The clink of cutlery was a soft chime against the backdrop of simmering pots as I entered the dimly lit, humid kitchen of Ma'Ritz. Cook loomed over a cauldron similar to an imagined feline deity from her southern jungles, her whiskers twitching in the heat. Her apron was splattered with today's menu, a macabre palette of grays and browns.

"Kitten," Cook growled, her voice a guttural purr that always sent a shiver down my spine, "the pantry grows meager, my stock is insufficient to feed your belly."

I leaned against the stainless steel counter, my fingers tracing the cool metal. I had been having a feeling for a while now that this was coming. For weeks, my breakfast had consisted of Cook's personal stock of meat, the opposite of the dietary norm within the Middens Empire. And since Cook had been having difficulty restocking, I knew that eventually she could run out. But even though I had suspected this of happening for a while, I had to verify that it had actually happened. Not that I doubted the veracity of Cook’s statement, but that I hoped I had either misinterpreted or misheard her. Because I needed to consume flesh. Despite my Guise, I was not human, not truly, not anymore, and my body craved deeper nourishment than paltry vegetables and grains.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

Her yellow eyes narrowed. "This one is out. No more meat remains within my kitchen. This is worse than a sore tooth for these ones," she finished, alluding to both herself and me.

"Surely we can simply resupply? I could even run to the store if you needed... assuming I could find the market you normally shop from?"

I was uncertain why she was having such difficulties keeping up her inventory of meat in the first place. If street vendors could sell meat, even if consuming meat was taboo, then certainly Cook could purchase meat as well. Unless, I considered, unless she had trouble conducting business as a Kaiva. As I thought about it, I realized that I had never actually seen Cook leave the building.

She made a sound in the back of her throat that almost sounded like a yowl, but not quite.

"Troublesome, this one knows. But, at least your belly might be filled with gruel? This one knows the meal is lacking, but the kit is human..." Cook finished, raising one eyebrow with her ears flicking back, as though in challenge.

"I don't understand," I said, evading her challenge. Instead, I chose to focus on the true issue. "Why can you or, even I, run a simple errand? Simply run to the store, spend some Chargers, and return with the meat? It would fall cleanly in the line of favors that I owe you, if that's what you're–"

"This one stops the conversation here. Nothing in my pantry is simple. Nothing."

It seemed an odd hill to die on, thus I quickly conceded that her pantry was in fact magnificent before hurrying on with my question.

"Surely, a vendor or butcher exists that I could visit on your behalf?" I asked, remembering that Kate had recently purchased some jerky from the Merchant Square, though there had been some extenuating circumstances for that transaction to occur.

"This one laughs,” Cook said, notably without humor. “But perhaps there is a market... Is the kit willing to travel there?"

Given her tone, I worried that there might be more to this simple favor, as she made the grocery trip sound quite arduous.

"Is the location within Southbridge?" I asked for verification.

"Yes, yes... though this marketplace is across the highway, surrounded by foolish and greedy thugs."

That might explain it. The other side of the highway was the slums and industrial area, also where the Pit Crews largely were based out of. That might prove challenging, least of all due to the distance to commute.

"If this one provides the address,” Cook continued after a pause, with trepidation in her voice. “Then will the kitten do as claimed and run this errand?"

A favor was owed. Furthermore, and most importantly, whatever meat she usually served was leagues better than what I could get from street vendors. Learning the location of her supply would be an additional benefit. And despite the difficulty of the location, with my abilities, I remained confident in both my own survival and success in retrieving my future sustenance.

Thus, I agreed.

"Good!" Cook said, sounding relieved. At least until I asked for breakfast. At which point, she snarled and hissed in sympathy. "Gruel, no meat."

That day I did not get an opportunity to run that errand for Cook. To meet my needs, I was forced to subsist off of subpar vender skewers.

Gymnastics: 2/9 (+1)

After another morning of training and running the gauntlet I returned to find Ma'Ritz in an early lunch rush, with the cacophony of Ma'Ritz in full swing. When I stepped through the door, at first I worried that I had come back late.

Marianne caught my eye as she dropped off a platter of fried sprouts and sauce, along with a pitcher of ale. I could never understand how people enjoyed eating the stuff.

"Glad you're back," Marianne said, nodding back towards the server station. "Grab an apron and take the back tables. They still need to order."

I nodded and complied.

Stepping into a busy shift was always troublesome. The feeling of it, the chaos, it left my skin feeling greasy. Several patrons eyed me as I walked by, and I had to dodge several grabbing hands. But soon, my apron was tied, and I was off to the tables.

One thing I noticed as I took orders was the demographic of our customers. It was different than normal. Typically, we would serve largely well compensated professionals, the upper middle class, their lunch. These would be older men and women, wearing whatever garments represented their business, assuming they operated a clean business, that is. However, that was not the case. Most of the tables contained at least one teenager, sometimes more, along with one or two adults. The adults were clearly caretakers, or chaperones, or possibly even parents. The ones with the weariest expressions I assumed were the latter.

The deviation from norm caught my attention. When Marianne and I had a few seconds at the bar, I brought it up.

"What's with the kids?" I asked Marianne.

"Registration and Class Selection," Marianne answered. "Along with an open house? I'm not too sure about the last one."

"For...?"

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

"The Academy," Marianne said.

I watched her face carefully for context clues. Knowing her plans, I would have thought she would also have been involved. I also felt concern for myself, at least if I were to attend the Academy as well. Registration sounded like something I should be in on.

"Was it not mandatory then?" I asked.

"Hm?" she said, already distracted by one of her tables waving her down.

"When do you register?" I asked more bluntly before she ran off.

She grimaced so briefly I almost missed it, before covering her face with a smile. "Whatever classes are still open by the time we attend of course! We can chat more about it tonight, alright Jackie? For now though, I need to focus."

She rushed off to take yet another order.

From what I learned during the scant moments of conversation I had, the Academy registration, class and path selection were opened today, but only for those who paid for the privilege. I made a note to ask Esmerelda for more of my own details--she and I still had yet to formalize any contractual language for my employment, which caused a lack of details, which caused a foreboding sense of insecurity whenever the subject came up.

I wondered if Marianne was similar.

That day, the wealthiest of the Academy took care of the finer details, reserving for themselves the best schedules, and that night many of these children and their caretakers dined at Ma'Ritz.

The Middens lacked any sort of underage drinking laws.

Towards that night, one of the wealthier groups arrived. One that Marianne noticed as they came in and as they sat themselves at the first open table they could find. I was sure that if I were to ask them, then the atmosphere at Ma'Ritz was a delightful excursion to rough it with the commoners.

"You want them?" Marianne asked me, nodding towards the new table. There were several teens sitting there in their luxurious velvets and silks, with some jewelry draped upon them. They boisterously joked and laughed. Notably, they lacked a guardian with them. That could not bode well, but from Marianne's cringe, I thought she wanted to serve them even less than I.

"If you don't want to?" I answered.

She sighed in relief. "Then step lively, Jackie. These bluebloods won't tolerate tardiness."

I nodded, my gaze snagging on the silken fabrics and glinting jewels that draped the young aristocrats like second skins. They moved with an ease born of privilege, their smiles as practiced as their courtly manners. It wasn't just their wealth that set them apart—it was the assurance that they belonged to a world where everything and everyone was theirs for the taking.

"Welcome to Ma'Ritz," I greeted, voice steady despite the bitterness welling up inside me.

"Be a dear and fetch us the finest bottle of whisky," drawled a child, a boy, far too young and with a cracking voice. He complimented that tone with an imperious tilt of his chin.

He was no older than me, in fact, I was certain he was younger. Far younger. Though I still deferred to him and his friends, with a forced smile and a bowing of the head. "Of course, sir."

I went back to the bar, looking through the shelves. Marianne approached, "Everything go alright there?" she asked.

I nodded towards the top shelves. "Which of these is the finest bottle... of whisky?" I added.

"Ugh. Of course they did," Marianne commiserated with a roll of her eyes. She pointed out a bottle of clear spirits with ornamental ribbing along its sides. "That's the one, I think."

"Really?" I asked, pulling down the bottle. It had heft, and felt expensive, certainly. But it was clear. I had thought whisky and its derivatives were brown.

But Marianne insisted. "And they might need help pouring. If you let them, they might spill... And of course it would be your fault if they did. So don't let them."

I winced and nodded. "Sounds insane."

"Ha." Marianne laughed dryly before hurrying off to take care of her own tables.

When I delivered their bottle, I took the initiative to pour for all of them, but this brought another challenge.

"A little more!" a boy cheered.

"George Thirdson!" One of the girls scolded. "Ought you?"

"Ah, Elly," the boy, George, said in a smooth voice. "Why ever ought I not?"

Elly, the girl with dyed hair and hazel eyes scoffed. "I suppose we are free tonight then?"

"Eh? Elly?"

"I suppose we lack any other certain engagements to attend?"

"A single drink surely will be fine," he said confidently. All the while, I was in an awkward position leaning over him to pour, though I had paused during their conversation, otherwise it would have been overfilled.

"The way you were going, it would not have been a single drink," Elly said.

This put me into an awkward position. Several of their friends were watching with smiles and laughs as they wondered who would win this possible spat between lovers, if they were indeed lovers. They certainly seemed close.

I decided to pull back, erring on the side of caution.

"Did I not say to continue pouring?" George asked, looking back over his shoulder and flashing what he must have thought was a charming smile, if a little forceful.

It left my stomach somewhat queasy.

Luck Break: 4/9 (+1)

"You did," I said softly.

"You're scaring the poor girl," Elly teased George, putting a dainty hand upon his shoulder.

He shrugged, "I do not think that I am, Elly. Not at all." George turned his pompous smile back on me. "I'm not scaring you, am I?"

Perhaps leaving me wishing to vomit, I thought privately.

Elly frowned before smoothing her face.

"No, Sir, I am not scared."

"Then why not continue pouring?" George asked, even though he had at least two ounces of strong spirits in his glass.

Thinking fast, I came up with what I thought might have been a plausible excuse. "The bottle will still remain when you finish the glass, and the spirits' flavor improves in lesser doses."

"Really?" George asked, turning back towards his table.

One of the other boys shrugged, "Sounds familiar," one of them said.

"Huh. Well, I suppose if you leave the bottle, then all is well."

I acquiesced, privately planning to place it on the far side of the table. "Now, might I bring you anything else?" I asked.

"A little bit of everything, I should think," Elly said, smirking.

"And a pitcher of the commoners drink!" one of the boys shouted. "Ale!" Several of them cheered, although I was unsure of why.

"Excellent, right away..." I said as I retreated.

It would shape out to be a tedious night.

Blessings: Rank (1/9)

* Body: 65

* Mind: 75

* Spirit: 49

Talents:

* Athleticism I (1/9):

* Climbing I (4/9)

* Featherlight I (3/9)

* Inversion (2/9)

* Gymnastics (2/9) (+1)

* Stealth I (7/9)

* Trackless Tracks I (3/9)

* Area Coverage (5/9)

* Alchemical Immunity (ineligible for growth)

* Eschiver I (1/9)

* Evasion I (1/9)

* Impending Sense (2/9)

* Lucky Break (4/9) (+1)

Spells:

* Illusion I (5/9)

* Touch (8/9)

* Guise of the Kitsune (5/9)

* Closed

Gifts:

* Obsession (3/9)

* Closed (0/9)

* Closed (0/9)