"So you have decided to have some!" Gregory said with sinister cheerfulness as he leered over the panicking guest.
Hell's chef watched them over his shoulder, his red eyes smouldering in the dark. It was easiest to scare guests when they first came to the house, before they'd fully accepted the madness around them and still clung to their precious normality. People were at their most uncomfortable when they were faced with the idea that reality- the world and more importantly themselves, was not what they thought it was.
That sort of discomfort was what Gregory most excelled at creating. With his empty smile and pleasant demeanour luring people into a false sense of security, making them believe he truly meant it when he called them "my friend". But he would yank that comfort away, leaving people unable to fully pin him down- even Chef had to admit he found Gregory hard to understand.
Though he liked to think that unlike the guests, Gregory actually meant it when he called him his friend. Not a close friend of course. Of course not. But something along those lines.
The guest looked despairingly at the rat in front of them, searching in his expression for the friendly old man he'd been just a few seconds ago. Whether they decided to trust him after all or were just frightened of the huge knife Chef brandished, they reached out a shaking hand to pick up the soup spoon.
There was a moment of expectation- Chef had been craving some excitement, some fear to bring to a boil since the last guest assimilated. And of course, Gregory felt the same way. Chef would never let anyone else in his kitchen but terror was a dish him and Gregory served up together.
The first drop of soup touched the guest's lips and his candle flame flickered with excitement. The guest finished their first mouthful and the spoon clattered to the floor. They staggered around as Gregory gloatingly crooned to them, "Oh dear! Are you feeling unwell, my friend? Well, surely you don't want to insult the chef's cooking with this behavi-"
The guest shoved past him for the door and Gregory yelped in surprise. Chef had to admit that for all his gift at manipulation Gregory couldn't fight to save his life. But he didn't have to, Chef was always the one who took care of these things.
He raised his knife to strike but the guest jostled past him, disorientating him. He struck blindly and there was a shriek of pain. But it wasn't the guest.
It was Gregory.
Chef pulled his knife out of the floorboard and with it the severed end of Gregory's tail came loose. Dark red blood seeped over the old creaky floorboards and Gregory gasped. He grabbed the bleeding stub he had for a tail and wrapped the corner of his coat around the wound, wincing with pain.
"I trust you to deal with our unruly guest while I take care of this… mishap." Gregory said in a clipped voice as he picked his spasming tail end off the floor and ran in the direction of Catherine's room.
Hell's Chef was left standing silent in the corridor, his knife splattered with blood.
The guest keeled over after a few more ungainly steps and the body was easily dragged back into their room and left there. Chef had more pressing things on his mind than torturing them further, so he left the body and wandered the halls, thinking.
He had always been a precise cook- his dishes were perfectly spiced, his meals cooked to the exact temperature and he never, ever made a mistake chopping meat. Never. Except now he'd made a mistake that was far worse than just messing up dinner.
He'd never had any time for anything other than cuisine- family, friends, relationships, those were just an unnecessary garnish to the rich flavour cooking gave his life. The first thing he ever said to Gregory had been "I'm no friend of yours."
It was strange to think that Gregory had only been middle aged then, like himself. Gregory had looked at him in surprise and removed his half moon glasses so Chef could notice the full blood red colour of his eyes. But nice eyes or not Gregory's overly friendly (yet slightly sinister) nature had infuriated him. Chef was a person who put things bluntly and simply, like a bland yet filling meal. You knew where you stood with it.
What he couldn't stand in cuisine was people covering up genuinely awful food with stupid garnishes so naturally he couldn't stand people who filled in conversations with empty compliments and sweet nothings. He'd expected Gregory to snap and his empty smile to fade but Gregory had just smiled and gently said;
"Perhaps I shouldn't be so overly familiar. But you do know…" his grin widened, "you're going to be staying a… while, so we have plenty of time to get to know each other, my fr-" he'd cut himself off before he said it again.
Chef mulled over how much things had changed since that first meeting as he guiltily wandered the halls. There had been a time when that word habit annoyed him. But not anymore, now he somewhat liked when Gregory called him his friend.
The reason he liked to think that Gregory didn't just call him that out of habit, but that he actually considered him a friend was because if he was being honest, that's what Gregory was to him. And the last thing he wanted was to lose that.
Gregory had left too fast for him to say anything. He hadn't had a chance to explain himself.
He washed the blood off his knife but he knew that until he did something he hadn't done since coming to Gregory House he wouldn't be able to feel clean; and that was apologise.