“Yes. Yes. Mhmm. Very good. Smell good too. Much good. Good cook. Father of Mirri, Therace, is much cook. I too am cook, can show things. But I… need my cook things first, yes. Lost cook things in forest.”

The man looked at him and Chef began to sweat.

This is it. This is when they catch onto me and I get run out by the master chef and his cunning son. I’m done for.

“Fair enough. I’m sure we’ll be able to get you a proper cooking station soon.”

Chef breathed a sigh of relief at that. But then the human continued.

“I really can’t wait to see what a chef of your level can create when given proper tools. Mirri is looking forward to it too!”

Right. He wasn’t saved, this was just a stay of execution. Chef would have to figure out how to actually cook in time to show them something that wouldn’t result in him being ousted to the entire human race all while not being allowed to even ask questions like “what is that thing called that you use to enter homes?”

Easy. No problem. Totally doable.

Chef lied to himself in order to feel better about his situation.

“But before that,” the cook continued, smiling down at the goblin. “We have to show you how to make oil.”

Chef had a lot of work ahead of him.

----------------------------------------

The arrival of the creature was like a maelstrom, forcing everyone to change course lest it overrun them. And yet, Fresk was having a hard time feeling negatively towards it today. He’d never heard kind words from it before, and he’d never heard a compliment like that directed towards him. Not even before.

He knew deep down that the creature was attempting to manipulate him. Sincerity was impossible to identify in monsters, but there were no reasons to believe it even ignoring that. The words couldn’t be believed. But Fresk remained flesh and blood. How could he not get goosebumps when hearing such things? Even if the complementor was a monster.

“You’re out of it.”

It was no question, nor did it need to be. Anyone could tell that Fresk was quite useless after their surprise run in with the green-skinned monster called Chef. Mr. Collis had been quite understanding at first, knowing enough about him to know that Fresk would be caught entirely off guard by the circumstances, but his kindness was waning with time. When they saw Mirri running back home after hearing the news, Mr. Collis had gone cold.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“We have no need for a guard without eyes. Either go inside with them or go back to the field. You’re useless here.”

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They had been watching just in case something happened. Larese too but she was feeling rather taciturn today. Knowing your entire family was socializing with a monster would have that effect on somebody. That, at least, Fresk couldn’t understand. His monster had been cruel and tormenting, but it at least never pretended to be anything else.

He sighed and stood from his sitting position on the well. The old man and his daughter didn’t even watch him get up, eyes fixed on the home. He wondered if they were really watching the house or if they were seeing some phantom instead, visions of Mirri running inside or nightmares of what could happen within.

Fresk suspected that nothing would come of this visit, and honestly that was even worse. The creature was lulling them into a false sense of security, leaving them to believe that it had no motivations aside from acquiring flour and watching a cook at work. But Fresk knew an animal when he saw one. Even if the creature had cloaked itself in two layers of disguise, he wouldn’t be tricked into believing it to be some mere goblin. At the end of the day, the creature didn’t end up reeking of death by avoiding the hunt or by being a scavenger.

Fresk knew that deep down, so why was he going into the house anyway? Why couldn’t he muster the same fear and hatred of the creature that he had nursed for days?

He walked into the kitchen and saw the three of them crushing nuts or cooking them with a little water. They all looked up as he entered which wasn’t much of a surprise. The first to speak was…

“It’s the good face person.”

Fresk’s mind went blank as Mirri looked confused and Therace let out a deep laugh. He stopped laughing for a second to squeeze out some words.

“Hear that? Mr. Chef thinks you’re more handsome without your helmet, Fresk!”

It annoyed him how much it grated to hear the man say that. Part of it was no doubt how handsome the cook was. When Larese picked him years ago it was more often than not the most common defense people made for the decision. At least according to what he heard.

The man had dark hair that he wore pulled back, and while age did none of them any favors, his sedentary life style allowed the man to fill out his figure more than most. A reminder to everyone in town that even if her father was the chief, Larese had the most everything: pull, wealth, food, and whatever else she wanted.

Their house practically screamed it at you. Metal tools all over the place, walls filled with art, it was the definition of poor wealth. The rest of the village was dirt poor, so seeing someone on the cusp of what would be slightly above the average in a city was a stark contrast. The fact that her husband had the luxury to be a cook both in class and job just hammered the point home even further.

It was only natural, then, that this pudgy cook was above him in society’s eyes. At least out here he was. Mirri for his part laughed because his dad did, not understanding an adult’s cruelty.

“Yes. That is the word. Handsome.”

The creature spoke in the same tone as always, inhuman and foreign in every way. Therace stopped laughing rather quickly, smart enough to not take any further chances but too impulsive to realize it sooner. Mirri just looked up at him before turning to his father.

“Mom says I’m handsome. Do I look like Fresk?”

“No.”

All three spoke out against the childish assumption, but the response was a big grin from the boy before he said “Good!”

I suppose that’s the casual cruelty of a child at work.

Fresk didn’t let it bother him truly; he’d been living here far too long to be unaware of how he was viewed. But the alternatives were living in a city where the professional mockers lived or returning to a life of danger. He stood by it; this town was the most welcoming he’d ever been.

It’s just that the bar was very low.

They were continuing to gather oil from the various nuts they had, crushing them and putting them in a pot of just boiling water. Then they’d skim the oil as it rose to the top. Simple, exhausting, and unrewarding work that.

Fresk joined in immediately.