Night 2: Phantom, Cream of Corn Soup with Diced Potato, Onion and Bacon Bits, plus Raw Fowlbeast Breast Strips with Boiled Scalebass (Salmon) Meat
The Late Night Diner is a part of Rhodes Island's canteen. That goes without saying – to whom had anyone ever heard of a diner in the boiler room?
As the name implies, it opens around midnight. There are only a handful of customers at a time.
Operators off their night shift could take an order and bring back to their quarters. Night owls could sit dining-in while leeching off the Diner's wi-fi. The Doctor would come for instant noodles from time to time.
Drinks are in the cooler. Anyone burdened by their own thoughts could take one and chug it down, anytime.
Menu? No such thing exists. What the Chef prepares is what you get. It all depends on his mood of the day.
Welcome to the Rhodes Island Late Night Diner. In here, you might even meet a familiar face or two.
The Chef was in a good mood tonight. He was humming a tune while stirring the sizzling vegetables in the pot
"Boss, Boss, what are we having tonight?" a petit face poked out from underneath the counter, "Just done my night patrol. I'm dead tired."
"Victorian cream soup", the Chef said, skimming the top of the soup stock with a ladle. He tasted the soup, and shook his head. Then he added in a pinch of salt, "Corn, diced onion, and smoked bacon bits."
The stock was not yet ready.
"Whoa, you can make all kinds of dishes, couldn't you?" the small-framed girl casually leaned against the counter, "Where did you come from, boss?"
Where was the Chef from? Only a handful had ever asked him. There is a set of unspoken rules that the customers need to follow in the Late Night Diner. Most important ones was this:
Never insist an order the Chef did not prepare and never pry the Chef with unnecessary questions.
Leave your stomach to the Chef and he will take good care of it. Nothing else matters.
"Victoria, maybe. Can't remember now," He peeled two potatoes with ease, cut them into small chunks then threw them into the pot and stirred again. "Once you've stayed long enough on this ship, where you came from mattered little."
"Then you must've heard all the Victorian urban legends!" the girl lowered her voice, "It is said that there is this serial killer in Londonium. They call him the Ripper. When the night is dark and stormy, he would prowl the streets looking for a victim. An unlucky street woman would have her guts ripped out and dragged along all the way down the street! Scary stuff!"
The Chef glanced at her, nonchalantly opened a can of corn and dumped into the soup.
The girl pouted. "Boring! You are boring! Why aren't you scared? Last time I told someone this - ". She turned her head away in disappointment.
...Just in time to catch a tall shadowy figure standing right behind her. He stood in grim silence, only the cold, piercing eyes could be seen under the giant hood. They are staring right at her face. Through her face.
A momentary quietness. The air stood still. The girl could feel her heart skipping a beat as her blood froze over. The Chef, paying no mind to all these, fished out a chunk of potato from the soup and tasted it. Satisfied with the firmness, he tapped on the pot lightly with the back of the ladle.
"—Arrghhhhhhhhh! Heeeelp!-"
She let out an ear-piercing scream, and darted out of the Diner with hands covering her eyes. It gave all those in their seats quite a startle. They looked towards her direction, watching her sprint down the hallway and disappeared. When the echo of the scream bouncing off the wall had died down, the shadowy figure crept foward. The light above the counter cast down on the man beneath the hood, revealing a pale yet familiar face.
"Why do you always have to show up like that, like a real phantom? What am I gonna do if you scared away all my customers?" the Chef chided, then let out a sigh in resignation. "Cream of corn soup with bacon, want some?"
The shadowy man, or rather, the specialist operator Phantom nodded.
"Where's Miss Christine? Should I make something for her?" the Chef reach his head out over the counter and looked down at Phantom's feet. There was no sign of the little lady's graceful form.
"Please do."
Phantom was a bit hoarse. The Origium crystal on his neck was quite the eye-catcher. One might even consider it an exotic beauty if not for the ominous implication it carried.
The Chef turned up the heat of the stove. He took out a small porcelain bowl and put in some sliced fowlbeast breast meat. Then he opened a can of boiled scalebass in-water, pulled them into strips and mixed together with the meat in the bowl.
Potato chunks thickened the soup. Half-transparent onion flakes and golden-brown fried bacon bits floated in the smooth milky liquid. The Chef loaded a bowl with the soup, placed it on a tray and handed it to Phantom, along with the meaty snacks for Miss Christine.
"Drink up while it's hot." He said while Phantom was turning away. Then he busied himself with other customers.
The soup was thick with the scent of milk. Phantom had a spoonful – the kernels of corn were sweet on the tongue. The potato and onion were soft and tart. The bacon bits soaked up with soup yet somehow still crunchy. It was delicious.
Much better than what the cook in the Troup could make, Phantom thought. He let out a faint smile.
Nobody saw when Miss Christine jumped onto the table. Elegantly, she sat beside the food tray and started licking her paws. Then she saw the bowl of meat and went ahead. She sniffed, without hesitation lowered her head into the bowl and started on her share of the mundane-yet-tasty late night snack. In silence.
Phantom did not sing tonight.
Miss Christine was in a good mood tonight too. Because Phantom did not sing.
The Chef had been wiping soup stains off the counter. He didn't mind that Phantom scared away his customer. It was rather fun to have some ghost stories for the Rhodes Island.