Vell Harlan and the Doomsday Dorms

Lee settled into the couch and kept a firm grip on her empty -for now- plate. It was time for another get-together with Vell and his room-mates, and while the camaraderie of these social hangouts had their appeal, the real attraction was Renard’s cooking. Every time he brought a new, unique recipe, and every time his friends got a new candidate for the best food they’d ever had. Some time ago, Vell had claimed any kind of seafood made him want to vomit, but at a poker game last week Lee had caught him practically shoveling Shrimp Pad Thai into his mouth. Even the strongest aversions were no match for Renard’s raw talent. The man himself walked into the room, leaving his gathered friends breathless with anticipation.

“Hey, so is it cool if we just order a pizza or something today?”

The reaction he got was roughly akin to him announcing he had just strangled a child to death in the kitchen.

“What,” Joan said flatly.

“I’m just not really feeling it tonight,” Renard said. Luke stood, stepped up to Renard, and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Renard, you’re a true friend,” he said. “And I’m never going to pressure you to do something you don’t want to do.”

After saying this, Luke dropped to his knees and threw his hands to the heavens.

“But why!” Luke screamed.

“You having trouble with your homework?” Cane asked. “I’ll do your homework. I’ll do all your classes!”

“This school has homework?” Renard said.

The agitated crowd of friends paused briefly to give a simultaneous sigh.

“Let’s focus on the cooking related problem,” Lee suggested.

“Oh, yeah, it’s not a problem or anything,” Renard said. “I’m just a little burned out, you know? All I’ve done lately is cook, or read about cooking, or read more about cooking, or read some more about cooking, or read-”

“We get it, Renard,” Cane said.

“Yeah, it’s totally cool, Ren,” Harley said. “Lee can buy us a pizza or twenty and you can just chill with the rest of us tonight.”

Lee started making an order while Renard found a spot on the couch and relaxed. Luke settled in next to him.

“So is this just something that finally got you down, or have you been doing a lot more cooking stuff lately?”

“Oh I’ve been doing like way more,” Renard said. “There’s this big competition coming up this weekend and I’ve had to cram for it these past two days.”

Luke briefly considered expressing sympathy about Renard having such short notice to work with, but then remembered he was talking to Renard.

“So did people only tell you about it two days ago or did you only remember it two days ago?” He asked.

“The second one,” Renard said.

“Right, well, good luck, we’ll all be cheering for you,” Luke said. “But for now, take a load off.”

Renard nodded and settled in for a long, quiet night.

The quartet of loopers sat in Principal Goodwell’s office silently as they waited for Goodwell himself to arrive. It took him some time, but the principal finally appeared, settling into his seat with a deep sigh.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve called you here today,” he began.

“Does it have something to do with a cooking competition?” Harley asked.

“Well it -Yes, actually,” Goodwell said. “How did you know?”

“We were just talking about it last night, so it seemed thematically appropriate,” Harley said with a shrug.

“Ah, right, Vell is Renard’s roommate after all. Yes, I need you to help with the cooking competition,” Principal Goodwell said. “Tomorrow, Renard will be competing against our rivals from the Patschke-Puck University of Magic and Science and-”

The principal stopped himself as Lee failed to restrain a snort of laughter.

“Is something funny?”

“Well, yes, I mean, our ‘rivals’? That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?’

“Yeah, ain’t Patsche-Puck those guys we beat 486-0 in every single Ballball game we played last season?”

Leanne flexed proudly. The lead would have been larger, but the laws of physics had gotten in the way. The aerodynamics of the ball made it physically impossible to move it fast enough to score more than 486 times in a single Ballball game.

“Yes, Patsche-Puck have never beaten the Einstein-Odinson college at anything in the entire eighty-year existence of our schools,” Lee said. “They once lost a thumb wrestling contest against a man born without arms!”

Goodwell shrugged. Nobody really knew how that one had happened, even to this day.

“Look, you’re right, Patsche-Puck is a school of failures and losers who’ve never won anything a day in their lives,” Goodwell said. “But I want to be extra sure we don’t break that streak...and, also, their principal is one of my old classmates and he sucked and I like, really, really want him to get embarrassed.”

“Petty, which I’m usually down for, but I don’t know,” Harley said. “You’re going to have to do more than that to get me on board.”

“Well, for starters, whenever big events like this happen it’s usually what causes the apocalypse, so you guys might as well be on the front lines,” Goodwell said. Lee agreed on that count. Large gatherings of people and special events were usually a reliable indicator of where the daily apocalypse would happen. While Lee nodded in agreement, Vell’s head snapped up like a that of a meerkat about to scan the horizon.

“We’ll do it,” he said hastily. “Come on, we can team up with Renard, it’ll be fun.”

“I don’t know, I’d rather work independently-”

“Nope we’re doing it,” Vell said. He stood and moved for the door. “We better start getting ready, come on, let’s get moving. Thanks Goodwell, we’ll take it from here!”

A curious Harley followed behind as Vell tried to corral them out of the office. Lee and Leanne were equally intrigued by his sudden change in demeanor and followed suit shortly. As soon as they were out of earshot of Goodwell’s office, Lee paused to sate that curiosity.

“What on earth was that about, Vell?”

“I, uh, had a thought,” Vell said. The manic energy of his idea had left him, and now he was back to his more hesitant self. “Goodwell said that the principal of that school that sucks was an old classmate, right?”

“Yes.”

“So what if we ask him about Lijia Mian?”

Lee put a hand to her chin. The mysterious figure brought up by Goodwell long ago had been a mystery for some time now. Lee’s access to school records only went so far, and all they’d been able to confirm was that Lijia Mian had been a female student from China, who had attended the school at the same time as Isaac Goodwell. Other than that, Lijia Mian seemed to be nonexistent -which only deepened their curiosity about her.

“Hey, good idea, Vell,” Harley said. “Just one thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Goodwell never specified it was a college classmate,” Harley pointed out. “We could be dealing with a dude he went to high school with.”

“Oh.” Vell said. “Ah, it’ll be fine. Like you guys keep saying, the universe tends towards drama.”

“True,” Harley admitted. “Either way I don’t mind being signed up. I think it’s going to be pretty fun. We’re going to be teamed up with Renard, after all. It should be pretty chill.”

Renard marched in front of his line of troops, back straight, with a pounding force behind every step.

“You are in my kitchen now,” Renard said, with every ounce of authority his voice could muster. “Do you know what that means?”

“That we...follow your every order?” Vell guessed.

“Oh. Really?” Renard said. He stopped marching and slouched once again. “I was asking you guys, I don’t know why you’re here.”

“We are your assistants for the cook-off,” Vell said. He gestured to the chef’s uniform he was wearing, and the matching uniforms worn by his three associates. Partly matching, at any rate. Harley had somehow gotten hers in red.

“Oh, I didn’t know I get assistants, sweet,” Renard said. “What do you guys do?”

“Whatever you tell us to, I guess,” Vell said. He knew the basics of cooking, but would not dare to think himself on Renard’s level. He would follow the master chef’s lead. Assuming the master chef didn’t lead them in a flammable direction. Anything could happen with Renard at the helm.

“What’s step numero uno, oh commander chef sir?” Harley said with a mock salute.

“Hmm. I don’t know. I’m feeling kind of cheesy tonight, somebody get me all the cheese we have,” Renard said, pointing at various shelves and refrigerators around the room. “And to clarify: I don’t mean a sample of all the different varieties. I mean all the cheese we have. I want one-hundred percent of the cheese in this room.”

“Right away, chef,” Lee said. She nodded and trotted across the room, imparting every step with a professionalism the situation absolutely did not warrant. Lee checked everywhere and carefully perused the contents of the kitchen while Vell and Harley grabbed armfuls of cheese and cheese-adjacent substances and hauled them over to the counter.

The two of them dropped off their latest bounties, turned around to grab more cheese, but froze in their tracks when they heard a loud slam behind them. They cautiously turned, wondering if the apocalypse had caught up to them already, and were only a little relieved to see Leanne dropping off the largest cheese wheel they’d ever seen. The countertop bent visibly under the density of the titanic wheel of manchego cheese.

“Where the fuck did you find that?”

Leanne pointed to a cabinet across the room. Harley shook her head.

“Not you,” Harley said. “Renard, why do you have a cheese wheel this big?”

“Oh, apparently somebody on campus made a matter converter raygun, but it only turns things into cheese,” Renard said. He slapped the side of the massive manchego. “I think this used to be a minivan.”

“Huh. Can I have some?”

“Sure!” Renard said. He grabbed some fine crackers from a nearby shelf and cut a small sliver of cheese off with a knife, handing both to Harley.

“Mm. Really can’t taste the minivan,” Harley said. “But this might be my only chance to eat a car.”

She heavily emphasized “might”. Renard offered some of the minivan manchego to the rest of his assistants, and they took a brief cheese and crackers break. When the snacking was done and the crumbs had been swept up, Renard got them all back to business.

“Alright, I think I know what we’re going to do,” Renard said. “Four cheese spinach pasta. Lee, get me everything we need to make noodles. Harley, you’re on spinach duty. Vell, get me every vaguely Italian-sounding herb. Leanne, you get all the utensils and cutting boards and stuff we need.”

With Renard giving the orders, the kitchen functioned like a partially well-oiled machine. There were some hiccups, as Renard’s workspace was as disorganized and haphazard as one might expect from someone with his “unconventional” intellect. Vell’s confusion as to why Renard kept his mixing spoons and his sauces in the same drawer gave way to an understanding that the kitchen was alphabetized -although the “F” section and “G” section were swapped. Vell decided not to bring that up, if only to avoid Harley making a G-spot joke.

While Renard cooperated with his newly-assigned team on all of the prep work and early steps of cooking, when it came time to put the dish together, he fell silent. Vell couldn’t be sure if Renard just wanted to handle the important parts personally, or if he’d forgotten they were there. The intensity with which Renard focused on his work made Vell believe it was the former. He was single-minded, entirely focused on the food in front of him, his green eyes sparkling with an unusual focus as he stared down at his work. Though they maintained a respectful distance from the master at work, all of his assistants kept a close eye on his technique, hoping to glean some of the secrets behind Renard’s delicious cooking.

A light sprinkle of additional seasonings and cheese topped off the dish, and with several flourishes of a serving spoon, Renard put together five plates. He gestured to them with a beaming smile on his face.

“Bon appetit, itadakimasu, etcetera, let’s eat,” he said. The four did not waste any time taking him up on that offer. Lee took a first bite and fought hard to not fall to her knees with joy. After the initial waves of edible euphoria had washed over them, the ability to speak returned.

“You know, I don’t even like spinach,” Harley said. “If it were anyone else cooking, I wouldn’t eat this.”

“Oh, thanks,” Renard said. “I don’t eat spinach I didn’t cook either. Lot of people don’t know how to handle spinach, it ends up real rubbery most of the time.”

“You know, Renard, how did you get started in cooking, anyway?” Vell asked. “I know you mentioned your parents own some restaurant in Paris. Did you grow up with it?”

“Other way around, actually,” Renard said. “I used to cook with my grandma a lot when I was a kid, and when my parents saw me getting so good at it, they got the idea to open a restaurant.”

Lee thought back to her childhood visits to France. She had been young, maybe ten or eleven during her first visit, and Renard was only a year younger.

“You must have gotten started quite early,” Lee said.

“Yeah, I think I’ve been cooking since I was like, five,” Renard said. “I started with simple stuff like pancakes, but it escalated pretty quickly.”

“It must be nice to have found your passion so early in life,” Lee said. She was twenty-one and still trying to figure it out. She was relatively sure hydromancy was the path for her, but doubt still lingered in her mind.

“It’s been chill, yeah, but I also probably should’ve paid more attention in school when I was little, instead of thinking about pasta so much.”

“You’ve turned out alright,” Harley said. “Brains ain’t everything.”

“If you say so,” Renard said. “I wish I could do the cool science stuff you guys do, though.”

“Buddy, I would trade brains with you if it meant I got to eat this pasta every day for the rest of my life,” Harley said, as she forked more of the pasta into her mouth.

“Oh cool, can we do that?”

Harley stopped eating for a second.

“Maybe? I’m sure somebody around here could build a brainswapper,” Harley said. “But I wasn’t being totally serious. I like building robots.”

Harley finished her plate of pasta and started doing the dishes. Everyone else finished their food in turn and started cleaning up.

“So is that pasta what you’re going to be cooking at the competition?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes these cook offs have all sorts of different weird rules.”

“Do you have any sort of plan at all?”

Renard shrugged and made an “I don’t know” noise.

“The event’s tomorrow, Renard.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

Lee considered speaking up again, but decided against it. If Renard had earned her confidence in anything, it was his cooking skill.