> “Noodle shops are sacred.”
> -Ramen-On-A-Stick creator, Tong Katram En
She had dropped into his life, literally; the endling was walking home from yet another failed attempt at information gathering when suddenly he sensed something about to drop on him. Figuring an ambush, he looked up and was about to riddle the fool with more holes than a net when the endling realized that his ambusher was in fact a big black bag. It would be a waste of bullets to destroy it, and so he stepped aside to avoid the falling object, only to find himself suddenly sat upon by someone.
“Ouch, I didn’t see you there. Sorry!” And that was that, their very first meeting with each other. He didn’t even get to have a look at who had the gall to drop on top of someone else with no warning. It was like she was never there, and only the soreness on his back convinced the endling that it all wasn’t in his head.
Days passed until once more their paths would cross, when the endling was making his rounds and dispatching the near-endless tides of monsters that now was becoming an all too-familiar sight in Blood Falls. A stalemate had been reached between the Godhome and the Moon Goddess’s forces, which meant little to the endling. What was intriguing to the were the rumors that Fire’s Heir would lend a hand to the Godhome and finish off the Moon Goddess personally. It was a tremendous opportunity for the endling and he would be damned if he didn’t take advantage of it to kill a spoiled dragon prince.
After one more chain ricochet headshots through a line of monsters, the endling found himself in front of a museum that was still open and seemingly untouched by the devastation Blood Falls was going through. The door opened fully as he passed through the entrance, and even the air inside still felt climate-controlled, as though all was right in the world.
This … is a very nice place. I wonder why I never thought to visit here. The endling thought passingly as he walked around the museum on a tour of his own. The items in display seemed typical of what one might find in a museum; tattered clothing and rusted metal, fossils of all kinds; writings etched on stone, tablets, and even bone, and paintings of all styles hanging high above the visitors, the people in them peering down like silent judges of people’s lives.
Then, as though his presence was expected, music began to play in the museum. It started small, nothing more than the tinkling on roofs before the downpour, but soon it became loud and clear; a symphony that felt almost familiar to the endling, but ultimately off, the end result more distressing than soothing to his ears. In this sudden concert, the endling stepped through double doors into a grand chamber fitting for a mosque.
White marble inlaid with gold held motifs of straight lines and curved swirls, beholding those that see them to the beauty and magnificence of the divine; a promise made long ago that even now were still held by some in the Retribution Fields. But in this place, circular in its construction, what lay at the center was not some grand tribute to the heavens, but instead a long table with a chair on each end. Only one was occupied, and its occupant didn’t seem to have noticed the endling’s entrance just yet.
As far as traps goes, this one’s a poor one. The endling thought as he considered his option. Then again, what’s life for if one’s not curious? If it goes badly, I can always shoot my way out. He approached the table and sat down on the only other seat available, earning him the attention of this grand room only other occupant.
“I … didn’t know the museum was still open. Is it? Did I forget to-of course I did. One night where I wanted a full-course meal and some-“ Her voice degenerated to grumbling and grunts, until eventually it returned back to normality with a question. “Alright. I’ll pay you a lot of money to leave right now and never return. Ever.”
“Ever? Why?” The endling found himself relaxing a small bit once he’s heard his table mate speak in a woman’s voice.
“Never mind why. Just answer yes or no.” The woman crossed her arms, which looked all the same to the endling from where he was sitting.
“Do you even have ‘a lot of money’?” The endling rested his head on a hand while he visibly relaxed even more. “Pretty soon, money’s not going to fly anymore in Blood Falls, from how messed up everything is. Not that it’d matter to me though, since I’d either be dead or gone come the end of this fiasco.”
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“Really? Now that’s something we can talk about. But only after dinner, if you don’t mind eating what I ordered.” The woman clapped her hands twice and, voila, a feast was born. There were pigs, boars, ducks, forgs, horns, and even veere on display, all roasted and seasoned to perfection. The drinks were plenty and ran like rivers, overlapping one another from time to time like a never-ending game of snake. One river ran like clear mountain spring, and the endling couldn’t resist cupping it up and about for a taste.
It tasted of home, or something close enough that he found himself choking on the drink, bracing himself on the table with one hand. The endling recovered quickly, but his little episode did not go unnoticed. She took her own sample of the mountain spring and sipped it, her eyes widening slightly at the taste but doing nothing else to the woman. It felt oddly grating for the endling to see her do that.
Shaking off the bad feeling, the endling turned his attention instead to the various meals and began filling up his plate, his appetite ravenous after being denied good food for too long. He stuffed his face and soon discarded utensils in favor of his own hands, grabbing and mixing foods together in a rising madness of mealtime and starvation. Finally, he noticed the woman had stopped eating and was staring at him with what looked like equal parts fascination and disgust. The endling knew what she was thinking and didn’t much care for it. In a perfect world, perhaps he would’ve been a paragon of his people’s virtues and beliefs, unwavering in his pursuit of rightful vengeance and justice for crimes committed.
Then again-
“-name?”
“I’m sorry, what?” The endling mumbled with his mouth still full of foodstuffs.
The woman rolled her eyes before repeating herself. “What’s your name?”
“Noneofya Bizniz.” The endling answered with something he heard from a random child he had accosted in the past. “A strange name, no?”
The woman’s frown somehow became even deeper and her next words were positively biting. “Are you always like this with everyone you meet?”
“Only the ones that let me eat dinner for free. I didn’t even know this was a restaurant; I thought it was a museum with all the dusty things in cases everywhere.”
The woman smiled for the first time since the endling met her, and took a sip from her wine. “This was an experiment to bring in more people; dine as you remind yourself of all the shit that came before you. The catering is killer, but the venue was … lacking. But then-” She off-handedly waved towards the outside, to all the chaos and murder and devastation going on just meters away from the duo. “-this happened, and I was so looking forward to it too. The grand failure of this establishment and eventual bankruptcy.”
“And all we have left now is the food.” The endling mused as he became a tad bit more introspective due to the mention of failure. “Do you think we’ll always have the food?”
“Maybe? I’m not the one that paid for all this.” The woman’s eyes narrowed into slits like a cats before an equally feline expression passed her face. “I think you should be the one that pays for this. Please? Just for the first date.”
“This isn’t a date.” The endling said matter-of-factly as he stabbed through several sausages with his fork. “We just met, and I don’t even like you very much.”
“Well, I like you. Kinda.” The woman pursed her lips as she pondered the matter in her head. “And don’t you like what you see?”
“… No? This is all too sudden. You’re too sudden. One minute you’re demanding I leave and now you’re trying to get a rise out of me. What gives?” The endling spoke what had been bothering his mind since the woman had asked him his name.
“Sometimes I’m just … of two heads about some things.” The woman’s face was impassive now, the only emotion that can be seen on it was one of steadfast calm. The endling narrowed his eyes at that reply, but decided not to press further. “What are you doing here on Blood Falls, Mr. Noneofya Bizniz?”
“Ugh, it sounds even worse when you use that name properly. Call me George instead.” The endling said, exasperated.
“Why George?”
“Because I can’t think of another name, alright. You wanted a name, I gave you a name. Now hurry up and ask your question so I can answer it, finish my meal, and walk out of here.” At this point, neither George the endling or the woman had touched their food or drinks anymore.
“Fine, George. What brings you to Blood Falls?” The woman asked as she expected an answer worthy of her time.
“I want to kill the Fire’s Heir.” George replied with no doubt in his mind that he could do it. “He’s a dragon, right? That means he’s my prey, and that means he’s going to die by my hands.”
Several things went through the woman’s mind, which rendered her frozen for a moment. But her body knew what to do, and moved to uncork a full bottle of vodka and chug the contents straight into her mouth, not stopping until everything was gone. Once she had felt that the fear from her mind no longer affecting anything within her body, the woman relaxed and took a long, long look at the endling’s face. He was handsome, unfortunately, and brash, and oh-so unbelievably stupid to the point of insanity, not to mention the thing he had just said out loud right to her face.
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