Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies, Medieval Times, or any other media references I may make.
Chapter 8
Pie Eater's PoV
"And this is where the measuring cups go, right?" I asked, raising my eyebrows and surveying Spot.
Spot nodded wearily, dragging his hand down his face in an exhausted fashion.
"What do I do in case of fire again?" I questioned even though I knew the answer. It was fun to mess Spot up. He was so easy to stress.
Spot looked at me disbelieving and rolled his eyes. "You have to know by now. I'm not telling you again, if the kitchen sets on fire it's your own fault for not listening in the first place." And then he left me alone in the sprawling kitchen with two other cooks and no idea what to do.
The menu posted on the door to the kitchen read:
Corn, chicken, BBQ ribs, barley soup, baked potatoes. Dessert: cherry pies.
I picked up a large metal pot and filled it with water. Next I turned the stove on high and placed the pot on the burner. Corn...corn, corn, corn...where would they keep the corn in a place like this?
"Where's the corn?" I asked the girl across from me.
She looked up from where she was glazing a tray of nasty looking ribs. "Oh, hello. Who are you?"
"I'm—"why hadn't I introduced myself in the first place? Man, am I stupid. "I'm Pie Eater."
She blinked and wiped her hands on her apron. That's when I noticed that I wasn't wearing an apron either. "My name's Pinch. I'm in charge of the meat. And that's Sarah, she's doing the potatoes and corn." Pinch pointed to a girl standing on the other side of the room dumping an industrial sized bag of potatoes onto the counter.
"Then what do I do?" I asked, confused.
"You can do soup. I hate doing soup. And I guess the dessert also." Pinch scrunched her nose and turned back to her ribs.
"How do I do the soup?"
"My, my, you're just full of questions, aren't you? Just follow the instructions above the stove," she ordered impatiently.
Five cups of barley was the first thing on the list. Where the hell would these people keep the barley? "Uh..." I decided to ask the Sarah girl, that Pinch was awful short-tempered. "Where's the barley?"
She looked at me like she was crazy before realizing that I was new. "Where'd you come from?" she asked.
"My house," I said vaguely. "And before that I was living in my mother's—"
"OK, OK, I didn't mean it so literally. I just wanted to know if you're working here."
I didn't say anything because she didn't really ask anything.
"Well are you?"
"Oh, yeah. I work in the kitchens."
"The barley's kept with the potatoes in that cupboard," she pointed to a large cupboard beside the industrial sized fridge.
"Thanks." I pulled open the cupboard door and found it to be filled with several bags of potatoes, carrots, onions and barley. You could feed the entire state of New Jersey for a month on the contents of that cupboard. Or at least provide them with starches.
I yanked on a bag of barley and managed to wrestle it to the floor. I proceeded to lift it onto the countertop and struggled to pry it open. As it turns out, the bag wasn't full of barley, but of flour. It exploded and covered me in white powder. I still wasn't wearing an apron. Dammit.
Behind me Sarah and Pinch were laughing their heads off.
Boots' PoV
"Jingles," I warned, patting her neck firmly. She whinnied and stamped her foot. Jingles was amazingly unruly lately. As we spoke I was aware of her wild eyes and frosting nose. Something wasn't right.
"Boots, are you—"a voice pierced the air, being cut off by sudden panicked neighing. "Boots?" asked the voice.
"Shh! Something's wrong with Jingles," I gestured to the half-unsaddled horse. Not only did the squires have to tend to the horses in the ring, they also had to act as a groom off-stage. Blink stood in front of me and stared deeply at Jingles.
"Who rides that?" he asked.
"Morris," I answered, scowling slightly.
"Oh," Morris and his brother Oscar didn't have a very good reputation here. They were like the childhood bullies you had finally escaped in elementary school, only to find that they existed also in the working world. "Morris."
"What do you want anyways?" I asked clearing my throat in an attempt to alert him what a difficult and inconvenient time this was.
"I was looking for Jack. Have you seen him?"
I shook my head. "He took Tuscan up here quite a while ago. I haven't seen him since the afternoon show."
Blink looked slightly confused and turned to go. "If you see him tell him I'm looking for him, OK?"
I nodded and as soon as he left Jingles started up her frantic whinnying. I tied her harness to the stable door and ran to the on site veterinarian. Something was all wrong with this, what else was I supposed to do?
((So, that's the chapter. Sorry if it's kinda short, I wrote it half- asleep))
Shoutouts!!!
To start it of, an overall shoutout. I cannot believe how much mayhem I caused! Sorry to all you religiously cookie followers! Bumlets just DOESN'T LIKE COOKIES! It's a quirk that makes him Bumlets.
Sapphy- you can stuff Bums until he explodes, he doesn't like 'em.
Cassies Grandma- yeah, no junior high in On-tar-io, io! I think Manitoba has 'em though, my grandma lives there. The non-dysfunctional one. Where about in Canada? I'm in Toronto.
Rubix the cube- (see overall shoutout)
BrooklynGrl- YES! Someone who didn't mention Bumlets' dislike for cookies! Hallelujah!
Madison Square- maybe someone did bake him. I don't now. It's late and I'm tired. But it's a PA day tomorrow! Whoo hoo! Go Victoria! Way to be born!
AlmatariofArda- I hardly think cookies will end world-hunger. And what's wrong with Bumlets?
Ireland O'Reily- yeah, words are funny. Like...diminutive. Why don't you just say 'small'? Beats me.
Bobcat:slashgoil-uh...interesting tidbit about your toes there...very...ahem, interesting.
SparkS- whoo hoo! Way to take Bumlets' side!
A/n: STEVEN CUTTS IS IN TORONTO'S HAIRSPRAY!!! AHH!!!
Chapter 8
Pie Eater's PoV
"And this is where the measuring cups go, right?" I asked, raising my eyebrows and surveying Spot.
Spot nodded wearily, dragging his hand down his face in an exhausted fashion.
"What do I do in case of fire again?" I questioned even though I knew the answer. It was fun to mess Spot up. He was so easy to stress.
Spot looked at me disbelieving and rolled his eyes. "You have to know by now. I'm not telling you again, if the kitchen sets on fire it's your own fault for not listening in the first place." And then he left me alone in the sprawling kitchen with two other cooks and no idea what to do.
The menu posted on the door to the kitchen read:
Corn, chicken, BBQ ribs, barley soup, baked potatoes. Dessert: cherry pies.
I picked up a large metal pot and filled it with water. Next I turned the stove on high and placed the pot on the burner. Corn...corn, corn, corn...where would they keep the corn in a place like this?
"Where's the corn?" I asked the girl across from me.
She looked up from where she was glazing a tray of nasty looking ribs. "Oh, hello. Who are you?"
"I'm—"why hadn't I introduced myself in the first place? Man, am I stupid. "I'm Pie Eater."
She blinked and wiped her hands on her apron. That's when I noticed that I wasn't wearing an apron either. "My name's Pinch. I'm in charge of the meat. And that's Sarah, she's doing the potatoes and corn." Pinch pointed to a girl standing on the other side of the room dumping an industrial sized bag of potatoes onto the counter.
"Then what do I do?" I asked, confused.
"You can do soup. I hate doing soup. And I guess the dessert also." Pinch scrunched her nose and turned back to her ribs.
"How do I do the soup?"
"My, my, you're just full of questions, aren't you? Just follow the instructions above the stove," she ordered impatiently.
Five cups of barley was the first thing on the list. Where the hell would these people keep the barley? "Uh..." I decided to ask the Sarah girl, that Pinch was awful short-tempered. "Where's the barley?"
She looked at me like she was crazy before realizing that I was new. "Where'd you come from?" she asked.
"My house," I said vaguely. "And before that I was living in my mother's—"
"OK, OK, I didn't mean it so literally. I just wanted to know if you're working here."
I didn't say anything because she didn't really ask anything.
"Well are you?"
"Oh, yeah. I work in the kitchens."
"The barley's kept with the potatoes in that cupboard," she pointed to a large cupboard beside the industrial sized fridge.
"Thanks." I pulled open the cupboard door and found it to be filled with several bags of potatoes, carrots, onions and barley. You could feed the entire state of New Jersey for a month on the contents of that cupboard. Or at least provide them with starches.
I yanked on a bag of barley and managed to wrestle it to the floor. I proceeded to lift it onto the countertop and struggled to pry it open. As it turns out, the bag wasn't full of barley, but of flour. It exploded and covered me in white powder. I still wasn't wearing an apron. Dammit.
Behind me Sarah and Pinch were laughing their heads off.
Boots' PoV
"Jingles," I warned, patting her neck firmly. She whinnied and stamped her foot. Jingles was amazingly unruly lately. As we spoke I was aware of her wild eyes and frosting nose. Something wasn't right.
"Boots, are you—"a voice pierced the air, being cut off by sudden panicked neighing. "Boots?" asked the voice.
"Shh! Something's wrong with Jingles," I gestured to the half-unsaddled horse. Not only did the squires have to tend to the horses in the ring, they also had to act as a groom off-stage. Blink stood in front of me and stared deeply at Jingles.
"Who rides that?" he asked.
"Morris," I answered, scowling slightly.
"Oh," Morris and his brother Oscar didn't have a very good reputation here. They were like the childhood bullies you had finally escaped in elementary school, only to find that they existed also in the working world. "Morris."
"What do you want anyways?" I asked clearing my throat in an attempt to alert him what a difficult and inconvenient time this was.
"I was looking for Jack. Have you seen him?"
I shook my head. "He took Tuscan up here quite a while ago. I haven't seen him since the afternoon show."
Blink looked slightly confused and turned to go. "If you see him tell him I'm looking for him, OK?"
I nodded and as soon as he left Jingles started up her frantic whinnying. I tied her harness to the stable door and ran to the on site veterinarian. Something was all wrong with this, what else was I supposed to do?
((So, that's the chapter. Sorry if it's kinda short, I wrote it half- asleep))
Shoutouts!!!
To start it of, an overall shoutout. I cannot believe how much mayhem I caused! Sorry to all you religiously cookie followers! Bumlets just DOESN'T LIKE COOKIES! It's a quirk that makes him Bumlets.
Sapphy- you can stuff Bums until he explodes, he doesn't like 'em.
Cassies Grandma- yeah, no junior high in On-tar-io, io! I think Manitoba has 'em though, my grandma lives there. The non-dysfunctional one. Where about in Canada? I'm in Toronto.
Rubix the cube- (see overall shoutout)
BrooklynGrl- YES! Someone who didn't mention Bumlets' dislike for cookies! Hallelujah!
Madison Square- maybe someone did bake him. I don't now. It's late and I'm tired. But it's a PA day tomorrow! Whoo hoo! Go Victoria! Way to be born!
AlmatariofArda- I hardly think cookies will end world-hunger. And what's wrong with Bumlets?
Ireland O'Reily- yeah, words are funny. Like...diminutive. Why don't you just say 'small'? Beats me.
Bobcat:slashgoil-uh...interesting tidbit about your toes there...very...ahem, interesting.
SparkS- whoo hoo! Way to take Bumlets' side!
A/n: STEVEN CUTTS IS IN TORONTO'S HAIRSPRAY!!! AHH!!!