Note: This and the following four entries are parts of a mini-series done for the latest summer event on CN server. So potential spoilers ahead. Also some names and terminologies might not be accurate since it is from unreleased content. They will be fixed once official translation came one.
Day 23: Surtr, Ice-Cream Hotpot and Assorted Pastries
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 Late Night Diner closed its doors recently.
Not that the rumour about some "Perro with insatiable hunger had eaten up the entire storage stock" or that "The Chef had been impaled onto his stove by the Platinum of Armorless Union" had came true. Rather, the Chef had moved all his gears in the Diner onto the deck of the land ship. He had even asked Closure to set up a few large artificial pools with wave-making machines, several dozens of beach lounger with large umbrellas, as well as countless stocks of beer, charcoal and ice-cream.
"The opportunities! Why didn't I think of it in all these years?!" Closure said on the day they signed the contract. She shook the Chef's hands with glints of tear in her eyes, as if beholding the visage of a saint. "You are a business genius! All the pool tickets, life-saver rings, all those sunscreen and tan lotions, and the barbeque with cold drinks...there are just so much to look forward to for this year's summer vacation!"
That afternoon in Rhodes Island, the hallways as well as the space beside the doors of all departments and dorms were set up with gigantic posters. They were expertly designed by Closure. On the refreshing blue-green background was the following letters outlined and in thick strokes:
Rhodes Island Endless Summer Carnival
Starting Today!
And with it a line of small print at the bottom corner:
*Final interpretation for prices of goods and services retained by Closure. All rights reserved.
The pools were already full by the late morning on the first day of the Carnival. People floated up and down on the foot-and-half artificial waves with unceasing cheers and screams. Operators, wearing the swimsuits sold by Closure at inflated price, silently cursed her unscrupulous practise while enjoying the hot sun and the cool pools.
The Chef's business was better than he ever expected. Even though he had dragged half a dozen guys from the canteen to help, the line in front of the grill still never seemed to end. The alluring aroma of charred meat and spices was spreading uncontested in the open air, and mugs carrying cold golden beverages clinked together, making their content spilling onto the deck. The Chef was hustling in between all the stalls he set up. He had to keep an eye on the barbeque while making ice cream mix, and also had to call out to his helpers to carry more beer from the storage below. A dozen rounds later, he was tired and disoriented. He had almost used the grill fork to scoop ice cream.
Some opportunities ought to be left for the young, the Chef thought. When he raised his head, a smear of fiery red came into his view.
"Ice cream." The young red head said, putting her arms behind her head and stretched. A small star pedants was hanging off the tip of her ebon horn.
"Sure. Which flavour?" The Chef pushed the menu forward. He saw the large holes burnt onto her sleeves and asked. "Aren't you in quite a few Contingency Contract battle records? So your name must be...Laevateinn? Wait, no...what's your name again?"
The girl raised her head. Her thin, vertical pupils on purple irises made her look like a Feline beastkin. And now this beastkin was agitated.
"I. Want. Ice. Cream. Hotpot." She said her words loud and clear and in a slow and emphasized manner. "I want one of every flavour and one serving of every pastry you have. Also fresh fruit and that mini chocolate fountain."
"Ah, certainly." The Chef glanced at the total price, and was quietly amazed by Closure's conviction on ungodly prices as well as this lady's spending power. "Where's your lounger?" He asked. "I'll bring your order to you once it's ready."
The girl pointed towards the somewhat out-of-place hammock at the end of a pool, and left the way she came.
"Who's that girl?" The Chef asked a customer near him while filling a multi-latticed plate with ice cream of differing flavours.
"You didn't know her? She's Miss Surtr, Master of Laevateinn, Memory-chasing Sarkaz Goddess of War, the Red-Haired Reaper and the Most Dangerous Patient in the Medical Department." The young man with a wooden spoon in his mouth said, counting down her monikers while stealing glances at her direction. "Just look at her, that divine backside, that slender legs, that white silken gown with black camisole and that garter – Hey! Oww!"
"Garter? Silken gown?!" His girlfriend who was sitting beside him dragged him by his ear down the bar stool. "If you like to oggle at her that much, why don't you go eat ice cream with her?!"
"Well I never had the chance to – I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I wouldn't dare! Her Arts is no where near powerful as your hand! Mommy please I'm sorry! You are stretching my ear too much! My ear is going to the shape of Durin's –"
The Chef paid no mind to their bickering. He carried the dishes with ice cream and other snacks carefully through the crowds and avoiding splashes of water. Finally he put everything on a small table beside Surtr's hammock. "Mas – I mean miss, here's your ice cream hotpot. Please enjoy." He said.
There were nothing hot about the ice cream hotpot, really. The smoking utensil in the middle was in fact filled with dry ice. Clouds of condensed water vapour waved and danced around the surrounding dishes with ice cream, giving this platter of brain-freeze inducing treats a surprising quality of heavenliness.
Surtr thought for a brief moment. She took an ice cream biscut roll and took a small bite. The crunchy biscuit had a small lump of ice cream on top, and made up the centre of spongy cake roll. Bothe ends of the roll was stuffed with diced fresh fruit. Within just that small bite, she could taste the tender cake soaked through with the sweet and sour of the fruit, as well as the smooth and cool vanilla ice cream, all accompanied by the crisp, instantly crumpling biscuit. The four different texture danced in her mouth, setting a fascinating prelude to her course of ice cream hotpot.
The Chef prepared quite a few ice cream flavours: strawberry with cranberry, yogurt with pistachio, vanilla chocolate, milk cookie and mocha almond just to mention a few. Other than these he also made cookies with cheese, fresh Gualish baguette slices and half-baked cheese cake among other pastries. Surtr didn't care for which sweet she should sample first. With the small metal spoon in hand, she worked her way through the balls of ice cream. Soft cranberry lingered on her teeth, crunchy chocolate flakes crumbled on her tongue, the slightly bitter taste of mocha spread in her mouth mixed in the charred hint of the roasted pistachio ... as the balls of ice cream became more and more depleted, she spread a spoonful of ice cream on top a slice of baguette. The toasty bread with slightly melted ice cream created a sensation that combined both tough and mellow. They made a distinct impression, and before it could dissipated she chased with a small chunk of half-baked cheese cake. The smooth cheese cake wrapped around the bread crumbs then slid down her throat, and the tingling chilly sensation spread all the way from the end of the tongue to her stomach.
Her memories were roiling in her head. Ice cream cooled her head down, but also brought her back to a strange yet familiar beach. She stood on the golden sands, waves of water rushed in licking her toes through her sandals. She was holding an ice cream cone, and the strawberry ice cream atop was slightly melted under the sun.
Segeu mér tat, Fjölsvier!
er ek tik fregna mun
ok ek vilja vita:
hvárt sé vápna nökkut,
tat er knegi Vieofnir fyr
hníga á Heljar sjöt?
In a trance, she heard a song. It was in an ancient language that she could not discern – was it some long-lost version of Leithanian, or was it an ancient offshoot of Gaulish? It mattered little to her. Instinctively, she raised the ice cream cone to the setting sun, and the melted pink dripped from the cone down onto her hand.
The shouts of the lifeguards dragged her back to reality. They loudly reminded the operators in the pool not to use real guns for water fights. Surtr scooped up some ice cream in a spoon, and placed a slice of kiwi and half of a strawberry, then reached it into the mini chocolate fountain. The melted chocolate evenly coated the ice cream and the fruit, and in open air it hardened into a thin crust. Surtr bid down on the strawberry.
Crisp.
The chocolate shell cracked. The juice from the fruit burst out, followed by the taste of the kiwi slice and the coffee flavoured ice cream – whoever thought of the idea of coating ice cream and fruit with melted chocolate must be an once-in-a-century genius. Surtr finished her treats in the plate, and the dry ice in the central utensil had all but evaporated. She leaned on the hammock with leisure, letting her left leg dangling outside while tugging her right leg underneath.
All those ice cream gave her a small headache. She closed her eyes in the warm sunlight.
Some distance from her, the Chef had collapsed on a beach lounger with a similar posture. He was pinching his nose ridge hard.
"Sometimes I thought myself a vampire too, the old-fashioned type," He muttered, looking at the person in front of him. He struggled to a sitting position. "I really miss my Diner. The sun here is roasting me alive."
"C'mon now boss, please stay longer." Closure showed him today's revenue on her tablet. "Take a look! we are making a fortune just on the first day ! And the Carnival is still going strong for another three whole weeks!"
"How long you say?! *northern Lundinium swearing* you *Rim-Billiton outback swearing* vampire ! You are using me like a burdenbeast!" The Chef grabbed the ice cream scoop and pointed at Closure's face. " I did more work in a day here than a month's worth in the Diner! And you still –"
"Calm down boss, it's the Carnival." Closure said, putting out her hands to assuage the Chef's temper flare. "Not to mention half of the money still goes to you."
Half? The Chef pondered, then drew a "6" with his finger in the air.
"I want this figure. Take it or I'm leaving." He said with a sly smirk on his face.