At half past eight in the morning at the Luminary penitentiary, the stone-faced guards of the complex filtered through the prison cells, banging on the steel doors and shouting at the prisoners’ ears to jolt them wide awake before lining them up in a single file towards the canteen. They lined up next to the kitchen to receive their morning rations. However, due to a certain lost bet from yesterday, the inmates had to suffer through pitiful rations of cold, moldy bread and stale ale stored in dirty, dusted barrels that reeked of an unfamiliar stench—most likely an animal carcass.
That was the case for most inmates, except…
“How about Deez nuts!”
As the voice of the red-headed boy echoed throughout the canteen, he slammed his cards on the table while flipping two birds at Dolisia. Joel breathed a sigh as he threw away his cards and reached for his bowl of hot tomato soup.
The trio was seated at a large circular table, cards and Coe scattered across it with the edges occupied by hot and fresh rations of food. Joel with his tomato soup, Dolisia with a wine tankard, bread, and eggs, and Mik with a bowl of tomato soup and servings of steamed hams.
“Five times in a row?!” Dolisia pulled her hair in frustration, “You’re an idiot who barely knows the rules, how the hell did you win five times in a row?!”
“Misplaced luck. D-E-A-L with it.” Mik shot a mocking smirk.
“Goddamn bastard.” Dolisia sighed before gulping the remainder of the wine and waving the tankard in the air. “Tony! Refill!”
The man whom the trio defeated in a humiliating way last time—Tony—stood up from his table, sighing aggressively as he slouched towards her and snatched the wine tankard, waited in line, refiled it, and went back to give it to her.
“Tsk, took you long enough.” Dolisia remarked, “Anyway, who wants to go another round.”
“Like I’d decline,” Mik replied.
“I’m good.” Joel said, turning his back to the trio and leaning on the table. “I rather not stress about a game that I’ll lose either way.”
“I’m just seeking to prove the bastard wrong.” She frowned at Mik before shuffling the cards and giving two each to herself and Mik.
“Oh, totally. I’m sure you’re gonna do it, just like Tony who spent a day trying to squeeze it out of me.”
“He’s an idiot for betting as much as he did. Plus, I’m not stupid like him OR you.” Dolisia argued.
“Stupid? Mighty rich coming from you.”
“Are you trying to provoke me?” Dolisia retorted, “You are factually a dumbass since you don’t even know the rules.”
“Why should I? I win no matter what, I’m beating your ass whether I know or not.” He defended himself, “So yeah, you’re the stupid one here.”
“You burnt a barn trying to masturbate.”
“You fumbled the ball trying to outsmart luminaries, twice.”
“You beat the hell out of an entire town when they told you ‘Suma Ols’.” Dolisia argued, “I have my moments, but you’re the textbook definition of utter, braindead stupidity.”
"Hey, did you know that the word stupid came from the word Stew and pid?" Joel interjected, with a seemingly unprecedented and random piece of trivia.
“Huh?” Dolisia turned towards Joel, “Where did that come from?”
“Just curious, you didn’t know?”
“No, never knew.” Dolisia said.
“Same.” Mik followed.
"Well, the pid was something that used to show up on the stew when it sat there and got cold. A tasteless, dull, translucent part of the top of the stew that they called the pid. And since it was dull and empty inside, much like a stupid person’s head, they began calling people stupid, as in stew-pid."
"Wow...I never knew that." Dolisia and Mik said, genuinely surprised by this newfound knowledge.
"Yeah? Well, if you believed that, then you're both stupid, and the reason why stupidity exists and will only get worse." Joel said, closing the case on the two.
“…fuck you.” Dolisia uttered.
“Motherfucker.” Mik followed.
“Anyway, why are you guys even arguing about who’s stupid?” Joel said, “Need I remind you we’re in prison? We should be thinking of ways to, at least, make our situation better. We’re still being treated like shit here through and through.”
“Well, it’s not like we have that many options.” Dolisia argued, “The poker game was a stroke of pure luck and life’s pity on us. We only have the money we won from the game, and that’s about it.”
“Well, we could try to escape?” Mik suggested, “I’m a master at breaking in and out of prisons, this one shouldn’t be that big of a difference.”
“No, that's stupid.” Joel declined, “We're still going to be wanted, and with that freakshow of a woman, we couldn't possibly escape without her latching onto our asses. I'd rather bribe the warden and control the prison than do that.”
With Joel’s closing argument, the trio sat there in silence, contemplating the idea for a minute of pure concentration before they traded narrow-eyed looks in contemplation at the prospect of bribing the warden and actually controlling the prison.
“Well, when you put it that way…” Dolisia began.
…
“Absolutely not.”
The figure of a sleep-deprived, middle-aged man with thinning brown hair and a fierce glare said, directing his words at the trio standing in front of him across from his desk as he sat on his large, red velvet upholster—elbows pillared atop his desk as he crossed his hands in front of his face, draped in a white coat hung on his shoulders.
Two dog-faced guards stood firmly at both sides of the entrance door, facing the warden’s outside-view window situated right behind his chair. Although they were standing firmly a few seconds ago, they began sweating profusely upon hearing the warden’s response.
“Who do you think you are, coming into my office and persuading me with a bribe?” Said the warden before glaring at the two guards, “And how DARE YOU, you two, bring me these filthy, rude inmates right into my office?”
The guards shook in silence before Joel replied.
“We bribed them. It’s not really a big deal, we bribed pretty much everyone in the damn penitentiary.” Joel began, “And with all due respect, warden, we’re not doing anything bad. We’re just not satisfied with the horrid, horrible conditions of the prison. All we’re simply trying to do is improve our habitat, even by a little.”
“And you think that you could bribe me into being your dog?” the warden growled, “I am the warden, and the system you live every day by in this prison is built by me so that filth like you can get the punishment you deserve. Moreover, even if I were to accept your bribe, I wouldn’t sell myself for 20,000 Coe.”
“So you’re saying you would sell yourself for more?” Mik interjected.
With the sudden eerie silence suffocating the air, Mik regretted his witty remark, knowing full well he made his situation worse.
“Listen, I will turn a blind eye to this simply because the guards get a ‘bonus’ from you. However, if you tell anyone you spoke to me, or if you even dare speak to me again, I will make sure you live out the rest of your sentence drinking from the toilet and eating rotting animals. Dismissed.”
With the order given, the two guards stepped towards the trio, held them by the arms, and pushed them out of the office before shutting the doors on them. The trio glanced back at the door cursing the warden’s entire family tree and descendants—in their minds—before breathing out a sigh of defeat.
“Fuck this, nothing goes as planned for us.” Mik sighed.
“Rain falls, eagle flies, and our luck is dead-fucking-dry.” Joel followed, “Welp…I guess it’s expected, we’re in prison after all.”
“Well…what now?” Dolisia wondered, “We can’t just keep going at it like this. If we can’t escape yet, we need to find a way to at least make this cesspool a tiny bit more bearable.”
“I’m dropping my cards for now.” Mik announced, “I’m taking a nap, the fatigue is finally catching up to me.”
“Already?” Joel questioned.
“Yep, I’ve pushed myself a little too hard ever since…well, ever since our last escort.” Mik explained, “I’m out, and don’t be worried if I sleep for a little too long. Falou!”
He turned around and made his way toward the cells, giving the two a two-finger salute before turning the corner and disappearing from view. Joel and Dolisia stood there, breathing out a shallow sigh of defeat as they contemplated their situation.
“I’m hitting the canteen, I’m still hungry despite the breakfast,” Joel announced.
“I’m going with you, there’s nothing I can do either way so I might as well eat and hope that a poisoning could kill me soon.”
“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”
Not a word was spoken as Joel and Dolisia made their way towards the canteen, unbothered by the strict guards or inmates. It was a little past noon, a few minutes after lunch was served in the canteen. As such, upon entering the lunchroom, the two were struck by the horrendous smell of the food and the stench of sick inmates vomiting in the corners from the sheer, incomprehensible food poisoning they have to endure.
Though the trio bribed the chef into making their meals a little more ‘proper’, it was impossible to enjoy any food served there, they merely built a taste for it as one would for a cheap, bitter, reeking alcohol. However, in the case of the less fortunate prisoners, it was simply a death wish to consume whatever ungodly alien junk was splatted onto their trays.
“The chef is the literal devil. I don’t care how hungry I am, I’m not eating anything made by him.” Dolisia blurted out, “I’m sick of just eating, I want to enjoy something for once.”
“With you on that…” Joel said, contemplating an idea in his head. “Hm, I think I know what to do.”
Not a second was wasted as Joel gestured for Dolisia to follow as they made their way toward the counter in front of the chef. Thankfully, the line was empty—in the sense that no one was willing to risk dying more than once today—which eased the way for the two to make their way right in front of the chef.
With a disgusting, repulsive frown he glared at the duo, a finger in his nose as the other itched his enormous belly—hidden under the thick layer of his sweaty red shit and stained, ‘previously’ white apron. He picked his nose and wiped it on his apron before shooting a nasty look at the two and speaking in a raspy, mucus-choked voice:
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“Wot, princess? Want anotha tomato soup?” He asked, mockingly.
“Uh, yeah, I was figuring you step the fuck away for a sec, I want to cook something for myself,” Joel demanded, nonchalantly.
Dolisia turned towards Joel, tilting her head in confusion though in a manner that displayed her approval behind the perplexed gaze. As for the chef, he simply cackled in response, thinking nothing of it but a simple joke.
“Oi yea, fun one. Git fuckin movin' mate, not in de mood for jokes.”
“I’m not joking, step the fuck out, kindly.” Joel demeaned, this time in a more assertive tone.
“Roight…” The chef muttered, maintaining his composure. “Why should I?”
“Why?” Joel repeated, genuinely confused. “Your food is fucking awful! It’s seriously concerning how you have not but the slightest clue how many attempted murders you commit per day. And even when you make something with ‘love and care’ it turns out shit. The only added plus is that it doesn’t kill you, in the meantime that is.”
“Speak fer yaself, twat. Look at ‘em, none complained.” The chef argued, pointing at the inmates.
“None complained?! Yeah, ‘cause they barely have the energy to live! They are fighting for their lives every damn minute, so of course they wouldn’t have the time or breath to spare on you of all people. Plus, are you that oblivious?”
Joel faced the tables of the canteen, his arms motioning at the tables in a frustrated manner as he kept on his rant:
“Look at all these people! They’re dying! Not sick, not unwell—dying! They’re crumbling from the inside out, their fucking bowels are begging for mercy! It’s impressive how they even survived this long, and they surely won’t survive anymore because the food gets worse every damn day! I mean, look at that guy!” Joel said, pointing at an inmate at the corner, vomiting intensely. “When we first came here, this man’s vomit was yellow, then it went green, and now it’s…what the hell even is that?! It’s a mix of red and black. God, he’s vomiting his intestines at this point! No, he’s vomiting his literal soul!”
Joel’s rant caught the attention of the miserable inmates as they eyed the boy from afar, verbally shredding the chef into pieces better than the chef would with the awful raw pork meat he cooks.
“And for the love of all that is awful, look at the toilets! I can’t even describe it, that’s not turds in the toilets, it’s some black substances mixed with blood, smeared over every door and every wall and every damn place in the awful toilets! I mean, seriously, I genuinely am concerned for the safety of everyone in this penitentiary more than I am about anything concerning me, or my freedom!”
“So wot? Ye suggestin’ I cook better?” The chef asked, an evil smirk on his face.
“No, I am not suggesting, but demanding you to step the fuck out of that kitchen before you kill most—if not all—of the people in this damned prison.”
The chef snorted, rubbed his nose, and with a nasty glare he leaned towards Joel before saying: “Wank me, twat. You dun tell me nothin’.”
“Oi, the boy’s roight, yeah!” One of the inmates spoke in Joel’s defense, standing from his table. “You’ve nearly bloody killed us, you dick’ead! I want dun with it!”
“Focking aye man!” Another inmate stood up, “I’m sick of raw shit on me plate, I want none of it!”
One by one, the inmates all stood up in retaliation against the chef, voicing their dislikes and frustration with the poor food quality and treatment. Joel turned around, shooting a smug smirk at the flushed face of the chef. The latter’s embarrassment with the sudden uproar caused him to rip his apron off as he made his way from behind the counter, pointing at the inmates before shouting in retort:
“You’s can all bloody wank me off! I’ve dun given ya what you want for far too long!” He shouted before turning towards Joel, “Dick’ead, lemme tell ya sum…you go in there, and you cook some’ing better than I’s do, do it and I’ll focking leave.”
Upon hearing the challenge, Dolisia’s eyes lit up at the prospect of this horrendous chef finally leaving. However, the light from her eyes slowly faded at the thought that Joel was the one who should cook.
“Oh…” Dolisia paused, glancing at Joel. “Joel, can you actually-”
With a finger on Dolisia’s lips, Joel silenced the former as he took a deep breath before releasing a satisfactory sigh. He stepped towards the kitchen, cracked his fingers, his neck, and performed a set of basic stretching movements before he turned towards the chef.
“What ingredients do you have?” He asked, nonchalantly.
“Uh…” The chef stuttered in confusion, “Sum potatoes, tomatoes, Corvina fish, and I dunno…sum carrots?”
“Herbs?”
“On yer left.”
“Do you have another apron? Or a headband?” Joel asked, “And the knife and other equipment?”
“Clothes in de back, knoife and equipment in de top drawer.”
With all the details covered and the kitchen mapped out to him, Joel went to the back of the kitchen and slipped on an apron and a whitehead band with pure elegance before drifting toward the top drawer, simply fetching a single knife before moving on to the main counter. Joel took the Crovina from the storage under the main counter, placed it on top of it, and flipped the knife before he thoroughly used it to scrub off the scales from the fish.
With a quick slit, he opened the corvina before quickly gutting it and giving it a quick rinse in the bucket of water near him. He gently placed it on the counter once more and settled the herbs next to him. He sprinkled the salt, rubbed the fish with a slice of lemon, and added other herbs for taste and texture before he took the very same herbs and sprinkled them into a small pot half-filled with water.
He turned towards the kitchen stove, a large ironwork on the far corner of the counter, right next to it lay a pile of wood, next to it lay some flint and steel. Joel took the pot towards the oven before reaching for the small compartment on the right-hand side, filling it with wood before striking the flint and steel to light them on fire. He closed the compartment before placing the pot on of the stoves on top of the oven.
As he let it slowly boil, Joel went back to the main counter before fetching two pieces of potatoes and tomatoes each. He flipped the knife, and like an artist lost in their pretty painting he sliced the vegetables quickly and equally into a bunch of thin, yet not too thin slices. When looking at him, one would brush him off as someone with no thought behind his eyes. But when scrutinizing him, one could spot a glimmer of light in his eyes as he quickly—yet not so easily—prepared the meal.
“Do you have any cooking trays?”
“A cookin’ what?” The chef retorted in confusion.
Then Joel snapped, he realized that he wasn’t cooking like he was in his old life, in his old world. Though before he could panic, he quickly scanned the kitchen, his eyes spotting a stash of clay plates. As he scanned through them, taking one by one into his hand, he stumbled onto two large clay plates and gave an approving nod as he walked back to the counter.
He took the first plate, placed the fish and sliced vegetables inside it, and then covered it with the other plate on top, like a lid. He nodded approvingly before he caught the delicious scent of the sauce stirring from the pot he left on the stove. He drifted towards it, and with a cloth wrapped around his hand, he removed it from the stove before giving it a sniff. He smiled approvingly as he poured some of the sauce onto the fish and vegetables before closing them again with the second plate.
He opened the large compartment on the left-hand side of the kitchen stove—the oven part—and stuffed the plate inside of it. As he waited for it to cook, Joel fetched a larger clay plate and placed it on the counter, then fetched the ‘peel’—a long wooden stick with a wide, square top used to handle food in the oven.
After some time passed, Joel opened the oven before using the peel to fetch the clay plate out from it. He placed it on the counter, wrapped the piece of cloth on his hand once more, and removed the top plate, the scent of the delicious cooked corvina filling the kitchen and the entirety of the canteen. Inmates and guards alike snapped at the smell, something so strange yet so incomprehensibly intriguing and mouth-watering that they could only follow the scent, forming a long queue at the counter as Joel finished sitting the dish.
He poured the sauce onto the big clay plate, followed by the fish and vegetables. And with a sigh of relief, he swiftly removed his hand band and wiped the sweat off of his brows before presenting the dish to the crowd.
“Gentlemen, and Dolisia…food is served. A baked corvina, made by yours truly.” He smirked, “Bon appetit~.”
As soon as the dish was presented to the crowd, Dolisia was thrown to the side as the inmates and guards raced to get a taste. Though they were all pushed back by the larger figure of the chef who glared at Joel, a grimace plastered on his face as he took a wooden spoon and leaned towards the corvina. He took a piece of potato, tomato, a small piece of the Corvina, and a little bit of sauce before putting it in his mouth.
A cosmic feeling, a burst of sensation, and an explosion of tastes. The chef simply tasted nothing better in life ever since he was born. His eyes lost their ferocity, reduced to a simple stare directed at the boy who cooked such a masterpiece.
With a sigh, the chef placed the spoon down and nodded at the boy before turning around and walking away. He simply couldn’t say anything or do anything to retaliate. By all means, the chef was…well, a chef. And he, more than anyone, knew when to appreciate a masterpiece in his field of work. And this one was simply an undisputed work of art.
The inmates and guards raced to get a taste of the fish, each bursting into a squeal of pleasure at the sensation and delicious taste. Joel, breathing a sigh of relief, leaned onto the counter facing Dolisia as the latter did the same.
“Joel, how in the-…how? I mean, I never thought—”
“That I could cook? In my free time, was never that good at it, but I can make do.”
“Make do?!” She uttered in astonishment, “You made a grown man cry!”
“It’s not because I’m that much good, you know. All in all, this baked fish is simply another food from the earth, from my life. It’s just that these people are too used to awful-tasting, bland medieval food or whatever.”
“Wow,” Dolisia said, applauding the boy in admiration. “You are…really something, Joel.”
“Thank you, thank you.” Joel replied before a smug smile crept up his face, “But, now that I proved a point to this shit chef…I think I have the perfect idea.”
“What will that be?”
“Heh, dinner time will tell.”
…
At around sunset, the penitentiary served dinner for the inmates before they went back to their cells. Today is no exception as the awful chef cooked once more, this time having served a dinner that was surprisingly not toxic, or fatal. It was a little less bland, and a lot more safe than what he usually served. Apparently, it was a goodbye meal for he resigned and left immediately after serving the dinner.
And as the inmates walked back to their cells in rows of little less miserable faces today, the trio bribed their way through the penitentiary once again towards the warden’s office. As they closed in on the office, Mik kicked the door open and barged in along with Dolisia and Joel as if they owned the joint, with Joel carrying two plates of clay one covering the other.
The guards accompanying them flinched in horror at the sudden reckless behavior of the trio, but more so at the enraged reaction of the warden who choked on a piece of salted meat at the presence of the three menaces.
“YOU DARE???” The warden shouted, “I told you to never come to me again, and you dare barge in like this??? I will make sure you-”
“Well well well, looky here.” Mik said, “Looks like Mr. Almighty warden here can only figure for salted meat!"
The warden’s face flushed at the insulting remark of Mik. He glanced at the piece of salted meat he held before dashing it at the trio, but mistakingly smacking one of the guards with it.
“You speak as if you weren’t the ones to cause this, you little shits! I’ve had far too much patience with you, but now I will fucking put you at the stakes for this!”
“Warden, relax.” Joel interrupted, “We’re not mocking you…for the most part. We understand the feeling, and we came here for a proposition.”
“Proposition?! After making the chef resign?! Whether it was for the better of the prison or not doesn’t matter, because you got rid of the only fucking person in this fucking hell hole who can cook! What fucking proposition do you have?!”
“Well, I won’t do the talking. Just try this.” Joel said.
Upon finishing his sentence, Joel placed the plate on top of the warden’s desk before removing the top plate. He took a wooden spoon from his pocket and gave it to the warden who shot him a look of suspicion. As he gazed at the plate, his eyes landing on the sight of cooked corvina and vegetables, he glanced at the guards as if to ask for validity.
With a nod from the guards, the warden felt reassured enough to give in to the extraordinary smell and get a taste. As he gathered a piece of potato, tomato, and Corvina, he gave it a sniff before putting it in his mouth. The feeling was nothing short of an astronomical experience.
Not a second later the warden dropped his civilized facade and anger before digging into the plate like a wild animal, dropping the spoon and clawing mouthfuls from the corvina before dipping them into the sauce and eating them.
“So, warden, what’cha think?” Joel asked.
But the latter didn’t reply. Or he did but was inaudible as it translated into moans and whimpers of pleasure as he gobbled bites of the corvina and vegetables, much to the trio’s delight that is.
“Warden, do you want more?” Dolisia wondered.
“Hm?!” He uttered, snapping back from his animalistic moment. “More of this?! Yes!”
“Well, if you accept our conditions, we’ll be more than happy to give you more, isn’t that right, Joel?” Dolisia asked.
“Damn right, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. All day long, as long as you accept our conditions.” Joel replied.
“What is it?” The warden replied half-heartedly, too busy devouring the dish.
“Full control of the prison, and for our cells to be replaced by a spacious, vast room with comfy beds, clean and comfy toilets of our own, and kitchen space and table for our use. Of course, the room only belongs to us and is closed to everyone else.”
The warden paused, glanced at the trio, then back at the dish, then finally back at the trio.
“You will cook dishes like this, right?”
“No, I can’t cook for everyone. However, give me five kitchen staff, inexperienced if they may, and I will teach them to cook in the canteen dishes like this, all day every day.” Joel replied.
“Anyone? Even the guards?”
“Anyone, it’s easy to cook things like this. But I need you to respect our terms before I can do that.”
“…granted.”
With a wave of pleasure and ease washing over the trio, Joel raised his palms flat in the air before facing Mik and Dolisia.
“Long live misplaced luck!” Joel began.
“Long live!” Replied Dolisia and Mik as they high-fived Joel before jumping up and down in happiness.
As the trio left the office happily, they went back to their cells to spend their final night of suffering and poverty, for immediately in the morning after they were woken up by penitentiary guards that guided them towards their brand new royal suite located in an empty joint of the prison.
It was a vast room, with two large windows on each of the side walls from the entrance. On the right side, a row of three mattresses on a wooden frame was placed next to a small wooden table with four chairs. On the other side, there was a mildly big counter with a kitchen stove on the far end of it. And on the far end of the room, there were two doors. One led to three different toilet stalls, while the other led to a shower, with a vast wooden bathtub, buckets, and bathing products placed in glass jars neatly rowed onto the top of a counter next to the bathtub.
The trio couldn’t believe it, life smiled for them brighter than they could’ve possibly imagined. Despite being caught, sent to prison, and seemingly with no way out and no hope, they somehow managed to overturn their situation in the best possible way, to the best possible way. The power of Misplaced Luck was simply terrifying.
And as they eyed the suite, they couldn’t help but sprint towards the beds before diving towards them. They bounced on the beds, all three of them, akin to a bunch of gleeful children. And for the first time in a while, Joel smiled with a thought in his mind: ‘Maybe life truly is better here.’