Action. Thought. "Speech."

so, you see, Forgraves was hatching a plan. a plan that may or may not work out, but a plan nonetheless. the problem was, part of this plan required being able to cook decent food, and while he wasn't terrible (in the sense he'd figured out by now meat tasted better and made you feel less bad when cooked) he certainly didn't know if that counted as "invite someone over to your house" level good.

so, he went to the only place he had any idea where to look. the palace.

it was only minorly terrifying, walking past Isra to get into the palace itself, but after he got past that part he figured it wasn't so bad. he took good care to not track in a mess, the floors looking so pristine he thinks he can see his reflection in them, not wanting to ruin that. it must've taken alot of love and care.

he padded through the halls, keeping note of every door that looked like it was "off-limits", pausing when he heard the sounds of kitchenware slamming, followed by the most.. delicious scent he thinks he's ever smelt. he thinks he might melt on the spot.

he gulped. this might be the room, though he's never been in a kitchen before, so he isn't entirely sure.

he pushed the door open a creak, calling out, not quite yet walking in.

"Hello..? N...Nedies?" he asked unsure. he'd only heard the name once in slight passing, and he hoped to caves he was saying it right. If he was in the right spot, they might actually be able to salvage what little skill he had.

The oven was acting up again. Perfectly functional for probably a few hundred years while he was on "vacation", and it was acting up. These staff of his—nonexistent as they were—and their tendency to pile up plates all over the damn place and leave the oven full so full of soot that it might actually start forming cinder blocks. Definitely not his own doing, though. Not at all.

Worse yet, Nedies couldn't bear the thought of cramming his arms into the back of the kiln, for there was no way he'd actually reach the back where the vents were, and what was the point if it wasn't spotless inside? The build-up would just happen again and the contemptible instrument would go back to charring everything to a crisp after a few good redfang roasts.

Ugh.

At least the stove still worked, and he could work on making some stock for later—some spare deer joints and hooves had wound up in the back of cold storage, and they ought see use, once all the gunk was scraped off them. Throw some roots and herbs in there to cut the savoriness, ground-up fat, and there: a nice, jellied mass for later. Just a matter of letting it solidify and cool off before he filled the jar he'd just gotten out with it—

Oh, a visitor! Fuzzy little thing with paws it was, nose and emerald-green peeking past the doorway.

Setting the clay dish down on one of few clear spaces on the counter, the centaur-like alien waved away any instinctive thought of how to best make a roast out of someone that struck him as an Ursa lesser and huffed. "Just two syllables. Nay-dees," he corrected, not all that politely nor rudely. More a bland indifference, distracted by his march back to the stove.

Nedies prodded at the cooling jelly inside the pot, barely glancing Forgraves's way. "To whom do I owe the pleasure?"

His bifocals nearly slipped off his nose, and he scrambled to catch them before they left an impression in his stock.

@Forgraves

Action. Thought. "Speech."

"ah! yes, sorry. ney-dees." he corrected chuckling nervously. all the noise in here was kinda jarring, it made stringing together his next words a bit hard.

"T-the names Forgraves, sir! i was hoping-" he said, flinching as a pair of pots clanked together, raising his voice an octave so nedies could hear him, "that you could teach me some-some cooking skills! if you aren't busy!" he said, coughing. "i-if it's not any trouble" he added on, a little quieter.

he looked around. he didn't know what half of these objects were if he was honest. sure the one writing this post knows but he had no idea. he could only guess what was used for what by the ones nedies himself was using. well, atleast he could guess what jars were for.

"i'm planning a dinner for a friend! but i uh.. don't know anything!" he added.

he stood and fidgeted awkwardly in place, flinching as something fell in the sink.

Forgraves. What a pleasant, gentlemanly sort of name!

A flat lid clattered to cover the jelly as Nedies turned to regard the fox at long last. Sunlit eyes peered down the bridge of a bat-like nose, scanning from puffy ears to dainty little feet and bushy tail. His left hand came up to solo thumb through his beard (mind the sharp edge on that knife-finger of yours, man!) and he let loose a "Hmm..."

Then a "Hum..."

Then a "Hmph!"

That came with a solid nod, because he'd had the most wonderful idea; an idea which was... "if you'd clean out the back of my damn oven, I'd be happy to give you some pointers—or cater," Nedies began to mutter, "if we can't figure out how to use those paws of yours..." That may prove to be an issue.

But, one thing at a time! This small gentleman just so happened to be the perfect size to reach the back of his crusty, terrible oven and—completely unaware of the very Hansel and Gretel-like nature of such a trade offer—who was Nedies to not jump at such an opportunity? Perhaps the puffy lad would love it so much that he'd come back and be a permanent cleaner. Those damn tumbleweeds they called janitors were ineffective as anything, apparently.

Nedies plodded to the sink, withdrawing a comically oversized and soapy sponge. On his way to the oven, he picked up a bent and rusty spatula "to chip off the hard bits with, should you accept such a noble undertaking." (This was explained with no less than fifty milligrams of deadpan irony, except he did respect and appreciate no minimum wage workers!)

Both waited on the edge of the ash-filled oven.

@Forgraves

Action. Thought. "Speech."

He peered over into the oven at the request, shuddering. "Oh dear... that thing looks dreadful. n-no offense!" he chuckled nervously, panicked. he stood up, grabbing the sponge and spatula, barely holding batch a retch at the taste of soap. not his fault he didnt have hands!

"i'll try my best!" he said, looking up, taking off his glasses and setting them next to him on the floor. hopefully nedies wouldnt step on them. that'd be bad.

he crawled in, spatula gripped firmly beneath his teeth, gagging at how greasy the air in this thing just felt .

he moved, and tried his darndest to scrape some of this gunk off.

He flinched as a disgusting CRUNCH filled the air as he rammed the spatula into the gunk, a chunk of it falling from the ovens roof. with a start like this, he was able to begin chipping away at the edges, trying to avoid getting hit with falling debris.

"How did it get so dirty anyway?" he asked, voice partially muffled by the spatula between his teeth.

"I really can't take any offense there." Nedies waved two hands dismissively by way of a placating gesture, but the fox was already pawing off his glasses and jumping into the oven. Perfect.

With an attitude like that, the little guy would be done in no time. And while he was busy with that—

Nebulous amounts of gunk gave that first crunch!, and it was accompanied by the sound of a finger flinching to touch a scalding hot pan. Nedies swore he heard a sizzle as the pad grazed the surface he immediately wanted to kick across the floor, and he backpedaled into the island at the heart of the kitchen.

But, saving face, he managed to only hiss quietly in pain and start dipping the burnt digit in the somewhat dirty sink water. (Desperate times call for desperate measures, and he didn't need his hands clean right this instant.)

"Oh, a few thousand cycles of cooking'll do that to any implement." The centaur glared down his nose, though Forgraves likely couldn't see. He grumbled, "I'm lucky anything here's still intact now that all the labor force seems to have flown the coop or, well—" A dry laugh. "... y'know, died."

He made a theremin noise as a substitute for outright saying "anyways", huffing.

"Is this friend of yours anyone important? Have any taste whatsoever?" If he was going to commit to teaching, it'd better be for more than just primal things like putting meat on fire and eating it with the soot included.

@Forgraves

Action. Thought. "Speech."

Forgraves ears twitched at the slightest sound of nedies pained hissing, but kept chipping at the oven. he hummed, only pausing at the... grim mention of where the actual cleaning staff must have went. a nervous laugh in agreement, "hehe.. y-yeah!.. a shame." he chirped, coughing.

he thought about it, though. thousands of cycles... thats a long time. plus with no help? no wonder this thing's a mess.

he smiled at being able to help though, even if only a little. maybe he could make nedies something back at home for stuff like this.

he made an affirmative, joyous noise at the question, "oh, yes!" he said, voice still muffled slightly, "He's the blacksmith in Leo, though i think his name might... also be blacksmith..? either way, he's done alot in recent cycles to help me and my family, thought i'd do something nice for him. i-it... probably sounds stupid, it's possible he won't come at all." he said, growing more nervous towards the end, putting the spatula down only for a moment, to take the sponge to some of the ceiling. "But i thought it'd be.. i don't know. a decent way to repay him. he said.

he made a shocked yelp as water squeezed from the sponge directly on his face, pausing for a moment, before going back to scrubbing. he was going to need a bath after this.

Now, wasn't that a damn surprise?

Nedies released a genuinely awed gasp. "That poor guy's still going?" Sure, it'd be foolish to let him die for his talents, but… "even if he doesn't show up, he deserves at least a little compensation for his craft." Of a gentle, loving sort; not hurled insults and demands.

The Palace's head chef might be a bit of an ass, but he wasn't twisted and sickened by Chaos and violence. It was his fellow craftsman now at stake here. Hell, he was tempted to come along now. (But, Forgraves couldn't know just yet how quickly he was breaking through this old cook's hardass exterior.) "Soon as you're done, we're planning one Hell of a meal."

Actually…

He dropped a sack of short-grain rice on the countertop, clearing it with a clatter of cutlery and pots. "Chop-chop, Forgraves! You're honorary sous chef once you're out of the dungeon." Then, he clip-clopped away into the cold storage beneath his kitchen.

@Forgraves