Adam Smasher, Level 1 Adventurer, Hestia Familia
The diner was silent as the doors to the kitchen swung open once again, and the challenged one brought forth the platter. Fresh from the grill and assembly, warm with residual flame and fragrant. The aroma of the platter wafted across the bar and wet the mouths of the onlookers. A unique smell, a familiar array of ingredients arranged in a new and particular array. That alone would not be enough to draw such interest.
Nay. This was a new dish wrought by the veteran hands of a well-renowned expert at her craft. A new assemblage borne from pride and fire of one who's domain had been intruded upon, one who's authority had been challenged. A queen-beast that found a new animal in her territory, one that refused to pay her the proper respects. An arrogant and unbothered invader, seeing little cause to mind its actions in another's realm.
The interloper lazed at the bar, idly sipping upon the starter. A critical component in any working. All perspectives diverge, and thus, any who gaze upon art will find it suitable or unsuitable according to their prior biases. A fool's game to appeal to all without first setting the stage! Just as song begins with an opening or a story with a prologue, the starter is what allows the working to be more effective. The starter for a meal was the drink, to whet the appetite in specific ways and with specific flavors.
An individual meal might find any number of ratings, but a meal paired with a drink was far more consistent and effective! The interloper stared, nonplussed, as the tray was set before him. His drink had prepared him with its favor of fermented grain, he was ready for the main course.
Before him was a meal. All ingredients carefully selected, accounted for, and prepared according to all wisdom available to the beast-queen of this domain. For even if the meal was a foreign one, she was a veteran chef all the same! Flavors act together in specific ways, just as colors blend and allow a painter to know what hues work best.
A large bun of freshly-baked brioche bread, cut in half. Firm but soft crust, with a rich buttery crumb.
A leaf of common rakian lettuce, resting against the bottom half of the bun. Protection from the juices above. Slightly wilted and salted for taste.
A third-pound of ground beef, mixed by hand and with salt, pepper, and paprika. Still sizzling and warm from the grill and cooked as a rounded patty.
A topping of pepperjack cheese, melted on top as the patty was in the final stages of cooking. Practically drooling as the generous helping made its way down the side of the meat.
A dollop of mustard. A trio of cinnamon-pickled cucumbers. A meaty slice of rich red tomato. The necklace and jewels that adorned the foreign dish with rich heat and fullness.
Then, completing the circle, the other half of the brioche bun, sitting atop the rest of the meal as a king astride his horse. A mane to accompany the lion. A crown for the sovereign dish.
Surrounding this royal meal, his loyal soldiers. A whole potato, sliced into even and thin wedges, dipped in a uniform of batter and sprinkled in red spices like fresh blood. They stood in even rows around their king, and guarded him from all oncoming insult, crisp and ready to strike.
The interloper gazed down at the attempt to meet his challenge. He raised a royalty-defying brow. A well-practiced hand swooped low, taking hold of the kingly meal and raising it before him.
In his powerful hands, the meal had its measures taken. The aroma recorded, the texture committed, the sight weighed against internal records. The comparisons were noted, the material weighed against the ideal, and was yet to be found wanting.
Then, with manxome jaws, the interloper beheaded the king. The flesh was ground to meal, the lifeblood spilling, the regalia shattered. Royalty died in the hands of the invader.
Finally, after the long quiet of a fallen king had passed, the interloper spoke.
"Eh, good enough."
A tense silence returned like fog rolling in. The beast-queen gazed down with contemptuous eyes.
"Good enough?" She asked, with a tone that warned of dire consequences.
The interloper was unphased. "It's been years since I've had a burger, don't remember what the ones back home were supposed to taste like. This is good enough. How much do you want for it, four-fity?" He took another bite and gazed up at the territorial queen.
"Hmph." Mama Mia replied, putting a hand on her hip and tapping a finger on the countertop. "That ain't enough for me, prettyboy. You're the 'burger'-expert here, I want a detailed review now."
Adam chewed and swallowed, considering the question, staring at the burger briefly. "...It's sweet and spicy, I don't remember a normal burger being either. It's got a weird cinnamon taste to it, and the lettuce is flimsy. It feels like it's missing something, but I don't remember what."
"All in all, better than McDonalds. They had shit burgers." Adam raised a brow, and took another bite, staring at the chef and waiting. The chef stared at him for a moment, before huffing and crossing her arms.
"You're coming back, prettyboy, got that? And everytime you do you're gonna eat one of these and give me a review until I get them perfect, understood?" She stated her demands calmly.
"Pft. Hear that kid?" Adam called out with an amused tone, bringing Scrappys attention more directly to him. Scrappy lowered his own, smaller, mug and smacked his lips. "We better find one of pass parades every day before Mama Fuckhips here drains my wallet dry." He took a swig of his mug to watch the reactions.
Scrappy coughed and sputtered. The waitresses tripped, staggered, or fell entirely. Although none of them spilled any food or drink in their tumbles. The patrons, having since recovered from the tense quiet of earlier, returned to a shocked and astonished state.
Mama Fuckhips turned a mildly amused brow towards Scrappy with him, waiting for him to speak.
"I-I uhh… I think the one today was just luck. I really don't think we'll get someone giving us them consistently." Scrappy eventually replied, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck, head bowed in embarrassment from all the gazes upon him.
"You got hit with a pass parade huh?" The chef replied, turning her gaze back to him. "What level are you two, I don't think I've heard of any new level twos."
"Scrappy over there has been doing this for four days. I've been at it for three." Adam raised a hand, three fingers and thumb raised. Then he lowered a finger to count himself. Then, days counted, he took another tremendous bite of the burger in his hand.
She raised both brows. "...Mama Fuckhips? Awfully bold of a scrawny little level one." Her tone indicated that he should tread carefully. Adam's experience told him that being wimpy about it would be way more insulting.
"Stop fishing for compliments. You know what I said, Fuckhips." Adam growled through a mouthful of burger, annoyed.
She glared for a few moments, before snorting with laughter and giving a dismissive wave. "Try again when you hit level two, kid. You might be worth a damn by then. You're still cute and green. "
"I'm Adam Smasher, the best goddamn murderer on the planet." He declared with absolute certainty.
"You ain't shit but my personal taste tester right now, prettyboy. Maybe you'll make something of yourself in a few years. In the meantime, I expect your cute lil ass back here at least once a week." Mama Fuckhips declared back with equal conviction. "I think one of my kitty cats has a crush on you-"
"Mama, Nya!" A panicked and disapproving yowl came out. Adam let his antipathy for the catmeat smolder.
"So I'm leaving a bowl of food out to lure you in. I'll give you one 'burger' a week for free, but I want those reviews, got it? If I get it right it'll be another recipe in the book."
"H-hey Adam-san! You can't complain if the meal is free, right?" Scrappy finally worked up a spine and chimed in with a grin.
Adam chewed on the burger. Slowly, contemptuously, and consideringly. After some time considering the offer, he reached over and took a swig of the beer.
He glanced down at the plate, took up a few fries, and chomped down. Chewing slowly, he tasted the accompaniment for a moment, then swallowed. Opening his mouth-
"Fries with the burger, you have to pay for the beer." Mama Fuckhips interrupted, not even looking towards him as she dictated terms.
"Tch." Adam cut off. "Once a week then." He relented, taking another growling bite of the 'good enough' burger.
Scrappy, several of the waitresses, and several more of the eavesdropping patrons cheered in an exaggerated manner. He ignored them and began to wolf down the meal in earnest.
He wasn't about to turn down almost free food. This meat was constantly hungry. It was really annoying that way.
-
"Mah… You're completely fearless, huh Adam-san?" Scrappy questioned a while later, the two of them making their way back to the church after he finished eating. Scrappy carried an additional bag with him, filled with some manner of pasta dish for their employer. "I don't think I could talk like that to people I didn't know well."
"Why not?" Adam grunted, willing to indulge the kid in conversation as they made their way back to home base.
"I- I dunno. It feels like it might be a little rude, I suppose? I wouldn't want to insult anyone by accident."
"If I wanted to insult them, I'd insult them. Describing someone accurately ain't an insult." Adam replied, glancing at the lengthening shadows and a stray dog currently napping in an alleyway. He paused for a moment, then amended his statement. "Well, no. Sometimes it is, but if you can be accurate and still insult someone, they deserve it."
"Accuracy…? Y-you called her 'Mama Fuckhips'..." Scrappy replied with an uncertain tone.
"Was I wrong?" Adam rumbled in reply, an almost-grin aimed at Scrappy as he spoke.
Scrappy instead merely tinted pink and beat his fist against his chest, coughing exaggeratedly as he did so. Adam rumbled with amusement as he did so.
"I dunno. Gramps used to warn me about being too honest with the ladies, he said that was a good way to get slapped." Scrappy scratched the back of his head. "He always said to be truthful! 'A real hero never lies!' he'd always say. But then he'd turn around and say 'we'll don't be too truthful all at once, girls get embarrassed about these kinds of things.'"
"What kind of bullshit is that? If a girl slaps you, slap her back." Adam grunted.
"I don't think I can do that." Bell deadpanned at him.
"Listen kid. What kind of idiot doesn't know that they're easy on the eyes? No one. No one is that stupid. Beautiful women know that they're beautiful. Chances are they're using it to get chickenshits to give them special treatment." Adam began dispensing yet another life lesson, remembering all the times he had seen this exact shit play out before.
"...I don't see how that follows, Adam-san." Scrappy replied.
"If you call a fuckable girl fuckable, and she gets mad, then she's either really stupid or trying to play you for a sucker." Adam concluded, then he amended. "Or you're ugly, at which point you're just fucked. No one likes an ugly fucker, so the best you can do is get rich and change your face."
"You can change your face if you're rich!?" Scrappy replied, astonished.
"Well you could back home. Not sure about here." Adam corrected again. "If you can't then… I guess you're stuck with prostitutes. The sex is the same but you have to pay up front."
"I think you might be a little distorted, Adam-san." Scrappy replied, voice somewhat flat and mildly amused.
"I'm too old to care about what all the meatbags around me think."
"You're barely older than me."
"And?"
A little while later, the two of them were back at the front of their home base. Broken windows and mossy rocks and all.
"We're back!" Scrappy called out cheerfully, only to be met with a silent church and a smoldering hearth. Adam looked about nonplussed as Scrappy called out again, this time his voice carrying a note of confusion. "Hestia-sama?"
Still, only silence greeted them. Adam grunted and shrugged off his bag, then shoved some of the remaining broken wooden furniture chunks into the fireplace to re-ignite it. It was going to be chilly later if he didn't do it now.
"Hestia-sama?" Scrappy called out again, investigating the various rooms, nooks, and crannies that were attached to the central chamber of the broken-down church.
"She's not here kid." Adam stated the obvious, building the fire up with the iron poker.
"Did she say she was going to stay out late?" Scrappy asked with a mild tone, a small frown on his face.
"Don't remember." Adam responded honestly, he wasn't really paying attention to what she said half the time. "She's a grown-ass woman, she'll be fine." So quiet down, your fretting is giving him a headache.
"Ah… You're right. She's our goddess after all, so I shouldn't be worried. She's probably just running late." Scrappy rationalized, rubbing his neck and sighing to himself.
Or she was kidnapped and being held for ransom, which meant he and Scrappy needed to kill some meatbags. Or she was dead, which meant he and Scrappy needed to kill some meatbags and find new employers. Or she was abandoning them, which meant he and Scrappy needed to find new employers.
Knowing that Scrappy would just fret more and make the headache worse, Adam didn't mention any of these possibilities. They'd probably need to stay awake at least a little while longer, to see if she was coming back tonight, which meant they needed to pass the time.
Let's see… pass the time productively…
"Oi, kid. Anyone ever teach you how to exercise?" He called out, a meaningful look at Scrappy's scrawny form.
"Hm? Oh that's like… chopping wood and clearing rocks right? Gramps had me doing that with him growing up, so I'm pretty exercised!" Scrappy called out enthusiastically, lifting an arm and patting it twice.
Adam stared blankly for a moment. Scrappy devolved into nervous chuckles.
"Eh… Is that not quite right…?"
Adam pushed himself up from his kneel in front of the fireplace, and pointed a thumb at the back door. "Alright, starting today we're exercising like they made us do in the army, every night after we get back from the Dungeon."
Scrappy followed obediently, asking a question along the way. "You were in an army? I thought you said you were a mercenary?"
"Both." Adam explained. "I was a…" He paused to find the right word. Did they have street gangs here? What was the nearest equivalent? "I was a bandit-brat as a little puke. Then the army came by and wiped most of us out. So then I was an army-boy for a few years until they kicked me out, so then I was a merc for a few years. Eventually I wound up here."
"I-..." Scrappy got a complicated look on his face. "I feel like I understand you a lot better, and also not at all."
Adam snorted. "It's not that complicated. Now c'mon, I'm going to show you how to do suicides."
"I don't think I want to kill myself." Scrappy took a step back and raised his hands.
"Don't worry, you don't actually die. You just feel like you do."
—
"I'm back! Sorry I'm late!" The voice of their employer called out as the door opened and she returned. Just like was presumed, she was merely running late it seemed. She was met with a lazy wave from his place on the nice hard floor. His breathing was steady but harder than it needed to be, reminding him that this body wasn't quite up to specs with his prime and that he needed to do these much more often.
Scrappy was too busy trying to get air back into his lungs to respond, laying on the floor and doing his best impression of a beached whale.
Tinytits blinked at the scene before her, and tilted her head. "Ah… hard day in the Dungeon…?"
Adam snorted, amused. "Showed the kid how to exercise properly. He got about two-thirds of the way through one of my routines and collapsed."
"Hmm!" Tinytits nodded with an understanding smile, nodding her head at their gear currently hung up to dry. "I see you have new armor!" She nodded vigorously at their increased ability to protect themselves.
He snorted. "Their armor is a scam. One thousand for shit that won't last longer than a week. Five-thousand for shit that doesn't cover jackshit. Ten-thousand for the barely adequate. Twenty-thousand for something actually worth a damn."
"Hmph!" Tinytits set her own bag aside then turned a wagging finger at him. "It's not a scam if it means I get to see my children another day. So I'm really happy you got some, no matter how long it lasts."
Adam rolled his eyes, laying back down and basking in the heat of the fireplace. If she wanted them to waste their money like that, then he'd make sure to get every cent of value out of it. The cool stone floor and the warm hearth air created a comfortable flow of hot and cold in his body.
Scrappy wheezed something out that might've been a greeting.
Tinytits walked over, and nudged them with her foot. "Now roll over, both of you. I need to update your status before you go to sleep, okay?" A warm smile on her face as she softly commanded them.
Grunting, Adam rolled over without qualm.
Grunting, Scrappy limply forced himself onto the other side. Tinytits helpfully adjusted one of his arms out of the way of his body so he could lay down properly. That done, she began the little ritual of rubbing their backs to make magic words appear and doing hoodoo to their bodies.
All in all, a productive day.
—
Bell Cranel
Level 1
Basic Abilities
Strength - I28
Endurance - I31
Dexterity - I29
Agility - I30
Magic - I0
Abilities
Skills
Spells
—
Adam
Level 1
Basic Abilities
Strength - I42
Endurance - H199
Dexterity - I36
Agility - I40
Magic - I5
Abilities
Skills
Paradisus Sub Sole Rubro - Unusual Interactions with Charm Effects.
Spells