[Racouol]

Racouol looked at his room and sighed. He knew that somewhere underneath all the piles of...stuff was a cooking area. He also noticed the movement of multiple rats, bats, and who knows what else when he first opened the duct tape covered door to his dungeon suite. He sighed again and dropped the stack of steaks onto one of the smaller piles and quickly batted away a couple of the braver rats with his frying pan. "I don't think I will be able to find the cooking area before the contest is over" he muttered to himself while he swung his frying pan at a mysterious hand that was reaching for the steaks. "Might as well get started."

Racouol walked over to the corner of the room and started removing objects from a pile and shoved it into his pocket. Meanwhile, the hand popped out of another pile of junk and snatched one of the steaks before retreating back into the pile. Seconds later a troll unearthed itself from that pile and stared greedly at the rest of the steaks. It then heard the most painful sounding noise it had ever heard. Quickly it put its hands to its ears and looked around as the noise got worse and watched as bats, rats, cockroaches, and a few dodo quickly made its way to the door. The creatures that were not moving fast enough exploded. The troll, now panicing, looked back at the steaks, which were also trembling and exploding, then ran for the door.

Racouol started cleaning and within seconds started singing 'The Bad Touch' followed by 'The Reflex' than 'Barbie Girl'. He then heard the door slam causing him to quickly turn around. Beside the door being shut, animal entrails splattered everywhere, and feathers slowly floating to the ground, nothing seemed to be abnormal. He then glanced at where the pile of steaks once stood. Only one steak remained, however it was perfectly tenderized. He then concluded that another contestant stole most of his steaks, completely unaware that the rest of the steaks exploded and where now covered in rat, bat and cockroach guts.

This post has been edited by Racouol: 01 October 2009 - 08:53 PM

[Racouol]

Racouol sat there thinking of what could happen to all the other steaks. Looking around he saw a rat foot, which was still twitching, and began to ponder who could control rats. He then remember the hand reaching out of the pile to try to steal the steaks. "Hmmm, if I can find the owner of that hand I bet that I can figure out who stole my steaks." Racouol quickly stood up, picked up the remaining steak, and proceeded in leaving the room. "Time to spy on the wanna be chefs in this contest. I will find the one who tried to sabotage me and make him pay."

[The Death of Rats]

A tiny, hooded for sat in an impresive display of ketchup and soy sauce stretching from one end of the room to the oter. Scythe propped across its possible shoulder, its tiny toebones folded together, the Grim Squeaker sat and STARED.

and STARED.

and STARED.

and STARED.*


Nothing was happening. Still, the tiny form remained absolutely motionless, eyesockets glowing weirdly.


It grinned.





*Skulls of any sort are remarkably good at this.

This post has been edited by The Death of Rats: 11 October 2009 - 07:13 AM

[Hjolnai]

Solorassil sat in a corner for a very, perhaps even suspiciously, long time, dark clouds tentatively chasing each other around his shrouded form as he thought intensely.

Hmm.... I think I need to make something "normal", but with just a little of the exotic about it to avoid looking like I'm trying too hard to seem normal. I know, a cake is the perfect thing to make. Now, what cake recipes did that chef have?

A chocolate cake? Too ordinary. Tower cake? Perhaps a little too exotic... and only half edible, as the structure needs wood. Toffee souffle might work... but it's just too suspicious to be cooking something so... unconventional, and no one liked it when it was last made, because it's too much of a solid block. Actually, that gives me an idea... the tower cake is probably similar enough to what people here know as a wedding cake, so it would be rather ordinary instead of outlandish as I first thought. I can make it a little more unconventional with ease. Still, I should keep looking through the chef's memories... there may be just the perfect dish to come second in this contest (first would be too suspicious). Maybe...

Several minutes later, Solorassil stood, and confidently walked off to look for some ingredients as his cloudy aura swirled purposefully.

[Wyvern]

A crowd of rowdy news rats swarms around the door to the Almost Dragonic Insatiable Instabaker Gang’s cooking HQ, bearing microphones crowned with swiss cheese for extended survival reporting. The door in question has been designed to bear a resemblance to the hatch of a gigantic microwave oven, with one-way bullet proof plexiglass covering the wide horizontal span of it and a code security panel where the timer would usually be. The news rats squeak in excitement and trample each others tails as the entrance slowly shifts open with a turning of several locks, very gradually shifting to the left and releasing a fair amount of steam and smoke from the interior. A figure dressed in protective cooking gear and what appears to be anti-radioactive headpiece emerges from the cooking mist like the chef of the future. The only identifiable characteristic of the alien cook are two large scaly wings, which stick from the back of his suit like some kind of ornamental kite.

The news rats go ballistic as the figure raises a claw to his headpiece.

“*Squeak* Mr. Wyvern *squeak* what’s the status of the Instabaker Gang’s recent cooking project?”

“Is it true that *squeak* the Instabaker Gang has failed and is no longer in the *squeak* runnings?”

“Oh Mr. Wyvern, Mr. Wyvern *squeak* what do you have to say to allegations that the project is *squeak* taking too long?”

“Why has *squeak* no information surfaced about the *squeak* meal that the Instabaker Gang is preparing for the masses? *squeak*”

Wyvern pulls the headpiece off of his suit, struggling with it for a moment as the back of it gets stuck on one of his horns.

“Now now, my dear newssss rats.” Wyvern finally tugs the headpiece loose, and spreads his arms with a massive sneer. “Let’s not be hasssty. To answer your questions: yessss, the Inssstabaker Gang is still working on its cooking project. The appropriate ingredients have been acquired, and now it’s simply a matter of preparing the wiggly cabbage the way it so flavorfully deserves. What you newsss rats may not understand is that good cooking takes a good deal of time and patience, especially when on a limited geld budget.”

“*Squeak* Mr. Wyvern *squeak* Mr. Wyvern *squeak* will there be any cheese involved?”

“Mr. Wyvern, do you have any *squeak* evidence to back your claims?”

“Well, it just so happens I was expecting you lot to ask that question.” Wyvern nods sagely and reaches into the front of his protective gear, pulling out a series of menus in pamphlet form. “Sssso I printed out a tentative list of foods for you to glance over. Here, spread them around.”

Wyvern hands the menus to the crowd of news rats, who proceed to practically tear the limited “Le Wiggly” pamphlets apart between themselves.

“Persssonally, I recommend reading the descriptions of the Painfully-Pealed Leaf apperetif and the Chiroq of Lamb.” Wyvern cackles evilly as he turns back to the door of his cooking HQ, leaving the rats to wrestle amongst themselves. “More dishes to materialize…”

[The Death of Rats]

Meanwhile, The Grim Squeaker can be seen hustling some very confused green alligators, long-necked geese, some humpty-backed camels, and some chimpanzees down the hall, toward his kitchen.

[WrenWind]

Cabbage soup, cabbage soufle, Cabbage rolls Hmmm What to do?

Slowly a smile crosses Wren's face and she begins to pull things down from the shelves. In just a few minutes the pristine demo kitchen is in total disarray. Her hair is coated in flour and her hands caked in dough. Bangs and clangs and clatter can be heard inside the cloud of four dust. Suddenly the dust clears and the mess vanishes and Wren stands there with a perfectly jellied wiggly cabage suspended in clear jelly. if you look closly you can even see it blink once in a while. She carefully places her submision on the judges platform.

She steps back and smiles.

[Wyvern]

The sound of heavy lock valves turning and the sharp escape of steam signal the re-opening of the door to the Almost Dragonic Insatiable Instabaker Gang’s cooking HQ, bringing the huddling news rats back to their former positions in a matter of seconds. The swoop of a tail-stinger scraping gently against the side of the giant microwave door’s plexiglass is audible before Wyvern’s snout comes into view, his goggles and anti-radioactive cooking smock looking considerably more worn and sooty than before. The overgrown lizard grins to the crowd of rats and circles a claw in the air with a certain degree of reptilian flair, grinning toothily to the gathered vermin.

“Firsssst off, before you say anything, I want to clear any rumorsss that the Almost Dragonic Insatiable Instabaker Gang has ssstolen Wiggly Cabbage recipes from rival cook contessstants - these accusations are absssurb! Everyone knows that the Instabaker Gang’s recipes are only stolen from the most reliable past cooking contest winner sourcesss.” Wyvern raises a claw and shakes it to prevent any squeaks from occurring, then continues with haste. “Sssecondly, before we commence, I’d like to say that Cabbage Patch Crème Brulèe has been added to ‘Le Wiggly’ dessert menu, and that we are mere minutes away from de-leafing Chiroq and cooking him in the way that a Wiggly Cabbage so rightfully deserves. Now please, squeak your piece.”

Wyvern leans back against the side of the Headquarter entrance with a cocky lift of his wings, placing a claw under his chin in a thinking lizard’s posture and nodding his head pre-emptively several times. It takes a couple of minutes of nodding before the odd quiet of the crowd settles in, and Wyvern tilts his snout with a baffled flick of his tongue, glancing left and right over the eerily silent rats… who, on closer inspection, would have also revealed suspiciously static facial expressions. The reptilian cooking don scratches one of his horns in confusion, then meekly hisses:

“Errrrrr, what’sss the matter guys, cat got your son? You guys eat some bad cheese or something…?”

Wyvern glances around with a slightly worried look in his eyes until he spots a news rat in the front row wiggling, which instantly makes him more-than-slightly worried. The wiggles of the first rat seem to travel at a highly infectious rate, triggering the two rats beside him to move into an immediate wiggle, followed by the two rats beside and behind them, followed by other surrounding rats, until a wave of wiggles consumes the entire news rat populace. The wiggles eventually grow so intense that the rat costumes begin to fall in time with Wyvern’s jaw, revealing wiggly cabbages of all colors and creeds, gathered in unison. Wyvern stammers as the cabbages slowly begin wiggling towards him. He turns to escape into Instabaker HQ only to find that several cabbages have already infiltrated it, leaving him cornered. The overgrown lizard clenches his teeth nervously as he backs himself against a wall, the shadow of the collective cabbages drowning out the light of the distant Instabaker Furnace.

“A-a-ambush!” Wyvern croaks.

But it’s too late.

[Wyvern]

The Pen cooking contest judges idle away in their elegant seats with a collective air of misery, daydreaming of appetizers as their hopes of eating continue to diminish. Tanuchan breathes a deep sigh and flinches as her stomach lets out a loud grumble, only to turn her head as the tilted Portrait of Zool offers a similar sound. Signe attempts to conceal her own stomach ails by stretching into some bored yet undeniably sexy position, but fails to completely hide the sound and inevitably completes the chorus of hunger. Once the natural growling has passed, the judges slump back into their seats, resigning themselves to a day without food until a promising sound catches their ears. The ring of a triangular dinner chime. The judges leap from their chairs.

“Could it be-?”

“Is that-?”

“FOOD!”

The chiming continues as the doors to the Conservatory contest tables are shoved open by a line of twenty-some wiggly cabbages, carrying a large imitation silver tray with a lid over it on their collective backs. The tray wobbles back and forth dangerously above the cabbages and their constant wiggles, almost toppling over until the cabbages come to a slightly less wiggly stop in front of the judges. The Portrait of Zool frowns and examines his list of contestants, not finding anything listed for the “Almost Dragonic Wiggly Insatiable Instabaker Cabbage Gang” but a little too hungry to really care. The other judges step forward to examine the lid of the dish curiously, only to fall back as the cabbages suddenly shake it off, revealing the rather unappetizing image of a conscious Wyvern all garnished up. The overgrown lizard’s wings and tail are bound by ropes, tied into crooked positions that are as decorative as they are uncomfortable. Cooking ribbons are tied around the lizard’s horns, their bright orange curls contrasting with the charred black look of the reptilian Elder’s scales. The almost dragonic dish turns his eyes pleadingly towards the judges, unable to speak due to a non-wiggly cabbage that has been crammed into his toothy maw.

The cabbages set down the tray as Chiroq wiggles a “Bon Appetit” to the three judges. The wiggly chefs then shuffle off together to celebrate their culinary achievement with a bit of water, soil and warm sunshine…

[Hjolnai]

Catastrophically late, but still earlier than many entrants, a towering cake glides into the room on a wheeled table. The base is apparently chocolate, with an artful toffee staircase spiralling around four thick columns of an unidentified, pearly-white sugary substance. At the top of the staircase lies a dense fruit cake, artfully hollowed out to form a castle of sorts, and just barely strong enough to hold the wafers which support a third layer, which appears to be a pastry base filled with icecream. Just looking at the whole cake is almost enough to bring on fits of toothache and burnt-out tastebuds.

Stepping out from behind the cake, Solorassil takes in the scene before him...

It appears that I have miscalculated. The only other entrant here provides a living dish, and most likely one who will not be eaten. I can only hope that this cake is so over-sweet that I get disqualified, for a first prize in anything would draw too much attention to me. Such attention would be dangerous, and might delay the gathering of any memories for weeks.

I had better say something, because a lack of action regarding the scene before me could be seen as a lack of compassion, which again would delay my search for happy memories to steal.

"Ahem. What's happening here? Surely Wyvern is not a meal! Quite apart from the suffering involved, who would stamp applications for new entrants to the Pen keep?"

There, I hit just the right tone to make them trust my intention.