Caught in culinary disadvantage

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The crow sat off from the ground and into the air in a display of brilliant white wings flapping and with an automated caw pushing way through its smooth beak. Left behind, still on the ground of, not quite an alley but a minor side street running along behind the many shops in the district, the figure of a young woman; collapsed on her side. Still conscious - more or less, however the little witch had deprived her body from every small bit of energy and fuel to actually function and had in the end had to protest. At first there had been the dizziness but it had come so suddenly, so abruptly that although the sensation was a familiar one for her, it had nearly been the one to knock her out. Be it wishful thinking or not, she wouldn’t thought to be able to handle it hadn’t it been for her legs to give out afterwards and when those denied to do their job, it was a rather difficult task to regain any sliver of balance. And she’d collided with the ground. The rough concrete had been slightly warm to the touch, she’d noticed as bare skin made pressing contact. Warmed up by the heating sun that had been shinning throughout the day and made sure of a temperate late evening even with the sun currently gone from the sky and horizon. Her breathing was calm then. A little slow, perhaps. But as the poking and prodding pain from her midriff started, she’d sucked in sharply before curling her body a bit. Toes curling as well. With as much hast and movement as her unintentional malnourishment allowed her.
The growl from her stomach was an honestly pitiful sound - and feeling - as soon as it presented itself. Hunger. There was a clear reason why people ate. It was a necessity. And Saga, despite unnoticeably letting arrogance blind her to it, was really no different. With black lock of hair, having freed themselves from the quick bun on the back of her head naturally as she’d gone through her day to day, lay over her still half-open eyes as she looked at notice in front of her. Focused on the air and made the brick-wall or what else into a blurred mess of things. She took a deeper breath to sooth the arch and that was when she faintly heard her familiar fly off. She didn’t worry about that, though.

Refraining from flying high above, the white crow kept to a height just nearing the switch from ground floor to upper floor of the building, as it circled around the corner and into the slimmer alley way. Straight forwards was headed to the open pedestrian street where, while the amount having lessened from earlier, there would still be some people walking about at this hour. Only its travels were not meant to go as far as a side door then opened and a destiny touched aura walked through it.
Locking its wings, the crow hovered shortly overhead before it mobilizing them in a manoeuvring flap - and another calling caw to catch the attention of the individual - that allowed it to turn gracefully in the air in a descent that would land it perfectly in place in front, and with front towards, this wandering essence of right choice. But instead of the crow landing on two thin and clawed feet, it seemingly evaporated into a swirl of glittering white that, like how a wind carried a tail of leaves, moved the last bit to the ground where it took solid form again. This time; a  stoat looking ferret with just as brilliant white as the crow’s feathers. Large glittering and golden eyes looked straight up at the individual for as long as it felt needed to make to have full attention.
Then the ferret scurried off. And then it stopped. No more than a couple of steps back down the alley and it looked back with head raised. It did the same thing again. Ran a few steps, stopped and looked back. Guiding. Checking if it was being properly followed. And only when it felt a sense of success did it run longer before looking back until eventually - hopefully - turning the corner to where their witch still lay to collect herself and none the wiser of her familiars antics.

Stroke after stroke, the knife was sharpened against the whetstone. The sound from the knife and the whetstone sliding against each other was accompanied by the chef’s attempt at beatboxing along to Put Your Records On that was playing on a low volume in the background. Usually, a chef was one of the first to leave the restaurant, but here, this chef was always the last one. He wished to have the best tools all day at work, which was why he during the day collected his used and ‘dull’ tools in a box. That way, he could prepare them for the next day, or at least not use the tools from the box. With the night terrors, that Chip, the chef, was bothered by, he truly didn’t mind spending as much time as possible sharpening his utensils. The waiters and the cleaning staff had left fifteen minutes ago. So, he simply jammed on his own, showing some dance moves between each utensil. Everything had its specific space and slot. Even the person who cleaned the utensils wasn’t allowed to put them back into place – because they didn’t know the right place. Chip needed it to be correct every time because if it wasn’t, his cooking would tremble, even though he could just use his ability for cooking; he liked to do it by hand. Eventually, the box with tools was empty, and there was nothing more for him to do than clean up, shut down and lock the door. As soon as the box was in its place, he shut off the radio and lights, clocked out, changed his outfit, and lastly locked the door behind him.

Standing close to the staff entrance, with the door locked behind him and keys in his pockets, he took out his crumbled package of cigarettes and put a crooked one between his lips. He heard a caw but didn’t think much of it. He got out his lighter and was attempting to light it as he saw the color of the crow. It made his curious radiant eyes look after it. His brows raised to the roof as it evaporated into a snowlike glitter and transformed into a ferret. He was certain, that if he threw the ferret into a pile of snow in the winter, he wouldn’t be able to find it again, of how it would camouflage itself. Its fur glinted from the lights that lit up the street windows. The eyes almost reminded him of his own eyes in the summer days, golden, curious, and sparkling. All of a sudden, it ran away, after an intense starring contest. It made Chip blink multiple times, shaking his head before he looked in the direction it had run off to. Right there, just a few meters from him, it stood, staring at him before it repeated; running, stopping, and staring. A small curse word left him, followed by telling the ferret to be patient, and that he was on his way. While walking in its direction, he tried to light his cigarette, with no success. Another curse word left him as he frustrated put away his lighter and shoved the sad-looking cigarette back into the crumbled package. With his hands deep in the pockets of his pants, he followed the ferret, listening closely to whatever there was around them. Luckily, the greatest noise was some drunk people on the pedestrian street further away. He could hear the lights from the street windows and how the ferret’s paws scattered over the stones that made the street. They turned a corner, and he noticed how a woman laying on the ground. His brows furrowed when he felt the lack of nutrition in her. With a sigh, he took his hands out of his pockets and squatted all the way down in front of her. “I’m really sorry, Miss, but this ain’t the best place to collapse,” he told her, while his wrists rested on his knees, and his eyes were directed at her. He gave her time to give her best response, but whatever it was, it was clearly not satisfactory. With a sigh and a groan, he started to get her from a layin position to a sitting, “I’m terribly sorry, Miss, but you really need something in your system,” he mumbled before he placed one of his arms under her knees and the other behind her back. “One, two, three,” he said while he got up into a standing position, trying to act like he wasn’t what he was, a thunderbird. As soon as he stood up, he glanced toward the woman in his arms. He started walking toward the staff entrance. “Women,” he groaned. When he reached the door, he found himself not having the hands to pick up his keys. Therefore, he maneuvered her back against the brick wall so he could get his keys before he got her back against his arm again. He managed to enter his security code and unlock the door. Putting his back against the door, he pushed it open and carried her inside. He walked over to the light switch, that made the kitchen lights flicker. Being used to the flickering he walked into the restaurant and found her a table up against a wall. With his foot, he pushed the chair out and slowly put her into the chair. “Stay there, Miss,” he mumbled before he left her. He went to the waiters’ staff room, unlocked it, and found a wool blanket. While scratching his jaw, he walked back to her. With no word, he unfolded the slightly itching blanket and wrapped it around her. He gave one of her shoulders a squeeze and two taps before he left her and went into the somewhat open kitchen. This restaurant was after all, all about the food. The first thing he did was turn on the speaker and I Wanna Dance With Somebody started playing. He turned on the different machinery that he would be needing. With a practiced rotating movement, he let the cast iron pan spin in his hand before he put it on the lit gas stove. “Vegetarian? Vegan? Any allergies?” he wondered, looking up toward her.

The sound of his voice was distant in the beginning. A soft murmur mimicking the shuffling of people passing on the main street. Only his voice and his words were much more in the foreground of her perceiving consciousness. As more words were added to his sentence, his immensely observant statement as it would eventually turn into, the muffling filter also cleared from her ears and by the last word, she had returned from her heavily inflicted daze. Or at least enough back that she slowly was able to turn proper attention towards him, although it really only was a small turn of the head to get him better into her line of view. The eyes that found and locked onto him weren’t clouded - but clear. It was instead the drooping of her eyelids and the slow blinking as well as the very relaxed facial features that contributed to the tired and dizzy aura around her. Her lips had parted gently a few seconds before her tongue had collected a reply. “Ah.” She started to stir and lowered her gaze from him as she slowly hinted to get up on her own. “I’m aware. I’d have prefer a softer - urg - substrate had I been given the choice.” Besides the faint groan from an unfavourable muscle movement causing another hunger-induced cramp, Saga spoke softly. Almost sounding unbothered if it hadn’t been for the clear distinction of a lower speaking volume. And the discreet breathiness. A part of her was about to tell her to simply let her lay there for a moment when this stranger got to work with her which she hadn’t expected from him. With little to no trouble he had her sat up. He apologized a second time. And that was when she felt his arms snaking around her. It’d pulled her attention right back to him in an instant and the next moment where he heaved himself up on standing legs, her half-numb arms automatically swung around his neck and leaned into him to settle in an almost pre-discussed and pre-rehearsed centre of balance. She was starved currently but that wasn’t synonymous with her weighting really little, so without either decent strength or this kind of innately build-in cooperation could’ve ended with them both back on the ground. He seemed to handle it just fine, though. Bafflement dominated her emotionally aloof the entire trip this unfamiliar man had taken upon himself to bring her on, her legs dangling rhythmically to his determined steps. She needed something… in her.. system?
The white ferret looked to have absolutely no quarrel with what was going on which possibly played the biggest role in how calm Saga took it. And as they want, the ferret followed. Scurrying on call paws right by his feet. And also first one in as the door was pushed open.

Having been primly sat - and shortly thereafter; wrapped, Saga now took her new surroundings in. An empty restaurant. She’d have thought a place like this would have a scent of food but to her it just smell like furniture that had been freshly wiped down. Not even a strong scent of cleaning products. The only outlier was the smell of gas that sneaked into her nostrils and she looked towards the open kitchen, where her stranger had retreated to and she caught his eyes looking back at her. Her dark brows furrowed. “Neither,” she said, being of rather few words. And yet she afterwards made sure to add: “No allergies either. Are you- Are you going to cook?” It was pretty obvious unless he spontaneously had decided to have her be solo audience to an artist performance juggling with pots and pans. However impressive that skilled twirl he did was, that felt farfetched. “You know, I’m quite alright now. I don’t need for you to cook anything up for me.” Her stomach made another noise and she instinctively placed a hand over it while looking down. She sighed, feeling a little bit betrayed albeit still firm-standing on what she was trying to tell him. This.. this.. She looked up at him again. He was a mousy looking man with unruly hair and she had to admit that it matched his environment astonishingly  
Circe, the white familiar, was just as intrigued by this man as their witch. If not more, then most certainly more openly because rather than unionising with Saga by the table and cosy-looking blanket, it resolved to jumping the distance from the floor of the restaurant and all the way up onto to raised counter space where finished dishes from the talented chef’s got place for waiters to bring to awaiting dining patrons. A large jump for such a small creature and the familiar did also have to reply on dematerializing and rematerializing as it did when changing form. But it was the same Mustelidae form that appeared on the counter and immediately it found way to the very edge from the raised counter to the kitchen counter and stove just on the level down, just to follow curiously along with what the cook was doing. Unlike their witch, Circe liked food. Pretty food- and treat-motivated for a potentially ancient celestial being. Especially considering they probably didn’t need food to survive.  

In the meantime, Saga pulled the blanket a little more around her shoulders, despite not feeling cold. He had told her to stay there, in her seat, but she still slowly rose from it. Careful while making sure she was, like she’d just told him, alright. Strength had returned to her legs as expected but it was by stubborn fortitude like how you could force yourself that block home after a too long walk. And she did keep a few fingers on the table, as she stood up in case her balance really was completely off. But it went fine. “Are you perhaps the only one?” she asked, scouting the seating area she was in one more time. Was it his place?

Now, if Chip hadn’t had the ability that he had, where he could change the food that was present, then he would still be able to notice just how horrible of a condition this woman was in. Laying there on the ground, aching by simply trying to move. He knew that many people would barely know what to do with a woman like that and would probably just let her be for any predator to devour as weak as she looked. He could barely imagine her having enough energy to defend herself, especially with so little of the moon left. As a thunderbird, it was easy to pick out his own prey, when he had to, and her scent was clearly something he would rather stay away from; indicating that she was a witch, besides from the small fella that ran around. Those were the greatest indicators of her species and her capabilities of defending herself.

Free reins for cooking food. That could both be the most boring task and the most exciting. But that was also how he felt with restrictions; it could be such a dull task or an interesting adventure to find something simple and make it her best meal ever. Because he could do everything. He could pick something very simple and make it extraordinary or make something complex and just as overwhelming to eat. “Yes, Miss,” he told her before he prepared the pan with some butter. He couldn’t help but laugh out loud as she mentioned that she was okay. He even heard how her stomach betrayed her, telling him it was a lie. “I am going to cook for you, and you are definitely not alright,” he continued with a joyous voice. Maybe the music helped his mood. His fellow chefs and the waiters probably wouldn’t want to experience him without music as much as he could shout and scold them for cooking, delivering, and accepting complaints with their heads up their arses.

Chip looked up as the small white-haired animal jumped up onto the counter. He had to try and keep his mouth shut for not telling the witch how animals weren’t allowed inside unless they were dead and preferably skinned, but Chip could do that if she didn’t wish for the small beast to be in his way. His hands were washed before he started find a knife and started cutting different vegetables. It went fast, almost like a machine cutting pasta for the supermarkets to sell in fine plastic packages. Even though his eyes were completely focused on his hands he noticed how she stood up. Now that the kitchen wasn’t exactly busy, he wasn’t going to tell her to sit down, not yet at least. “Well, it is a Monday, and we usually don’t work this late on Mondays,” he told her. One could hear how the knife slid across the cutting board to make space for more. “So yes, I am the only one right now. The others are getting well-deserved rest for another day,” he elaborated. Quite suddenly he put the knife down and looked up at her. “If you wanna get closer, Miss, maybe bring a stool or a crutch so you won’t be falling, hm?” he suggested. “The floor can take the sliding of a stool,” he mumbled as he looked down at the cutting board, over at the pan, and then quickly back at the cutting board, picking it up and moving over to the pan. A sizzling sound started. He grabbed the pan and started moving it so the vegetables got mixed. With a trained movement he threw the cutting board behind him, and it landed in a dishwashing bucket. It did make some rustling noise as it found its way down. Meat was placed on a new cutting board – yes, he cared for the different kinds of cutting boards. For a moment there was a little bit of silence while he focused on the feeling of the meat. The song shifted to Girls Just Want to Have Fun and a very soft hum could be heard from him, as he hummed the melody. His sparkling blue eyes were quite focused while his fingers inspected the meat. He started slicing it. “Oh momma dear, we’re not the fortunate ones, and girls, they wanna have fun,” he looked up at her and pointed at her, friendly, with the knife. It was in no matter threathening the way he pointed. Chip should keep his career in the kitchen, and not go for the singing career, but it wasn't... That bad... Just a little rusty and low. “Oh, girls just wanna have fun…” His eyes got a little narrow as he reached the last words. His eyes went back to the meat as he continued slicing it. “You know if you wanna have fun,” he mumbled, turning the meat and slicing it again, “You gotta get something in that stomach of yours,” There was something, a little harsh in his voice, but he kept some of it down for now. “Even your little friend there wants a piece. Don’t you feed it?” It was rhetorical, he didn’t care about how she cared for her beast. “Is there something the beast doesn’t eat?” The words left him quickly enough for her not to reply on whether she fed her familiar. His eyes looked up at her while he without looking grabbed some spices. He was quite the expert at provoking gluttony without his boss. His dishes usually made people ask for another plate. Maybe it was because of the touch of magic he gave it before he put it out for the waiter to take.

Her lips parted, readying to verbally stand her ground a bit further on what he had deemed to be a lie from her tongue. It was all rather relative, wasn’t it? In some regard, the little witch hadn’t actually been lying when telling him she was alright. She was more ‘alright’ than she’d been right as she’d collided with the ground. She was conscious and well of mind; well enough at the very least. What she’d been attempting to convey to him hadn’t necessarily been that she was ‘alright’ but instead that she was now faring in a state where she should be able to get herself home where she then would be able to take care of things. That his – whoever he was – expertise was not needed. But in the end, she didn’t say anything. She closed her lips gently and slow and it was even as if her shoulders fell into a submissive posture. Like she’d already given up on any arguments. Perhaps she was simply too energy deficient to do so. A softness entered her eyes then, while they rested on him, as a small, appreciative smile that only really appeared in her gaze and not yet reached her lips.
Saga tilted her head curiously at him while the sound of rhythmic chopping started to sound almost hypnotic in her front ears making it just a tad more difficult to properly focus on what the cook was saying in a way that the music playing in the background didn’t seem to do. Not that it made it impossible, not at all, she just needed to be more conscious about listening. “And then you’re still here,” she pointed out, softly, as her eyes wandered away from him and starts searching around for what stool or chair that was near her at the same time as she kept talking. “Deciding to take care of one last stranger for the night instead of getting said ‘well-deserved rest’ yourself.” She fleetingly glanced back to him, pointedly, before looking away again. Raising a lazy hand out from the caped blanket and with very small and elegant movements of her fingers, a lonely wooden, backless stool from a stacked bunch up began gliding over the floor by her telekinetic pull and obediently followed her just a little bit closer to the open kitchen. Luckily, he’d been right and the stood dragging over the floor boards didn’t make any unpleasant sounds. She carefully crawled to sit on it as he’d instructed her. She had barely noticed the dizziness from standing up when she’d gone from sitting. But sitting down again. A chair with a back would’ve been her better choice but she balanced herself pretty well on her own by pulling a leg up to join her on the stool and then wrapped both arms around it and leaned her chest into it. Creating a sturdy centre. And probably made her seem quite small and vulnerable. Her young face wouldn’t help defuse such image.

There wasn’t much else she could do than watch him do what he did. In no way did she feel compelled to want to join him – Saga had no place in a kitchen. However, watching him she didn’t discover any hunger, not even when the scent of sizzling butter had mixed with perfectly sautéed vegetables but the skill, he showed, was something fascinating. And every single time he looked up from his work her eyes were on him to instantly catch them with intense eye contact. But then the knife got pointed at her and less-than-ideal singing words were directed at her and she was caught off guard. Eyes widened discreetly and even with her lack of strong emotional display, even she couldn’t hide the surprise in her face. Neither could she hide the smile – that soft smile that earlier only had appeared in her eyes – from finally forming on her lips as well. She paired it involuntarily with a huffy exhale much like a faint chuckle. The smile only grew from that. Clearly what he did to try and entertain her, it worked.
“Circe is admittedly a lot more food enthusiastic than me.” The white ferret perked up its head and shortly turned to look back towards Saga but afterwards, as it turned back to the kitchen, it, without hesitation, jumped to the next level down: The actually kitchen counter space not more than its own size longwise away from the cutting board. Surprisingly, despite having run on the dirty concrete outside, it left no dirty footprints over the metal table. Not even an oily one. Nothing was left. As if the quick shift it’d done while jumping the high distance, had somehow reset its physical form. “They are too prideful to eat anything made specifically for animals if that is what you mean. But do you want to become favourable; fruit such as berries would be an easy way.” Although she’d just said that, and although it was very much eh truth, in that moment, the ferret had sneaked closer to the stove to stretch neck and body to sniff at the buttered vegetable, sizzling away with very clear interest in what was going on.

In the meantime, Saga was chewing a little on some words on her tongue. She’d fallen silent for a short while but eventually broke it with: “Saga,” she said, practically out of nowhere, making sure to look to the cook. “You can call me Saga rather than ‘Miss’. While I don’t mind the respect of the word, you’re not a customer of mine. Rather the opposite. So I believe that Saga should service.”

Chip glanced up at her once as she spoke to him. Yes, he was still here. He nodded softly as she spoke about how he had taken care of a stranger. “Yup, sounds like tonight’s plan,” he assured her, keeping his eyes on the food he chopped. “Sleep is for the weak, isn’t that the saying?” he wondered, tilting his head a little. To him, he certainly didn’t want to sleep. The longer he could stay awake the better. Cutting food could almost be a dance for him, especially when he had his music going on in the background. There was something incredible about it. Even more so when he cut something spectacular out of it. Shaping, patterns, and all of that sort. He didn’t even mind looking up as she moved closer, seemingly with a stool. It was first when she sat down that he could be certain that it had indeed been what she had been doing. She made herself comfortable, and when he noticed how she looked, he couldn’t help but pull on a caring smile. He was glad that she found herself comfortable enough to be close to him. It meant a lot. She trusted him with a knife in his hands. The fact that the knife was focused on cutting and slicing food was something else.

She seemed entertained by his small karaoke lesson. Hopefully, the entertainment would actually get something into that sweet head of hers. He somehow wished that she was more than just pretty – but could she be pretty if she didn’t even know how important and how delicious food could be? A sweet slightly joking huff left him as she mentioned how her familiar were the hungriest of them. It didn’t surprise him the way each of them acted. He was certain that the familiar would have to stay away from the restaurant during the opening hours because the sweet being might not be able to leave. His eyes darted over to the white ferret as it moved down to the kitchen counter. It made something in his stomach turn. He glanced up at the witch for a short moment as she mentioned what the ferret ate. When he looked back at the ferret it had moved dangerously close to the pan with the vegetables, “Hey, hey,” he said and moved toward it, waving his wrist at it. If it wanted some, it had to wait, just like the witch. Of course, he could just finish the dish right then and there, but he liked the work. It took minutes away from his sleep.

The long and boney fingers tended to the meat, adding the ingredients, working a little extra magic before he added it to the pan so it could gain as much flavor as possible. With a small spoon, he picked up the melted butter and some vegetables and let it run over the meat to make everything taste extraordinary. His ability even made sure that there was nothing that had been forgotten. He almost froze when she suddenly said something out of nowhere. He looked up at her with the pan tilted in one hand and a spoon in the other, filled with the butter mix. A laugh left him when she was finished speaking. He shook his head before he looked back at the dish and continued. “You know, I’m always told to speak nicely to the customers, which is the category you fit the best in right now,” he mumbled, “As soon as I get personal with costomers, I’m going to get too comfortable,” he added before he looked up. He made them food, followed them home, would be invited inside the home, got their phone number and then he moved to another restaurant. “Chip,” he chose to introduce himself, almost hoping that this wasn't going to be another to the collection. He wasn’t really the type for shaking hands or hugging, so he simply kept his hands occupied hoping that Saga wouldn’t just present her hand.

Saga smiled a calm smile that he probably wouldn’t be able to see as his eyes were on the chopping board – where they should be. There was no need for him to impress the little witch with such skills as blind chopping. He was plenty impressive in his field as is. She observed it in the overall way he moved around. Like it was the more natural thing for him in the world. Like the way her fingers moved upon her use of magic; like the flow of it. “Someone I know, I’d believe, would’ve strongly disagreed with you on that,” she mentioned as he proclaimed that sleep was something needless for the strong. While she wouldn’t actually agree with him herself, she did very much practice it similarly. Sleep was, at times, like food for her. A chore. And in that, she felt on an exact wave length with the man. A rather nice, delicate feeling.
Not to say that she didn’t actually enjoy sleeping but it just didn’t come as… as naturally every night. Something told her, that when coming home this night, she wouldn’t sleep soundly either. So, she simply smiled and allowed that soft feeling of comradery he had managed to bring forth.

The hand quickly had the white familiar pull away from the stovetop and beady, golden eyes darted towards the owner of said hand before, just as quickly, scurrying along again. Circe wasted very little time. At first it jumped back unto the other raised edge that bordered the kitchen with the restaurant – where finished dishes would be placed for waiters to grab and bring out – but as one would expect it to jump in the direction of their trusted witch it turned, pointing it’s adorable snout back towards the cook after having run a bit along the tabletop and jumped back down to the work area, just on the other side of the stove. Here it ran a few steps and turned into the flutter of white that swirled towards Chip. More specifically towards Chip’s shoulder. It materialized just in time for small paws to land on it and move all the way around the back of his neck where it finally laid down, now having gained a new, possibly better, vantage point of what he was doing. And did they care about intruding on his person space? Not in the slightest!

It would be easy to believe, that the mystical creature had been completely enchanted by the smell of the food because Saga herself was even starting to salivate. Which was strange. She usually didn’t react to food that way. Not unless she’d been purposefully starved long enough before being presented. This felt elevated, in a way and some suspension started to dwell up in her. Make her look at him closer. She could share she sensed something extremely familiar to her. But..- She turned her gaze intensely to his face. He was no witch and yet she sensed actual magic.
She jolted a bit when he suddenly looked up at her, while she was watching him, and for a second, a rather innocent and pure expression of surprise adorned her face. His eyes reminded her of her own. Even with the distance and the lightening from the kitchen that casted distorted shadows over him, she could see similarities in their shade. Or more than that, they probably reminded her of her father’s. Then as she gained back control after having being caught off guard, she chuckled too.
“If that’s the case then I should make sure to pay you for your efforts and time at the end of the night like any other customer. Although, you don’t seem to give me much of a choice in whether or not you’re going to feed me or not,” she pointed out, being pretty shameless in her tease. Because that was what it was despite the monotone way she spoke. She didn’t actually blame him for anything. She didn’t mind this – this act of kindness. “Chip – That is a name I haven’t come by often. If at all.” She turned attention to the ferret, that was still relaxing with its head slumped comfortably over his shoulder – at least if it had gotten permission to stay there. Her eyes only stayed there for a short while before returning to Chip once again.

She hadn’t lied. She had lived for a long time – if compared to humans – but that she hadn’t come across another Chip in that time, spoke about the people she usually mingled around. Chip was a name way too casual for her usual clientele. And it was a foreign name for her German heritage. Luckily, Saga spoke with a no distinct accent so it wasn’t troublesome on her tongue to pronounce. Chip.

A small scoff left Chip as she mentioned that someone, she knew would strongly disagree with him about sleep being unimportant. “Well, that person is probably lazy and would much rather sleep than work,” he said before he stopped chopping for a moment and looked up at her. He pointed at himself with the knife, “I for an instance, work all the time and I feel amazing,” Lies. But who cared? No one.

Chip didn’t let his eyes wander much at the small white beast, as soon as it was out of his working zone, it didn’t need any attention, which was why he quickly looked toward it as it shortly jumped down on the counter, but looked away again, continuing the cooking as it turned into the white glitter. As long as the glitter was edible, he didn’t mind it getting in the food, but suddenly he felt a weight on his shoulder, which made him look toward the shoulder, “Oi!” he almost jumped letting a hand reach toward his back when it moved around, but when it settled, so did he. With a sigh, his shoulders sank. “Manners…” he mumbled before he gave the little fella a small piece of the food he was preparing.

A small smirk formed on his lips when she mentioned how she should be paying him, and for a moment he was about to be a little too cheeky and tell her that she didn’t have to pay with money, but he believed it wasn’t the right thing to say right now. Maybe if it had been someone whom he had tested boundaries with before, but this, this could end wrong if he suddenly said such a thing. “I’m overpaid, so please, this is on the house,” he assured her, shortly glancing up at her while he took care of the pan. “If you feel horrible about not paying me, you can owe me a favor,” he suggested shrugging, clearly showing her that it didn’t matter much to him.
She gained a small glance as she spoke about his name. It made his lip curl shortly. “I’ve had a few names,” he said and shrugged, “So, now I’m just Chip,” he told her. To be true, Chip was a nickname for Richard, which was his birth name. A name he hadn’t known for the first, well almost two decades of his life. He had been cut off from his biological family. There was something about thinking about his name, and how he had just taken the nickname, so he wouldn’t be thinking about his biological family, that made him sad. Even if it wasn’t on purpose, he got oddly quiet, or to some, it might just seem like he was deeply concentrated. “I uh,” he continued preparing and taking care of the meat on the pan, “I grew up in France, but my-uh biological parents are from Germany,” he said and nodded, not looking up at her while he explained.