The chef didn't have children for a reason, she had little patience.
After receiving a hat from Damien, Alexandera washed up and set to work preparing for tomorrow evening. Most of it was vegetables for the sides, cheeses and fruits for light snacking, and marinades for when the meats when they arrived. Alexandera left Marcus to deal with the baking, as he was better than her though she would only admit to that fact begrudgingly. Damien wondered off not too long after she got in the zone, with Gary next to her, Kyle washing off veggies and keeping a steady stream of supplies knives and bowls ready for his Boss. She joked with the men around her, the usual raunchy fair usually heard in kitchens. It honestly felt good to the chef, it felt like the good old days, back when she worked in Metropolis. Sometime later, Alfred strode in, offering his services.
"Do you ever sit down?" Alexandera questioned as she covered a mirepoix with plastic wrap, cocking a brow at the elder man.
"I have been entrusted with the smooth running of Wayne Manor since before Master Wayne was born. I sit once my duties are done." There was unmasked pride in the mans tone.
"Yeah well, the big guys not here, pop a squat." Alexandera grabbed a large colander of potatoes Kyle had just finished scrubbing clean, giving a brief thank you. Alfred smiled but denied.
"I was instructed to help you with your own duties, if you don't need me, I'll begin my usual rounds." Alfred began to take his leave before the chef gruffly ordered,
"Wash your hands, you can help me with the potatoes." Alfred smiled lightly. He had a feeling this was her way for trying to get him the shirk his duties, though he would not argue. Washing his hands as told, he took a seat at the breakfast nook next to the chef. She had a small knife in her hands and a large stock pot between her feet on the floor, peeling away the skins of the potatoes. When she finished on she would place it in a bowl infront of Alfred, instructing him the chop them before tossing them in another pot. It was a quiet, comfortable silence, broken only by the men occasionally asking what task to do next.
"This reminds me of my time in the army." Alfred voiced, as he grabbed another potato from the bowl. Alexandera didn't look up from his task.
"You served? Huh." There was a slight disbelief in her tone.
"Is that surprising?"
"Yeah, don't get me wrong, but I can't picture you as anything other than a butler." Alfred wasn't insulted in the slightest.
"It's not something I talk much about."
"Well what you do? Spray Pinesol in there eyes?" It was meant to be a joke, one the Butler thankfully caught.
"Nothing of the sort, though it would have been an improvement on the smell. No, I was a battlefield medic." At this the chefs head shot up.
"Shit, dude!" Alfred smiled at her shocked reaction, Alexandera began to chuckle, "I bet Wayne was never able to play sick for school."
"Oh not in the least, though he did try his damnedest when he was much younger." He joined her laughter, even her employees snickered at the light gossip.
"I bet Smokebomb tries that shit too, huh?"
"Quite the opposite, actually. He isn't one to put off his schedule." Alexandera clucked her tongue.
"Figures the kid only acts a fool around me." It was meant to be scathing, but Alfred could see her small grin.
"I wasn't aware you went to Gotham Academy." It was bait, he knew she didn't go. Bait she took.
"Nah, I didn't live here as a kid. Smokebomb loaned it to me when my ponytail snapped."
"It suits you." Any retort was cut off by ringing. Alexandera tensed as her phone, the one in her boot rang.
"Uhhh, I'll be right back, that's my work phone." Swiftly, the chef stood, walking out of the kitchen and to a more private area. Alfred didn't question her reaction, he merely grabbed another potato.
Alexandera walked into what looked to be a lavish living room, plush sofas and porcelain vases filled he room. Fumbling with the laces of her boot, the chef pulled the small flip phone from the side, not bothering to check to see who it was.
"What?!" Alexandera hissed as a greeting.
"This room is important
I think that you'd agree
As there's a fridge-freezer
And maybe a pantry?" Alexandera rolled her eyes.
"Now's not the time, Ed-mond." the chef covered her almost mistake, sighing at her near slip-up.
"Ah, so you aren't in the restaurant. Where are you?" Riddler hummed, peeved she didn't answer another of his riddles. He'd even dumbed them down in hopes of getting an answer.
"Corner of none ya, six blocks from business."
"Really, there is no need for this hostility." Riddler smiled at the growl over the phone.
"Look I'm busy, and right now I'm not in the mood to deal with you lot. After J's last visit, I'm keeping my head down."
"What did you DO?!" Alexandera had never heard The Riddler sound so... panicked.
Damien had finished showering after doing some light training. He wasn't going to risk doing anything too intense with his Lady friend in the Manor, even if the risk of her seeing him was minuscule. He began wondering his way back to the kitchen, hoping to procure an early lunch from the women when he heard her voice, much closer than the kitchen should be.
"-blocks from business." Her tone was hostile and sarcastic. It was silent once again before a tone so angry, near livid, lilted through the halls, rounding the corner where the eavesdropping Wayne stood.
"Look I'm busy, and right now I'm not in the mood to deal with you lot. After Jay's last visit, I'm keeping my head down." Who was Jay? Who was he to enrage Lady Chef. Faintly he could hear a voice, warped over a phone receiver ask what she had done. What, indeed? Damien edged silently closer to the doorway.
"He needed help, I said no. He pulled a gun on me." The tone was matter-of-fact, so blase, than Damien would have mistaken her talking about the weather. Yet here she was admitting to being held up by gun point. A rush of anger flooded through him, heating the skin he had just cold down from his shower. It was quiet again as she listened to whoever had called her.
"Nah, I knew what I was doing. He left, no harm, no foul." He could hear a sigh, "Hey, I'mma big girl, I wipe my own ass and everything. Mommy, WOW! I'm a big kid now!" The child like tone did nothing to hide the sarcasm. Silence again.
"Tell him we'll have tea on the 20th. I'll be busy til then. What?!" A groan before, "What? No, I don't... Did you say GTA?..." Grand theft auto? What was Lady Chef doing outside of business hours. First guns, and now auto theft?
"I... You know what, sure I'll play, but I want first player. I don't care if it's your system, you want me to play, I get better get the better controller. I don't have time for this." Ah, it was a game. He didn't take his friend for someone who played such games. A mocking laugh resounded. "Yeah, yeah, go shove a crossword up yer ass." A snapping noise sounded. Damien risked peering around the corner, Lady chef was tucking a small phone into her work boots. when she stood her back was to the doorway, allowing Damien to speed silently up the stairs. He listened for her footsteps before loudly walking down. She seemed to take to the ruse.
"Oh hey, Smokebomb." was all she said when she turned to locate the noise. As she walked back into the kitchen, Damien watched her closely. She didn't seem to show any signs of worry or fear, as if what she had just spoken about was a casual occurence. It worried him, but it as peak his interest. What did she do outside of work...
It was a surprise when Boss asked him what his coat size was. Marcus responded, and watched as Lady Boss asked his fellow goons the same.
"I'll be back before 1. Marcus you're in charge." And with that order, Lady Boss disappeared, Old Man Alfred with her. Shrugging his shoulders, he began kneading dough. Kyle went to pocket a polished silver spoon, but Gary slapped the back of his head. Kyle was always a small risk with petty theft, but Gary kept him on track. The kid with scarily intense eyes watched like a hawk in the door way, to which Marcus tried his best to ignore. The kid unnerved him, and he used to work for the Joker! He knew the other guys felt the same way, because when they saw his small imposing form standing near them, the went back to their jobs quietly, trying their best to ignore the boy. It was a relief when an hour and a half later Lady Boss returned. Smiling. Marcus did a double take. With his previous employeement with the Joker he was used to smiles. But something about the smile on Lady Boss's face was much more disturbing.
"Alright boys, break time." Marcus covered the dough with a moist towel. It needed to rest for a couple hours anyway. Gary and Kyle slumped to the floor, backs leaning on the kitchen island, they didn't want to be near the weird boy at the kitchen nook. Old Man Alfred didn't seem to notice the two mens state, simply walked to the large refrigerator, pulling things out. Marcus saw a stack of something white in Lady Boss's arms, covered in clear plastic.
"What's that, Chef?" Lady Boss smiled wider.
"I'm so glad you asked!" Marcus didn't think she noticed how eerily she sounded like Joker in that moment. "These are your uniforms."
"Uniforms?" Gary asked from the floor. "We gotta wear uniforms?" A packet of white was tossed directly at his face, Kyle laughed at Gary before being hit by a similar package.
"Yeah for tomorrow. We gotta look the part, right?" Lady Boss was nicer to Marcus, handing him one instead of throwing it at him. Tearing the packet open, he unfolded a white chefs jacket. Glossy black buttons lined the left side, two were circles, two were squares, and two were triangles. Over where his heart would be was a slim, orange embroidered fox, curled down over large green block H, and a elegant teal cursive P. Below this was the words 'Anything but Ordinary' curving up to the fox to make a circle, in black. His name was there, under the words SOUS-CHEF,opposite of the logo. Gary and Kyle had similar jackets, with their names embroidered, too, though with out a title. Looking up he saw Lady Boss already buttoning her jacket up, Logo standing out from the crisp white. Instead of her name, it was an embroidered fox head under the words HEAD CHEF.
Kyle gave a playful whistle.
"Looking good, Boss." Alexandera laughed.
"That's Chef." She pointed to the word on her chest, though it was surprisingly playful. Marcus had never seen her so happy before.
"Hey, these make us look like real cooks!" Kyle now standing checking himself in the reflective surface of the raised oven. Gary muscled his way next to him to take a peak too. Alexandera rolled her eyes at the action, but it wasn't out of malice. Marcus slid his on, buttoning it two thirds of the way, leaving the top round button undone.
"What's a sous-chef?" Marcus asked, seeing a bland look settle over Head Chef's face.
"Fuckin' really?" Lady Boss poked the words on his chest, he was glad she didn't have nails, it would have hurt. "It means, your my second in command. There might be days down the road where I'm too busy to work, so when I'm gone, your in charge." It was said to him as if he should have been obvious.
"Really?" Marcus felt fuzzies in his chest, he blew it off as heart burn. Boss rolled her eyes.
"You hear that, Gary? Kyle?" She caught the two men's attention, Kyle's jacket buttons were slightly off. "When I ain't around, you listen to Marcus, got it?"
"Yes, Chef!" was replied enthusiastically. Lady Boss turned to the boy sitting at the table, who had been watching silently from his corner. One last package was in her arms.
"Here, Kid. This ones yours."
"I am no child." the boy responded, but he grabbed the package nonetheless. "I do not work for you either." Lady Boss didn't respond, she just gestured to him to open his packet. As he did so, Marcus noticed Old Man Alfred was surreptitiously watching the two. Marcus heard fabric rustle and then..
"Really now! I am no thief!" Marcus shuffled over, and read the name on the jacket, Lady Boss cackling as she went to help the Butler with whatever task he was doing. The boy had his own jacket too, though he was scowling at the name and title.
Resident Thief
Smokebomb
Lady Boss had a sense of humour.
It was night at the Wayne Manor. Lady Alexandera had left earlier that evening once she deemed the prep work was done. Damien had bid her farewell, still somewhat sore at the little joke she had pulled with the jacket. He would never admit that he was pleased with the gift though. She had apparently pre-ordered the jackets earlier in the week, she just needed to double check his employees sizes. Her thinking of him... Whatever the case, The white jacket was now resting on his bed, forgotten as he sharpened his sword. So engrossed in his task he didn't notice the intruder until it was too late.
"Thief? Smokebomb? Didn't know you got part-time job, Damien." It was a voice Damien hated to hear. His adoptive brother, Tim Drake.
"What I do in my spare time is none of your concern, Drake." He made no effort to hide the venom on his tongue. What was Drake doing here?
"Whatever. Bruce wants you downstairs with us." Us? Damien didn't like the assumption of more then Drake and Bruce being here. Placing the whetstone on the floor along with his blade, he walked past Drake, purposefully bumping his shoulder against the older boy, a silent sign of his aggression. The walk down was tense. It was even more tense in the room where his Father, Alfred, and Grayson stood. Dick Grayson turned his entrance.
"Damien."
"Grayson." It was as polite a greeting as he would give. Bruce sighed at his sons.
"Alright, here's the plan. With the dinner tomorrow night, Batman will not be able to patrol until later than usual. I'll need Dick to cover for me for the first half dinner. I'll take first shift, and show up fashionably late. Afterwords, later in the night, Damien and Tim will be sent to bed, under the excuse of needing to keep their sleep schedule ready for school. You two will patrol together until three. Hopefully by then, Dick and I will be free to relieve you both." Shifts for the Bat family. Bruce didn't trust Damien to be alone yet on patrols. The fact angered Damien, he did his best to hide it.
"I do not need a partner, Drake will slow me down." Tim scoffed.
"Yeah, slow you down from busting kneecaps." Damien refused to rise to the bait, though it was tough.
"Enough. That's the plan. It's only for tomorrow. Do your best not to jeopardize the mission. Or the dinner." Bruce leaned back in his chair, his voice almost pleading. "What we do is for the good of the city. We need to work together to help." Drake bowed his head, cowed. Damien stayed silent but didn't argue.
"If that's all, I'm going to suit up." Damien went to leave but Grayson interrupted.
"Actually, Nightwing is going out. You take a night off." This did anger Damien, two nights now he had been grounded, barred from his nightly Robin duties.
"Very well." Damien walked out, glaring at Drake as he left, Drake returning the look with a sneer. Bruce sighed as his son fled. It was going to be chaos with his other sons home. Damien was too competitive, especially with his brothers. Bruce kept talking.
"Tomorrow for the day, we're going to have caterers in house, so be sure to watch what you talk about." Dick cocked his head.
"Alfred's not cooking this time."
"I will be assisting, Master Grayson, but the cooking will mostly been done by Miss Fox." This caught Tim's attention. Didn't Damien's jacket have a fox on it?
"This isn't like you, Bruce. Usually you would be at the penthouse." Dick narrowed his eyes at his father. "Who is she? A new fling?" Bruce shook his head.
"A possible lead, but nothing high on the radar." That was odd. Whatever Bruce was up to was in the air. Bruce stood before making with way to the grand piano, playing a few notes. The secret passage in the bookcase silently slid open. "Come on, Dick. I've got a possible lead on Joker from Oracle." And with that Batman and Nightwing disappeared behind the close shelf. Alfred turned to Tim, gesturing to the hall.
"Let's get you settled in your room. And find you a suitable outfit for tomorrow." Tim had no qualms about that. He needed to wake up early anyway.
Dick Grayson had just started to fall asleep when his cell phone dinged from it's charger, the sound rousing him. Looking at the screen he saw a message from Cori. She had recently started to use emojis in her texts, and would send him messages solely using the little pictures. This one was a heart, and a smiley face. Dick smiled, and replied with a heart and moon, telling her I love you and goodnight. When he got his moon in return, he went to lie back down, but his stomache had other ideas. Sighing, he got back up, it was almost five in the morning, usually around the time Alfred would be up, he figured he could get a small dinner before finally getting some sleep. He was surprised to find the the kitchen not only empty, but dark. Alfred was usually up by now. Maybe he had started sleeping later since Dick had moved to Jump City. He turned the light on and began rummaging through the fridge, looking for something to eat, there was a lot of covered bowls, and bags of food. Must be for tonights dinner. Not wanting to disturb anything he turned to the pantry. There was the usual dried goods, and Alfred's glass cookie platter. The silver tray covered with it's glass top, cookies waiting in neat rows. It brought back memories of his younger years, stealing cookies in the middle of the night, only for Alfred to give him double the amount of vegetables for dinner then next night. Smiling he removed the lid, grabbing a small stack of what looked like oatmeal raisin. He began to eat them, happy with his choice, they tasted great, though different from Alfred's usual recipe. Dick poured himself a glass of milk and took a swig when the back door opened. Alfred walked in, greeting Dick with a smile.
"Master Grayson, couldn't be bothered to make yourself a healthier breakfast?" Dick grinned cheekily as Alfred gestured to the cookie in his hand.
"Hey, not my fault you left the cookie jar within my grasp. You know I can't resist your cookies." Dick took another bite to emphasize his point. "They taste different though." Alfred narrowed his eyes in observation, before replying,
"Oh dear, I didn't make those, Master Grayson."
"Then who did?" The back door opened, a women in a white coat walking in, holding a cup in one hand, and some papers in the other. Behind her were three men in matching coats. When she looked up, grey eyes settle blandly on his face, then slid to the cookie in Dick's hand. Suddenly she was glaring him right in the eye.
"Boy, you better pray there's enough of them cookies for tonight." Dick was shocked, as the women brushed passed Alfred to the pantry, looking at at the tray, then back to Dick. "Put the rest back. Those are for tonight."
"Umm.. I was hungry?" It was a weak defense, but he honestly was too tired to put up a fight, and more than a little shocked by the women in the kitchen. She scoffed as she swiftly grabbed the small stack from the counter, placing the cookies back on the tray.
"Pff, who the fuck eats cookies for breakfast." She grabbed an apple from a bowl, and swapped the cookie in Dick's hand with the fruit. Grayson did nothing to stop her, but simply looked to Alfred for some sort of back up. Alfred, just smiled serenely, filling a kettle with water. Traitor.
"Uhh... Who are you?" Not very eloquent, but hey, he was tired, and his cookie was now being shoved in the women's mouth. She replied without swallowing, voice muffled slightly by his stolen treat.
"I'm the Chef, Fox. Go sit at the table, and don't get in the way." It was rude, but Dick complied. He wasn't used to people talking to him like that. Especially women. Usually they were flirting with him because of his looks, or his name. Yet here this women was, bossing him around like a child. It stunned him. He could hear Alfred chuckle as he set the kettle on the stove. Who was this woman?
Tim Drake woke earlier then he would have liked, but he had a hunch. If he was right, maybe he would find out where Damien got his fancy new jacket. Getting dressed in jeans and hoodie, he crept passed Damien's room. His brother had freakishly good hearing, and Tim wasn't about to risk waking him up. As he was heading down the stairs, Dick was trudging up.
"Still awake, Dick?" Dick yawned, nodding.
"Yeah, I went down to get something to eat, but I don't think I want to be down there. The cooks kinda mean." Tim grinned. Perfect, the girl was here.
"Thanks for the heads up. I want some soda, so I'll watch out."
"Good luck."
"Good night." Tim slid down the banister, eager to see the cook. He could hear the rattling of pans, and the sizzle of of cooking. It already smelled good, whatever it was. Making no effort to hide, Tim walked in happily.
"Morning Alfred!" He stopped in front of the kitchen island, looking at the three other men in the room. All were wearing white coats, with the same logo Damien's had. Jackpot.
"Ah, good morning, Master Drake. Would you care for some breakfast?"
"Sure." Tim looked to one of the men. "You guys the cooks for Dad's dinner tonight." The one with Marcus, he looked familiar, on the chest looked up from a paper.
"Yeah. You another Wayne?" Tim grinned.
"Yeah, I'm Tim. Been away at a private school." A lie, but they wouldn't know any different. "Are you in charge?"
"Naw, that's Chef." Tim tried not to let his frustration show at the indirect answer. Where was the chef. Alfred had just placed a pot on the stove, when Tim asked.
"Hey, Alfred, can I get a soda?" Before Alfred could respond, A voice came from behind him.
"What's up with you people and breakfast. Can't ya'll drink some damn juice or coffee like normal people." A feminine, but not girly, voice grumbled. Tim turned to see the woman standing next to him, hair pulled back in a ponytail, white coat on but not buttoned. In her hand were a set of key he recognized. Keys outstretched towards Alfred. The butler gladly retrieved the set, before putting them in his pocket. "Thanks for letting me grab the hat. It won't happen again." Tim watched as she placed a dark blue and gold trimmed hat on her head.
"It's not a problem Miss Fox." Alfred supplied the Tim with the last bit of information he needed to confirm the first part of the mystery unknowingly. A soda was placed in front of him by Alfred, which was promptly grabbed by the woman.
"Hey!" Tim went to grab his soda back but the blonde was already walking away.
"Seriously Alfred, this a family trait or something?" Alfred shook his head as he ladled oatmeal in a bowl, covering it with strawberries.
"Or something, I suppose. At least Master Drake eats breakfast, even if he does drink far too much soda to be healthy." Whoa, Alfred has backup. Tim may not get his soda back. The woman, Fox, huffed through her nose, pulling a small single serve orange juice from the fridge.
"Eh, At least Smokebomb drinks tea, that's gotta count for something." Another hint to the puzzle. Juice was slid across the counter smoothly by the woman, stopping just short of his hand, while Alfred handed Tim the bowl.
"Drake, huh?" Tim offered a friendly smile, to which the woman frowned at. "Eat, then get out. It's only gonna get busier and I don't need you in the way." Wow, she was a bitch.
"Yes, Ma'am." The woman shuddered.
"Fox, not Ma'am. Go sit at that table." With that, Tim did as he was told. He watched as the Chef busy herself with work. Her team responding to or anticipating her orders. Pots of boiling potatoes bubbled, meats were seared before going into one of the ovens, surrounded by oiled and spice vegetables, one of the men way busy cutting the tops off apples, coring most of the way through. Tim wasn't a fan of cooking but he could appreciate how welled the team worked together. There was even the occasional banter amongst the four. Sometime later the women looked up from work, giving a crooked grin.
"Rise and shine, Kid. Good to see you suited up." Damien walked into the kitchen, wearing that white coat from his room. He didn't seem to notice Tim, yet.
"I am no child, Lady Chef." Tim rolled his eyes, at the way too proper speech Damien had.
"Still ain't a Lady. Come on, I'm about to start on the hassle-back squash. You start the sauce, after you eat something." the Chefs' tone was lighter with Damien than it had been for Tim. What exactly was their relationship? Damien grabbed a paper that was lying by the women, reading over it.
"I believe this may be too spicy for our guests palates."
"That's what the place cards are for, it'll warn them it's spicy." The women shrugged, not bothered by the potential accident. "Besides if their crying from pain they might not see how much they sign their checks worth." She gave a light tap to Damien's arm, much like friends would do. Holy shit... Damien was friends with her! Tim tried to make his escape without being scene, but was caught the second he stood up.
"Hey! Finish your food." The women had caught him, pointing her knife at the bowl on the table accusingly. Damien was flat out glaring at Tim, finally noticing he was there.
"I'm full. I'll eat the rest later."
"Bullshit, you took six bites, then watched us work." He hadn't expected that. She was perceptive. "Eat. Then go. How do you deal with it, Alfred?"
"The pay is decent, and I have good benefits." The chef cackled, leaving Damien to glare at Tim, as he sat back down and began to finish his food. Alfred gave Damien a mug, and an orange, gently gesturing the youngest towards the table. Damien sat, glaring at Tim, who just gave a cocky grin.
"Drake."
"Smokebomb." Oh the anger on the younger boys face was too good. This was some grade-A blackmail. wait til the others hear abo- "Ow!" something hit Tims' arm, the offending object landing on the ground to roll away. An orange.
"Don't fuck with my apprentice. I hear you try to pull that shit again, I'll tell Alfred." Both boys looked over the other chef, who wasn't looking in the direction, merely mixing something in a bowl.
"I didn't do anything."
"I ain't deaf. Not blind either, Stevie Wonder could see ya'lls glares at each other." The chef shrugged her shoulders. "I don't care who you are kid. Don't piss off the people who make your food, who knows what could happen." It was a vague threat, one he didn't bother to push. Finishing off the last of his food, Tim left. Pride bruised, and even more puzzled. What the hell was up with that women? Whatever it was, let the two crazies cook. He wasn't about to get in the middle of that.
"You did not need to defend me." Damien huffed, peeling his orange, not bothering to look in the chef's direction.
"Alfred filled me in, he wasn't kidding when he said ya'll would get into it." Lady Chef snorted, "Kid seemed skeevy anyway."
"Skeevy?"
"Yeah, skeevy. Fake, unsavoury, more bitter than watermelon skin." Damien chuckle slightly at the comparison.
"And the supposed apprenticeship?"
"Hey, with how often you bug me, may as well put you to work." Damien looked up, seeing a brief smile fall from her face. "Finish up. you'll help me with the baked apples."
"I thought it was the sauce."
"Rule one: I'm right, you're wrong, shut up and cook."
"Yes, Lady Chef."
Alfred smiled as he drained the pot of potatoes. It was nice to have a feminine touch with the children.
Okay Dinner is next, promise. This just got a little out of hand. What'd yall think? Three chapters in less than 24 hours.