there were two or so bites left and offered it back to Grillby with a smile, wanting to share how wonderful it was.
He smiled and took the last bite, seeming to take care to eat it as slowly as Frisk had. Grillby made waffles with chocolate, letting it melt and soften, with apples and cinnamon, with syrup and little chopped pecans, and Frisks favorite of the night, blueberry compote with a drizzle of white chocolate. Frisk made sure to share every single one with Grillby. It was far too much food, it made their soul feel tight like their stomach might with regular food but in a good way.
The baking was over and night was creeping up. Even having slept most of the day they started to feel drowsy. Grillby paused before cleaning up, resting his hands on the edge of the table and leaned over so he was at the same height as Frisk.
He tapped his chest and said, "...Grriiiillby." He turned his hand, tapping their chest and nodded towards them slightly.
"Frisk." They said with a keen surge of happiness at finally being asked their name and was filled with determination.
Grillby nodded with a smile of his own, satisfied.
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(Update: Next Thursday, 10/6/16)