Dining Area

Roy walks into the dining hall with @maelik and heads for the counter.

"Hi, I'd like..."

He glances up at the menu.

"A chicken sandwich, please."

Turning back to Maelik, he asks:

"What do you want, Maelik?"

The kitchen staff looks up at Maelik, sighing inwardly. Another student with "dietary needs". One of those fad diets, no doubt. What is it this time. No seafood within four feet of the bread? No salt unless it's Asgeir Mountain rock salt? Only milk from white cows, not brown cows?

"No, sir. I'm afraid I can't just let any old student into the kitchens. There are laws against that. Let us know of your dietary needs and we'll be sure to do our best to suit them."

The server steps back, terrified.

"Listen, mister. I just take your money and scoop your mashed potatoes. I don't make food. That's not on me, you got it? I don't even look at it until it's in that heated tray ready to be served."

As Maelik glares at him, he hurriedly adds:

"B-b-but I'll be sure to pass the message along!"

He runs into the kitchen. A moment later, a massive, bulky man with an almost godlike mustache emerges. He's wearing a chef's outfit and hat, but it's still clear that he's buff enough to bench-press a pregnant cow. In fact, he's about one good flex from ripping out of his jacket entirely.

"I hear you have a problem with our cooking...sir. If you find the food the staff prepares to be so offensive, I'll be glad to prepare your meals myself...if you're worthy."

He whips a ladle from his belt and twirls it expertly before leveling at Maelik.

"What makes you think you can criticize my cooks? Only I criticize my cooks."

Maelik returned the burly mustached man's ladle point with a glare and added on another heaping helping of death threat to make sure that he was being taken seriously. This man may be large but Maelik was far larger and it would take a whole lot more than a squishy meat sack to scare him in line.

"Oh Royal, you have no idea..."

"What I see when I walk in here is a soulless cesspool of brainless food and lackluster motivation. It pains me to even call this place a cafeteria, I've seen more upstanding food stalls back in Hell! You see I run the kitchen back in the most lucrative business in Isra, The Midnight Sun. You may not have heard of it but I take pride in my culinary ability regardless and I know a thing or two about food and how it should be prepared. As such I'm more than qualified to make a complaint but hey, I haven't even taken a nibble or your food yet so why not give it a chance eh? In fact since you're so incensed by my skepticism why make a wager and shut my mouth real good. If your staff can make something of about three quarters of my quality then I'll shut my yap and eat your muck with a smile. But if I win then from here on I'm making my own meals and I demand that your cooks watch me when I do it so they can learn a thing or two."

He points to some of the nearby seat and cocks his head to one side. "And I want you to sit down there with me and Royal while they do it, do we have a deal or do you not have enough faith in your own kitchen staff to risk it?"

The demon watched on as the other chef 'motivated' his crew and couldn't help but feel a little bit impressed by his professional technique. At least the man understood how to keep the other layabouts in line.

When the mustachioed meatsack meandered to the designated table Maelik would give him a sneer and locked his fingers together to cradle his head.

"Glad to see you've got the meatballs for the job, now let's just see if those bumbling greenhorns have the talent to at least not make me vomit."

An unwelcome smile slowly crept its way up Maelik's face, this man reminded him of himself. He couldn't help but start to like the guy.

"I know what you mean, I swear the cooks back at my place can't be trusted with a sharpened knife half the time but I know they can make something wonderful if they put their backs into it."

The demon was about to share one of his kitchen stories when the man challenged him to one of his favorite pass times, Maelik practically choked on his tongue.

"You want to arm wrestle me? Why, nobody's took me up on a bout of arm wrestling since I made that one guy's arm into bone jelly... And then when he whined I turned it into actual jelly... Sure, why not! Should be fun!"

Sticking his own elbow on the table Maelik couldn't help but notice the difference in arm length. Being a much larger creature the demon would be forced to put his arms as a strange sloped angled in order to reach the other man's hand. This would of course mean that he'd be at a slight disadvantage but seriously, how strong could the guy be anyway?

"On the count of three."

Roy watches, a look of minor concern on his face. These two are a bit too intense for his liking. He chews on his sandwich and scoots his chair backwards a little bit, to avoid the wooden fragments if the table breaks. He doesn't want to get staked today.

"-AAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

If nothing else, the cook's lung capacity is impressive. He flexes harder, and his muscles bulge once more. Not just his arm, this time, but his whole body. The sturdy wooden table is no longer looking so sturdy, and is shaking from the sheer amount of force on top of it. Maelik would feel the pressure increase almost tenfold. Strangely enough, the light of the magic lamps shine on the cook's hair, making it appear as though it's glowing golden. How odd.

"-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

"-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"


The cook strains mightily, massive droplets of sweat rolling down his face. He leans his whole body into Maelik's arm, just barely managing to return from the brink of defeat. There's a soft cracking sound as one of the table's legs begins to split. The force increases one more time, but it's clear that he's met his limit.