Catgirls and Dungeons

As we step into the kitchen, a wave of nostalgia crashes over me, pulling me back to my old days of kitchen work. The overwhelming noise surrounds me like a relentless storm—the clang of metal, the sharp commands being shouted from every direction. The floor is slick beneath my feet, each step careful and measured, while the suffocating heat clings to my skin, making me sweat like a pig. It’s all too familiar, a chaotic symphony of organized madness.

The most striking presence in the room is probably the giant, muscular figure at the grill. With curved horns rising from his head, the sheep Furren’s frame is imposing, muscles bulging under the strain of his work, glistening with sweat. He’s tending to an array of giant meat skewers, flipping them like a machine. In front of him, the charcoal grill beneath him roars with life—thick iron bars glowing from the searing heat below, flames leaping and twisting as sparks scatter with each turn of the meat. BAM! BAM! BAM! He slams the skewers onto the grill, eyes locked onto the flames, focused with a primal intensity. His gaze seems to burn as fiercely as the fire itself.

Across from him, a sheep Furren woman stands over five enormous pots of stew, constantly stirring and tasting, adding spices to taste. Steam rises around her like a thick fog, filling the air with the rich scent of simmering herbs and spices. Her hair is damp from the relentless heat, but her hands move like clockwork, never hesitating, never faltering.

At another station, a younger sheep Furren works at lightning speed, her knife flashing as she slices vegetables rapidly, the sound rhythmic like machine gun. Behind her, another Furren rushes between ovens, pulling out tray after tray of freshly baked pies. The moment he finishes cutting and plating them, he darts to the side, whipping up milkshakes in a blur of motion.

Meanwhile, waitresses storm in and out of the kitchen, their voices cutting through the noise like sharp blades.

“WALKIN IN! TWO SKEWERS, TWO POTATO CREAM STEWS, GREEN SALAD—ALL LARGE—TABLE FIVE!”

“WALKIN IN! FIVE FILOAN DRUMSTICKS, TWO MILKSHAKES—TABLE TWO!”

The orders crash in like waves, relentless, one after the other, non stop.

And, of course, in the far corner, three figures hunch over the dishwashing station—a wolf Furren and two muscular humans. Their arms move like machines, scrubbing and rinsing the seemingly endless supply of dirty dishes.

Yup, it’s just like a kitchen on Earth. It’s noisy, it’s hot, it’s chaotic—it’s hell, but that’s the beauty of it. This is the sign of a truly bustling business, where the chaos fuels efficiency and precision.

“As you can see, my whole family works here,” Lilly says, gesturing around. “My biggest brother is grilling the meat, my mom is making soup, and my elder siblings are handling salad and desserts. It may seem like a lot, and it is, but we’re all used to it. We’ve tried to hire more people, but most of them quit because they couldn’t handle the workload—even though we pay them well.”

I nod, understanding immediately. Every person here is moving with razor-sharp efficiency, no second wasted. Kitchens are among the hardest, most stressful places to work, and if you’re not ready for it, you won’t last long. But me? I’m ready. I can feel my blood pumping with excitement, the old fire from my kitchen days stirring in my veins.

“Alright, follow me carefully,” Lilly says, leading us through the chaos to a quieter room at the back.

As Lilly opens the door, we’re greeted by an intimidating figure—a giant, muscular sheep Furren man. His sheer size fills the room, muscles bulging like those of a seasoned warrior. His beard is slightly singed from working near the flames, and next to him sits a large bottle of something that looks suspiciously like rum. His stern expression and sharp eyes land on us, and I freeze for a moment, feeling incredibly small under his gaze.

But Eris is unfazed.

“Sup, old man. How are you doing?” she says casually, like the giant is just an old friend.

“Ey, Eris!” the man responds, his booming voice surprisingly friendly. “Didn’t know you were interested in working in my kitchen!”

“Not her, Dad,” Lilly says with a grin, pointing at me. “It’s Felicia here.”

The giant sheep Furren leans down, lowering his body to get a closer look at me. His eyes squint as he examines me more closely. “Ahh, sorry about that! You’re so small I almost missed you!” he laughs, a hearty, booming laugh that shakes the room. “My name’s Gordon. Nice to meet you!”

I take his massive hand, feeling the rough calluses as we shake.

“I’m Felicia, nice to meet you too, Mr. Gordon!” I say, trying to sound as confident as I can.

“So, you really want to work in the kitchen?” he asks, his tone shifting to something more serious. “It’s tough work, you know?”

I can tell. He’s sizing me up, doubting whether I can handle it. I won’t let him look down on me.

“I don’t mind at all!” I reply, standing up straighter, forcing a confident smile. “I’d like to apply for the vegetable-chopping position, please!”

“Hmmm,” Gordon eyes me skeptically. “Are you sure about that? You don’t exactly look like someone who can handle the heat of a kitchen. Maybe waitress work would suit you better?”

“Yeah, I think you should try being a waitress, Felicia,” Eris adds, her voice gentle, but I can sense she’s not fully on board with my decision.

But no. I don’t want that.

“I love cooking! I want to be in the kitchen please!” I declare firmly, standing as tall as I can. My heart is pounding in my chest, but I refuse to back down.

Still, Gordon is unconvinced.

“Sorry if this sounds rude, but you don’t seem like the type for this kind of work…”

“Please, I may not look strong, but I’m really good at chopping things! Don’t underestimate me!” I retort, trying to inject more confidence into my words than I actually feel. My hands clench into fists at my sides, determined to prove myself.

But more than anything, I can’t bear the thought of working front-of-house. The idea of interacting with people after what happened with those drunk bastards earlier makes my skin crawl. I don’t want to risk another situation like that. Even if it’s harder, the kitchen is where I feel safe.

However, the owner still doesn’t seem convinced, his brows furrowing as he crosses his arms.

So, I take a deep breath.

“Test me!” I say boldly, surprising even myself. “Please, give me a chance to prove it!”

Hearing that, Gordon chuckles, a deep rumbling sound. “Alright then. I like your attitude!”. Then, he turns to his daughter. “Lilly, bring me a knife and some vegetables. Let’s see what this girl’s got.”