Sol Invictus
Chapter Eleven: Lady of the Sea
The kitchen of the Baratie was a battlefield of heat and colour and flashing knives, of simmering sauces and sizzling fish and roaring flames, licking up to the ceiling. Each of the many men lined up along the counters were deeply engrossed in the masterpieces being crafted under their fingers.
Or so it seemed. In truth, all of them had at least part of their attentions focused on the literal battle occurring only a few feet away.
"Oi, did you hear? Patty and sous-chef Sanji are having a cook-off to see who's the better cook!"
"It's been a long time coming," Carnie replied, rolling his eyes. "Maybe now we'll get some peace from their stupid fights. Always shitty cook this, chicken head that."
At the epicenter of the storm stood a young blond man, his face a mask of calm focus, the exposed skin of his forearms stretching over the shifting muscles underneath. Pale hands moved so quickly as to be barely discernible, the only proof as to their activities the beautifully set dishes being set on a rolling tray. A bead of sweat dribbled down his temple and he briefly pressed his rolled up sleeve to it before continuing forth.
A single swipe of a knife, and the line of fish arranged on the cutting board cleanly bisected from head to tail. A trio of lobsters were extracted from the oven, perfectly baked and a rosy, steaming red; bare fingers handled and neatly shucked the carapaces without a flinch, leaving behind only pink, unblemished flesh. The complex clarification process required to make Baratie's double consommé was followed to completion without the slightest falter, in less than half the time it would take any other cook in the entire establishment save three. Thick slices of beef wellington revealed a perfectly medium rare steak coated in golden brown pastry and an aromatic layer of pâté de foie gras and duxelles. Smooth, creamy Béarnaise sauce glistened invitingly on a flame seared steak, plated next to a blooming chrysanthemum of fugu sashimi, transparent slices of pufferfish spiraling beautifully on black ceramic.
His current display of skill was such that some of the cooks were alarmed at the sudden contrast to the usually laid back sous-chef. While perhaps talented for his age, Sanji was young and less experienced than most of the other chefs; his right to the position as the Sous-Chef de Cuisine, the 'Sub-Chief of the Kitchen', was questioned often and constantly, especially due to Sanji's propensity to lock horns with Owner Zeff. Wouldn't Patty or Carnie, older, more experienced, both nearly as familiar with and markedly more respectful towards Zeff be better choices?
But though chef Patty was a force to be reckoned with himself, this spectacle left no doubt that skill-wise, at the very least, the blond was more than suited to the title of second head in this restaurant of the sea.
Steve tripped into the kitchen several times, panting heavily from being shuttled back and forth. "The customer wanted more of…"
As he listed the orders, the other cooks couldn't help but to notice that a majority of them were salads and meat based foods that at first favoured neither Patty nor Sanji, and then gradually began to list towards dishes of Sanji's expertise.
The doors to the kitchen were in constant motion as waiters wheeled out the platters seemingly without end. Just as many were rolled back in, plates wiped clear of food, and the cooks goggled.
"How many people did you say were eating again? Four?"
"Ah, er, there are four people at the table, but... only person is eating," Steve replied.
"Only one person?!"
And Sanji remained oblivious to everything but the food set in front of him, the recipes blooming into completion through his efforts, the list of things he had yet to create hanging from the order rack above. He hadn't had the opportunity to go all out for a long while now, hadn't needed to, and he knew exactly why Patty had challenged him in such a way despite knowing clear well that Sanji was Zeff's protégé for a reason. His arguments with the old hag had been coming to a head these days, and the shit head, without being so obvious about it, was giving him an opportunity to expel the restless energy that had begun to coil under his skin.
Maybe he was thankful. Not like he'd ever tell the fish-faced bastard that.
A part of him was incredulous that a group of four - or had Steve mentioned that it was one, just now? - could possibly eat this much. And another was grateful towards whoever this customer was for giving him this chance to truly immerse himself in his work, because right at this moment he could even briefly be free of the shackles of his guilt, of what his very survival had done to Red Leg Zeff.
She may have been a nasty old hag, this mentor of his, but he owed her, owed her the debt of his life and the price of her everything.
There was nothing more enticing, disenchanting, and enslaving than survival in the sea. That was why All Blue sang to him so, because it was a promise of life; a sea that, without price, without fail, gave life instead of relentlessly taking it away, where a cook could save everyone because there would be enough for everyone, because though creating all the dishes in the world may be the stuff of dreams, it was the thought of this ultimate victory over the ocean, over death itself, that made this mystical sea a true cook's utopia.
But for now, what Zeff was trying to do with Baratie was close enough. It had to be enough.
Sanji had to be able to do at least that much.
He grinned a little to himself as he sprinkled garnish on the last of this series of orders. He could appreciate someone who appreciated his cooking, he thought, shooting a glance at the dirty plates being stacked beside the dishwasher, every last morsel of food having been scraped off by their mysterious hungry eater.
No waste. He liked the other guy already. If it was like this, Sanji felt justified in thinking that he had finally found the right person to test out his newest creation on.
The blond pulled out the marinated steak he had prepared and began to sear it on the grill. A boiling mixture of cabaret wine and dried cherries, salt and sugar and olive oil, was pulled off the heat. Baby greens and shaved carrots and other vegetables were arranged in a curved white plate, thinly cut steak aligned in a spoke pattern atop, fragrant brown candied pecans sprinkled intermittently, the dressing furiously whisked and drizzled over the entire dish.
"Oi, Steve," Sanji called, inspecting his work with a critical eye. The other man trotted up to him. "Take this to the customer, won't you? Tell him it's compliments of the chef."
"Oh, um, this isn't a menu item, is it, sir? What should I tell the customer it is?"
"Eh," Sanji shrugged. "It's a grilled peppercorn steak salad with cabernet-cherry vinaigrette and caramelized pecans. My newest creation. Name it whatever. But watch for his reaction; I need to know if it's good enough to add to the menu."
"As you wish, sir."
Steve stepped out of the kitchen with the plate held carefully on his palm, and Sanji watched him go, fingers drumming against the counter.
One minute.
Five minutes.
Ten minutes.
Ah, fuck it, he was curious. He'd go see the guy's reaction himself.
Sanji silently slipped into the dining deck, eyes scouring for his mystery customer. Deft fingers reached for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, flicking one out with the ease of practice. He bit it lightly and pulled it out the rest of the way, lighting it with his other hand without looking. Long, lean legs carried him along the edge of the room, to the stretch of wall closest to where table five stood, and it wasn't at all hard to spot his goal what with the way every eye in the dining room was turned to the round table only a few feet away from him.
Two men and two women. A double date? No, the atmosphere was all wrong for that.
He assessed the males. Curly brown hair, a long nose, thin, looked like he'd snap like a twig under one of Zeff's kicks. Short green hair - a seaweed ball? -, a bad tempered face, a tough guy. Three swords at his side. The other boy looked too skinny to eat so much, so this was probably the mystery customer.
Strange, what a dissatisfied feeling. He'd been expecting someone more… more? There was no way to justify such an expectation, but he'd subconsciously held it nonetheless.
Rolling the cigarette between his teeth, he glanced to the women and perked up immediately. Orange hair was tucked behind a curved ear, and hazel eyes were set in a small, pretty face. Her bodily proportions were perfect. More importantly, she carried the air of someone shouldering great responsibility, the gaze of someone who knew hardship and knew how to overcome, and he found that beautiful.
The other girl's back he'd seen from across the room, and he knew she was small, with feathery black hair and a yellow straw hat. But the stacks of plates on the table were obscuring her from sight now.
It was strange, the swordsman wasn't eating. In fact, none of the three he could see were eating at all.
Surely, that didn't mean the little one…?
"Typical Luffy," the orange-haired beauty sighed. "I don't know where all that food goes."
"Luffy, is it bad?" asked the scrawny boy. "You're taking a lot longer to eat this one."
The answer came from behind the stack in a high, girlish voice; pleasant enough, though the words a little rough, a little childish. This girl, he immediately decided, would likely be cute, rather than classy. Though it was a little strange that she referred to herself as 'ore'.
"No," she answered, very seriously. "It's too good! I have to make this last as long as possible."
The corner of his mouth curled up around his smoke into a little grin. Satisfaction from being praised. Relief that he hadn't made a mistake. The intrinsic pleasure of having brought happiness to someone else.
"Hoh... how strange," the swordsman drawled. "To see Luffy not scarfing down food… That good, huh?"
"The yummiest thing I've ever eaten!" At that, a few waiters set upon the stacks of ceramic, clearing them away quickly, efficiently, and Sanji was awarded the first view of his mystery customer. "Nishishishi!"
His breath caught in his throat at the vision of her smile, resplendent with glee, and for a moment he could not tear his eyes away.
'There is one spectacle grander than the sky, that is the sea; there is one spectacle grander than the sea, that is the interior of the soul', thus had a man once spoken.
But it was the voice of the sea that spoke to the soul, that stirred the heart with the promise of nothing and forever. It was the sea that he hated and adored in equal measure. Because the ocean was limitless and immortal, the beginning and end of all things in this world, and because there was always a little bit of it living in all women. In them he could see flashes of the sea, vast and beautiful and always changing. Giver of life, but at times utterly dangerous. Constant, but unpredictable by nature, secrets settling quietly in the shadows of the obscure deep.
Perhaps then, what made this particular girl so mesmeric was that everything was so much closer to the surface, resting right under her pale skin, barely contained. It wasn't just the transient glimpses that he usually managed to catch, before they were hidden by powders and airs, rules and manners and society. This girl... it was the ocean that bubbled in her laughter, the crash of waves in her wild movements. Eddies of simple joy effervesced in her wide open eyes, unrestrained, unconfined, and uninhibited. Untamed.
Alive.
It was only secondly that he registered the small smear of sauce dribbled on her chin, the daub of cream on her nose, the speckled foodstuffs on her cheeks. His eyes crinkled, and he could not explain with words how sweet he found the sight.
He also could not explain the simmer in his gut when the swordsman reached forward with a napkin and began to wipe up the girl's face, an amused chastisement on the man's tongue. She grinned at him and returned to the dish with renewed vigor and Sanji found his feet driving him forward, towards the table, to her side. He leaned down and took her hands and spoke the first words that sprang to mind, meeting her taken aback gaze with his own as he lilted,
"You're a cavity in my oasis,
You're a porthole in my sea,
You're a stretch of the imagination
every time you look at me.
"You're an ocean in my wineglass,
You're a Steinway on the beach,
You're a captivating audience,
an exciting Rembrandt...
a masterpiece."
"What the hell," the swordsman snapped. "Who're you?"
Sanji ignored him.
"My lovely lady, you gift me with your very existence. There can be no elation greater than the knowledge that the food made by this humble cook has brought you such joy."
"Oi, oi, oi," the long nosed boy hissed to the other fair maiden. "What's happening?"
"I think Luffy has an admirer," the beautiful woman slowly replied.
"There can be no greater blessing than to have you walk upon this deck. If you must depart this day, I implore you do so with the promise of a second coming, and a third, and a hundred more."
The surprised parting of her pale lips grew further, and then was tugged into a radiant grin. "What the heck," she said, laughing. "What a funny guy!"
Not quite the reaction he had hoped for, but he didn't mind. "For you, I will be the merriest of jesters."
"Wait," the tangerine tressed maiden said. "Did you say you made this? You're the sous-chef?"
"Indeed I am, miss."
The girl whose hands he still held - small, and scarred, and callused... the hands of a fighter - brightened at his words. "You made my food?"
He nodded again, a smile playing around his mouth in accompaniment to her own.
"Alright, I've decided," she said suddenly, after a short, contemplative pause. "Curly brow chef, join my pirate crew!"
"What?!"
"What!"
The swordsman glared. "What."
What? thought Sanji.
It was a unanimous decision in the Baratie kitchen that Sanji had "won that one".
Patty wasn't particularly shocked. Other than a renewed determination to improve his skills, he had no particular qualms on having lost to Sanji, who basically specialized in everything. Patty was a Poissonnier, for fuck's sake. The Chef de Partie of the fish orientated dishes, skilled with all foods but particularly with the dishes that fell under his own station. In fact, he was slightly better at such things than the brat, but what would that mean to someone who preferred roast beef?
So no, he didn't begrudge Sanji his victory, nor did he feel it personally. As long as the damn chicken head stopped picking fights with the Owner, he didn't even care. That had been the purpose, anyway.
The damn kid should just leave Baratie already, he thought. Nobody wants him here anyway.
Because... it was clear that Sanji was being stifled, being stuck on this hunk of wood with the rest of the cooks. They had all come to Baratie after exploring what the world had to offer and wanting to settle into a place to belong again. The boy had never had the chance to do the same; if this restaurant was a house, then Sanji was the young boy forever chained to the window, watching the festivities of the world across the yard and being driven wild with frantic desire, wanting to join in but unable to for whatever reason.
Patty wasn't sure what that reason was, but it was painful to so much as look at the kid. Previous attempts to chase him away had been utterly unsuccessful, but he was reaching the peak of his life and it was as clear as gelatin filtered consommé that the bastard was becoming unbearably antsy. He'd get the boy off this boat if he had to drive him off with a pitchfork.
Owner Zeff likely had had the same idea, because she was becoming steadily more antagonistic towards the kid these days; her kicks were merciless, and her barbs dug treacherously deep.
So maybe that was why Patty stepped out of the bathroom and into a battlefield.
Spotting a straw hatted girl throwing fists at his boss, he didn't think before grabbing the nearest object and hurling it at her with all his strength.
AN
*Ore (俺), a rough, extremely masculine way of saying 'I'. This is the word tough guys use. All of the Mugiwara guys use this. Luffy being, well, Luffy, I don't think she'd be much different whatever gender (s)he is, so femLuffy'd probably use the same 'I' as maleLuffy.
I did tell you Sanji'd be more descriptive. XD
I actually went and searched up the hardest cooking techniques so Sanji could go and be impressive. Most of you probably won't quite read so deeply into it, since not many of you are advanced cooks (neither am I, lol… though I did work in a kitchen for a bit, and I have to say, this is not quite how it works, though I did try to blend what I know with what we see of Baratie).
The poem Sanji told Luffy is Overmodulation by Charlotte M. Liebel-Fawls. Not mine. Neither is the quote about the sky and the sea, which is from Les Misérables by Victor Hugo, but with sea and sky switched.
That All Blue thing, I can't take credit for that either. In that paragraph, I borrowed heavily from Ask Captain Tashigi's analysis of Sanji over on tumblr. I would have found some way to paraphrase it more, but the way she did it was just so perfect? And I couldn't bear to change it too heavily? A beautiful analysis, maybe a little idealistic, but very thought provoking. If you guys want to go read it, just google 'askcaptaintashigi sanji character analysis'.
I love Sanji, but he's so hard to write gahhh! Why can't he more straightforward, like Zoro or Luffy, or more explained, like Usopp or Nami? We really don't get very much insight to his past except for that single incident between him and Zeff, and we never really know what he's thinking when he's not being silly, and his face is always almost half covered, so we never really get a full expression either. Family? Friends (other than Mugiwara crew)? What defines him, other than being a chef and being chivalrous? What inspires him when he suddenly disappears to do something that will ultimately save the strawhats later? Where do his ideas come from? COME ON SANJI, GIVE ME YOUR BRAIN.
I have finals next week, sooo... expect nothing out of me for a week or two. That's actually why I'm posting this now even though the next chapter isn't finished yet. Sorry...!