appendices and character sheet

basement.order

@@ -49,3 +49,5 @@ src/notes.md
 src/acknowledgements.md
 src/afterword.md
 src/appendix/a/index.md
+src/appendix/b/bean.md
+src/appendix/c/teale.md

src/appendix/b/bean.md

@@ -0,0 +1,254 @@
+---
+title: Appendix B
+created: Tue, 17 Jan 2023 08:09:58 -0700
+updated: Tue, 17 Jan 2023 08:09:58 -0700
+public: yes
+---
+## Appendix B: Bean
+
+**Note**: This story by mio was originally published in issue 6 of the
+tilde.town zine, and is included here with the author's permission.
+
+<https://tilde.town/~zine/issues/6/html/mio/bean/>
+
+~
+
+> This short story is dedicated to \~dozens.
+> 
+> Several months ago he spoke of a [tabletop
+> game](https://dozensanddragons.neocities.org/30.html) that involved
+> growing cats from beans, inviting others to try it and share their
+> actual plays. As it happened, someone read the message and played the
+> game, but the narrative that was supposed to accompany the results never
+> materialised, having fizzled out in a desolate post-apocalyptic
+> landscape before it had barely started.
+> 
+> Here instead is a story about growing, cats and beans, not necessarily
+> in that order. Discerning readers will observe its setting is loosely
+> based in a different game, the wonderful [Basement
+> Quest](http://tilde.town/~dozens/quest/) of which \~dozens is the
+> amazing author and thoroughly adept game host. He has also kindly given
+> permission to reproduce my tiny tale of tomfoolery under the [CC-BY-SA
+> license](https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/). The story
+> would not have existed without his support and the patience of fellow
+> players, though any lapses in judgement for churning out complete drivel
+> are mine alone. *Gratias maximas.*
+> 
+> mio
+
+Deep within the bowels of the bustling city of Vay'Nullar was a building
+like every other and none other. The unassuming brick structure stood to
+one side of Cofe Street, so named after a giant automaton that had once
+occupied an empty plot of land for the sole purpose of selling coffee
+and the wonders of mechanical ingenuity before it broke down one day and
+the lot, overrun by weeds, was turned into an apothecary. There was no
+sign above the entrance to announce itself to the world, the windows
+shuttered and the wooden door bolted from within. It could be said that
+there was nothing remarkable about the building except for a colourful
+row of marching kidney-shaped beans painted in bas-relief than ran along
+the base of the tiled roof. The beans' faces were contorted in various
+expressions of merriment, from hopping up and down with silly grins to
+flipping on their backs, eyes screwed tight and mouths wide open in
+laughter.
+
+No one actually knew for sure if it was a shop, or what it sold, because
+the doors had never opened for business. Passers-by can be forgiven for
+thinking it was probably an ill-fated foray into fame and fortune by
+some enterprising young upstart that had floundered at the last moment,
+and the place had long since been abandoned to the cobwebs of aurs and
+dust bunnies. However, the neighbourhood's residents knew differently.
+If anyone had cared to ask, they would have recounted in tense, hushed
+voices of eerie sounds emanating from the building at night. Some said
+they heard loud whooshing noises; others swore someone or something was
+lighting crackling bonfires inside, though they had neither seen light
+nor smoke from a fire. Still more spoke of a sound --- the more
+musically-inclined might liken it to a note blown from a long horn,
+lowered then abruptly dampened. The children --- the ones who were old
+enough or secretly sneaked out past their bedtime --- would have simply
+described it as if a crowd had gotten together in a room and farted at
+the same time.
+
+None of the residents had ever heard nor seen the landlord; as far as
+the eldest grannies could remember, the building had always appeared the
+way it did. When the city finally sent an inspector to assess the
+property after multiple complaints from the most vocal residents, the
+man had returned so shocked by whatever he had seen that to this day he
+could not utter a syllable, his entire body frozen in fear whenever the
+subject of the bean building was brought up. Cursed, was the conclusion
+of a guild of wizards three districts over, though one that seemed to
+evade their scanners. A few of the bravest and more curious among their
+ranks offered to investigate, but never returned with their findings.
+Children were sternly warned by their parents to stay away and behave,
+or they would be snatched up and eaten by the monster that lived within
+its walls.
+
+One afternoon, a young girl who was studying the painted relief along
+one side of the building heard scratching, mewls, then a whimper coming
+from somewhere nearby. Following the sounds, she rounded the back of the
+building and spotted a grey kitten with light charcoal stripes slumped
+against the wall, paws on their furry tummy, with a pinched expression
+on their face. As she came closer, she could hear a low gurgling sound
+coming from somewhere near its tummy. "Oh!" She exclaimed, her face lit
+up in understanding. "Stay here, kitty." she told the kitten.
+
+She returned from a nearby shop with a glass bottle of oat milk, two
+small dishes and three skewers of tofuna balls. She set the items in
+front of the kitten, removed the skewers from the first dish and filled
+the other with milk. "Go on, it's for you." The girl smiled
+encouragingly at the kitten, who stared at her with wide eyes before
+pouncing on the tofuna balls. When the kitten had emptied the plates,
+they licked their face and paws, then looked up at the girl and mewed
+once before disappearing into a small hole in the wall of the building
+partially covered by a loose board. The girl tried to peer into the hole
+but it was too dark within to see anything.
+
+The next day and the day after, the girl returned to the same spot with
+food for the kitten, who seemed to be expecting her, mewing once again
+before retreating back inside the hole in the wall after the meal. On
+the fourth day, the kitten was nowhere to be seen when the young girl
+arrived. She bent down to fill a saucer with more milk, and found a
+single brown bean in it slightly smaller than a cherry potato. She
+waited but there was no sign of the kitten. Eventually she left the
+offering of food near the hole and went home.
+
+As the girl lay in bed that night, she examined the bean by the light of
+her bedside lamp. She held it up between her thumb and forefinger,
+rubbed a thumb against its smooth contours, then clasped it gently
+between her palms, gradually warming it as she peeked at it from between
+her fingers. After whispering to the bean for some time, she carefully
+tucked it under one end of her pillow, and yawning, turned down the lamp
+and went to sleep.
+
+When she next opened her eyes, it was to find herself inside a gigantic
+storehouse with a high ceiling that seemed to stretch on and on into the
+horizon. One side was lined with glass partitions, some of which were
+obscured with thick curtains, while others had curtains parted aside to
+reveal the activities of the occupants within. On another side,
+separated by a path the width of two streets, was an open grassy area
+dotted with large translucent domes, like hazy soap bubbles on a summer
+day. The entire area was bright and well-lit even though she couldn't
+make out any significant source of light aside from the little caddy
+lamps twinkling from the desks inside the partitions, or the campers'
+lamps inside and around the domed tents.
+
+A cat wearing bright yellow boots, blue overalls and a construction hat
+was beckoning her over. She recognised them as the kitten she had met in
+the alley earlier, though now they appeared as tall as her. Just as she
+was about to call out and ask where they were, the cat suddenly appeared
+in front of her and said eagerly, "There you are! Come along now!"
+
+Everywhere she turned, there were now cats in all shapes, colours and
+sizes --- short, large, skinny, tiny, chubby, striped, spotted, black,
+calico, white, brown, grey, and so on. Many were patting rectangular
+panels with various tiny buttons on the desks. Some were on all fours or
+sitting in various positions in front of stools with small boxes that
+made whirring, clicking sounds. After each click, the cats would shift
+positions, as if striking poses for some invisible audience. One cat was
+mixing and matching several new outfits in light colours. Another was
+hugging stuffed toy chipmunk while sorting mushrooms at a picnic table.
+A few were holding a burger with an oversized cheese wedge between their
+paws.
+
+Some who were walking around the partitions were also holding mugs, the
+aroma of coffee wafting through the air as they passed --- except for
+one cat whose paws were wrapped around a glass of a clear brown drink
+topped with cherries. A cat sped by on a contraption with a handle and
+two thin wheels, which emitted tinkling sounds from a tiny, nondescript
+box attached to a basket in front of the contraption. They passed a
+group of six cats gesturing to a black board covered in numbers and
+symbols; one of them chanted something that confused the girl and pushed
+a button on one edge of the board, which sprayed water over the surface,
+erasing the chalk writing. After wiping the board dry, the cat began
+rapidly filling the board with more symbols. When the girl looked over
+her shoulder, the board had already washed out the writing, and another
+cat had taken up position in front of the board.
+
+Outside one domed tent, a metal arm was mixing a vat of pink and yellow
+cream while a cat sat beside it reading aloud from a scroll. At the next
+tent, two cats huddled over a thin, grey bulbous metal stump placed on a
+tiny wooden table. The cats seemed to be engaged in a serious
+conversation at first; then the girl blinked and they abruptly dissolved
+into laughs, thumping the table with a paw and barely grappling onto the
+table edge with the other to keep themselves from tumbling and knocking
+over the metal rod. A cat reclined against the frame of a bubble opening
+and seemed to be intently listening to something, while a stockpot
+bubbled merrily on a stove and spewed out dumplings into a large crusty
+bread bowl behind them.
+
+A few steps from the path, a cat hung up pictures onto a pie-shaped box
+under the glow of a lamp affixed to their tent. The lamp slowly changed
+colours, each new colour followed by strings of words floating and
+fading in mid-air like intangible poetry. Behind them, half-hidden by
+big rows of vertical posts made of paper tubes, a cat perched atop a
+stack of ten thick black writing pads and was writing in a notebook at a
+furious pace, only occasionally stopping to bite into a slice of pie
+with a light yellow filling. A blue panel displaying several lines of
+indecipherable characters flickered occasionally from below. Remotely
+she could barely make out another cat stacking containers of different
+sizes neatly as they spoke to a sliding black case on a table covered in
+tools and fossils. Inside another tent, a cat was moving a small stack
+of old boxes with lights blinking blearily through the tent walls and
+shuffling them inside an animated green cabinet in the shape of a
+possum. As the girl stared, some of the cats grinned at her, and others
+waved.
+
+At random intervals, a group would gather around a large pipe made of
+dark grey metal at the base, which gave way to a translucent material at
+knee height, towering up before disappearing into an opening in the
+ceiling. Venturing closer, she realised the translucent pipe was
+actually made of many transparent small pipes with beads of light
+passing through them at impossibly fast speeds. As the lights spun
+faster, a low purr emanated from the pipe, which became louder and
+louder in a roaring crescendo as the group fixed their gazes upwards at
+a spot where pipe met ceiling, some clapping their paws to a soundless
+rhythm that was nonetheless familiar to them all, until the noise was
+abruptly cut off to barely a whine and a chuff once more. The crowd of
+cats dispersed as if nothing had happened.
+
+Further on, another group wielding oversized sporks was shovelling piles
+of pea-sized, dark brown beans at a glass pane the size of a large smoke
+screen, behind which an ornate fireplace was set over a well-used
+hearth. The beans seem to pass through the glass, to be devoured by the
+giant blaze that flared and snapped briefly each time it received more
+tinder. Some of the cats looked on with somber expressions, and the girl
+had the feeling that whatever the fire did was as important --- if not
+more so --- than the stream of lights in the pipes. As the flames
+gradually changed colour from blood orange to pale lavender, the group
+seemed to relax into relieved smiles and slowed their shovelling, only
+halting when the fire had turned a vibrant purple. Her guide gave the
+group a thumbs-up before ushering her along the path.
+
+When they had walked a few score feet onward, the young girl suddenly
+noticed almost all the cats in their immediate vicinity had a small
+rectangular apparatus on them --- whether held in their paws, hanging
+from a waist pouch, jutting out from a back pocket, strapped to their
+caps or arms, or placed within reach on a nearby desk or table. In that
+instant, a resounding chime like a bell rolled across the area where
+they were standing. The cats glanced down at their apparatus, which were
+lit in varying levels of brightness. Some of the cats looked up at one
+another and sported identical grins on their faces. Then, as though
+following an unannounced but practised cue, the cats applied light
+pressure on their apparatus. For a moment it was quiet, before the hall
+erupted into a very loud raspberry. It was as though a giant balloon had
+deflated over their heads and air was coming out of it in one big gush,
+only there was no strong burst of wind to blow them all off their feet.
+Distantly she heard the answering giggling of babies and children
+somewhere around her, though there were no infants or other children in
+sight. The cat with the yellow hat turned to her with a chuckle and
+said, "Snazzy, huh? Let's keep this a little secret between us, okay?"
+
+Before the girl could reply, she awoke with a start in her own room. It
+took a moment for her to ascertain where she was as her eyes focused on
+the shelf by the wall filled with toys and books, and the morning
+sunlight streaming in from the bedroom window. Recalling the cat in
+boots, she felt around her pillow for the bean, but her hand only met
+soft bedsheets. She shook out her pillow while pushing aside her
+blankets, checked the floor and peeked under the bed, but the bean had
+disappeared. As she looked around her room, she noticed the mug adorned
+with tiny butterflies that she used as a brush holder had been moved
+from its usual spot on her desk. She got out of bed and padded barefoot
+over to the desk. Instead of one baby potato-sized bean, the mug was
+filled with a number of small red beans. Shaking them out in handfuls at
+a time, she counted 43 in total.
+
+The girl smiled. When the time came, she and the beans will be ready.

src/appendix/c/teale.md

@@ -0,0 +1,879 @@
+---
+title: Appendix C
+created: Tue, 17 Jan 2023 08:09:58 -0700
+updated: Tue, 17 Jan 2023 08:09:58 -0700
+public: yes
+---
+## Appendix C: Teale
+
+This story by mio, while technically part of the *Barefoot Quackery*
+compendium, stands on its own enough to earn its own entry in the
+appendix. I hope you enjoy it as much as we did.
+
+~
+
+#### I.
+
+It had been an accident at first.
+
+Inky had just returned from the market with two bags of produce and was halfway
+up the back stairs when one of the radishes tumbled from its paper bag and
+rolled down the steps to land on the ground somewhere near a first-storey
+window below. Setting down the bags on the second floor, Inky went downstairs
+to retrieve the missing radish, which they found easily amid light from the
+open window and a brass lamp next to the back door several paces away. As they
+straightened from their crouch with the vegetable in hand, a movement from the
+window caught their attention.
+
+Illuminated by lamps hanging from the rafters, a large turtle was rolling on
+the floor of what appeared to be the restaurant's kitchens. As the imp watched,
+the turtle turned in multiple directions over and over, gradually stretching
+out the dough while moulding different textures onto the surface through the
+various glyphs and markings on his shell. Inky was intrigued — they had never
+seen empanadas prepared this way before. It reminded them distantly of a
+retired ceremonial bull fighter turned pub owner they had met who would
+sometimes form cornucopia rolls with his horns to impress the tourists, but
+still generally preferred to use his hands or a rolling pin to roll out dough
+for other breads. Over the next several days, Inky would pause briefly to look
+through the kitchen window before ascending the stairs. Eventually they were
+able to watch the empanada-making process from start to finish, and on some
+late evenings, observing the way the chef would frown at a small sample of
+partly-eaten pastry on a plate, followed by a sigh, as though dissatisfied with
+the contents.
+
+One night, Inky passed through the Milk Market at a later hour than previous
+days. The lamps had by then been extinguished, but someone had left a window
+open and when Inky glanced in, the kitchen had been cleaned, a thin sheen of
+water evaporating quickly on the floors from the warm air outside, and the wood
+counter tops shone where they were worn smooth in some spots. The surfaces
+which would by day be occupied by trays of pastries were bare. In that moment,
+an awful idea took hold in Inky's head. Clambering nimbly through the window,
+Inky entered the kitchen, carefully avoiding the area where the pastries were
+rolled out. They checked the racks of pans and utensils hanging below the
+cabinets, the ovens, the iceboxes, then inspected the pantry. After giving
+themselves an impromptu tour of the kitchens, including a peek into the brewing
+room and root cellar, Inky went out the way they came in what was to become the
+first of multiple unannounced visits. The following night, Inky returned with a
+small plate of tapas — just a slight twist on simple fare that could be paired
+with the ale being sold at the shop. The plate was left on a table to be later
+discovered when the chef came in early to begin preparations for the day.
+
+The flavours of the tapas gradually increased in complexity, though not
+straying too far from the earthy undertones of the shop's signature ale. Inky
+didn't know if Enrique would even like the little tapas, though they supposed
+they could find out one way or another. In a way it didn't really matter; the
+snacks would serve as inspirational aids for the chef to pick out flavours
+and combinations for his own pastries. At worst, if the tapas irritated him
+immensely, he would likely be too busy trying to catch the intruder red-handed
+to be sighing over his efforts. Inky decided the giant turtle looked better
+with his annoyance directed elsewhere. Either way, if the turtle truly wanted
+to be rid of the tapas, he was going to have to "up his game", as the dillball
+kids in the neighbourhood would say.
+
+~~
+
+A small turtle wearing overalls, a smock and rain boots is sitting on the grass
+next to a muddy puddle of water, forming a wet ball in his hands. Sunlight
+spills into the forest clearing, illuminating the turtle's smock and boots
+which are covered in dirt and mud. Inky walks over and sits across from the
+turtle.
+
+"Hi, I'm __ , what's your name?" Inky asks.
+
+"Enrique," replies the turtle.
+
+"That's a great name. Hi Henry!" Inky greets their new friend.
+
+The turtle frowns. "My name is Enrique, not Henry," he says.
+
+"It is now. Why are you making mud pies, Henry?" asks Inky, pointing to the
+slightly lumpy pies stacked neatly a short distance from the turtle.
+
+"They're cool, and it's Enrique," the turtle replies, a little defensively.
+
+"They are," Inky agrees, "What's in them?"
+
+The turtle gives Inky a funny look. "They're called mud pies. Of course there's
+mud inside."
+
+"That's not a pie! That's a crusty …" Here child-Inky struggles to find words,
+"crust," they finish weakly.
+
+Enrique looks at Inky, unimpressed. "What else would there be if not mud?"
+
+"Loads! Fruits, lots of berries, nuts, custards and jams," Inky exclaims,
+picturing the table spread for tea-time. After some thought, they add, "There's
+also mushroom pot, but I don't know where to get that yet."
+
+"Mushroom pot? There's no such thing," the turtle says, sceptical.
+
+"There is, I've tasted it," child-Inky insists. "Want to go find mushroom pot
+together? We'll get some blackberries, redcurrants and sunflower seeds for your
+pies too."
+
+"Fine," the turtle replies eventually, after thinking it over. "But you're
+wrong about the sunflower seeds. Nobody puts that in their pies."
+
+"Then you'll be the first to do it, Henry!" Inky laughs. "Race you to the
+giant oak with the big nose!" With that, they hurtle off through the trees.
+
+"It's Enrique!" the turtle huffs, but trots towards the direction of the oaks.
+
+
+#### II.
+
+"Why don't you ask him?"
+
+"Because it'll ruin the surprise! He'll know in a pinch something's fishy,"
+child-Inky wails a bit in desperation. Lowering their voice, they finished
+imploringly, "I got him a pair of mittens after he said he lost one last week,
+but I want to make him something he can eat too. Like food cooked on a real
+fire. Mud cookies really aren't very tasty." 
+
+The large matronly turtle chuckles, a deep, throaty sound. "No, I don't suppose
+they are," she concedes. Tapping a claw on her chin in thought, she blinks a
+few times then smiles. "But I know just the thing."
+
+~
+
+"Another five minutes should do it," Enrique's mother tells Inky.
+
+Inky peers into the cob oven at the tapas sitting on a wooden board with a long
+handle. "Thank you, Mrs. T." child-Inky says politely.
+
+Over the past few afternoons, Enrique's mother instructed child-Inky on making
+a basic bread tapa with three different topping combinations based on her son's
+favourite foods, while Enrique had gone with his father to visit one of the
+barley farms that supplied the brewery where Mr. T. was chief brewer. The
+results were now bubbling a little as the enticing smell of tostadas and pepper
+sauce slowly wafted out from the oven.
+
+The lady nods. "It'll be good for Enrique to have a friend over to celebrate.
+He takes after his father, being too serious for his young age. He's already
+learning beercraft from him when he ought to be outdoors playing with his
+fellow schoolmates."
+
+"Is there anything else I can help with?" Inky asks.
+
+"It's all right, dear, I'll manage. Why don't you wash up and wait in the
+parlour? Enrique and his father should be back from the brewery any moment
+now." She sounds put-upon at the last words.
+
+At Inky's curious look, Enrique's mother explains, "Our birthday boy wanted to
+try the ale." She sighs. "I'd put my foot down but he looked so disappointed
+when I objected. Well, I did make his father promise not to let him get too
+drunk. Besides," she adds with a wink, "We spent all this time baking him a
+cake and snacks, we can't have him falling asleep on us before he's had any of
+it, can we?"
+
+~~
+
+Inky was avoiding the kitchens downstairs.
+
+While it had been amusing at first, and Inky was fairly sure they wouldn't be
+caught (it helped that the chef's routine was awfully predictable and the staff
+were even worse, especially that surly hobgoblin who always sneaked off three
+hours early on Primedays), they didn't really want to end up in Enrique's bad
+books or banned from the shop if he found out. The blood pudding had been a
+sobering reminder of the consequences of meddling in other people's business.
+
+Still, they could not bring themselves to stay away from the shop entirely,
+just as they had been drawn to the weathered sign over the door and the aroma
+of bread fresh from the oven mixed with the malty undertones of robust ale
+within the first few days when Jarrod had invited other members of the party to
+his newly-acquired premises. There was something almost homely about it, which
+was strange since Inky rarely made empanadas (in the strictest sense of the
+word, though some breadpunks would argue anything edible with a filling counts)
+and did not particularly favour most alcoholic drinks (ink had a wider sensory
+range and none of the hangovers, in their opinion) and only imbibed when an
+occasion called for it. This feeling carried into the kitchens, with its wooden
+counter tops covered in scratches and stains, shelves stacked a little
+precariously with sauces and spice jars, and even the gaping maw of a big stone
+oven next to the more conventional mechanical oven. It had to be the most
+common sight of every bakery on the continent and yet, there hadn't been any
+place quite like it ever since Inky had left a small town for life in the city.
+
+So it was in the evenings when Enrique was most likely busy in the kitchens or
+in storeroom taking stock of supplies for the next day that Inky would visit in
+the guise of a tea seller, either to put in a larger order for whoever of their
+party was around upstairs or have supper in a shadowed corner of the
+restaurant. At the latter times, Inky would request different items from the
+previous day, partly to not draw attention from the kitchen, as well as to keep
+things more interesting for a little game they liked to play which involved
+coming up with various inks to complement the evening selection in the time it
+took to eat it. Sometimes, when mulling over new produce from the market, Inky
+would also try to rearrange the current dish in their head, replacing
+ingredients and preparations until it resembled nothing like the crispy
+delectables of the original. Inky wouldn't really do that to the empanadas with
+actual ingredients, but it was funny to picture the turtle's annoyed expression
+at the very thought anyway.
+
+When Inky was satisfied they had an answer for inks depending on the most
+recent harvest and season, they would sit for a while, back to the wall and
+glass of kale juice in hand to idly survey the room or half-listen to the
+breadpunk gang debate the merits of quick rise yeast over traditional starters.
+The staff (whose names and shifts Inky had long since obtained for security
+reasons and definitely not because they were a little obsessed) were probably
+used to customers of all sorts, including reticent ones, and mostly left Inky
+to their meal. Leaving a decent tip (and on one occasion, a tea-based poultice
+for a waitress who had been holding her left arm at an awkward angle the entire
+time, with pictorial instructions for its application sketched on a sheet of
+fine notepaper), Inky would depart with a small bag of treats for their
+marketing manager before the shop's proprietor emerged to check on the dining
+area and chat with his regular customers.
+
+Said marketing manager also became Inky's quality assurance tester, and was
+rewarded with an extra sample of each tapa recipe that met the duck's
+discerning taste. Only recipes that had the duck's stomp of approval were
+delivered by hare mail to the Emporium. It didn't see a need for the recipes to
+be put through the post — the shop was right below their feet! — but Inky had
+gone to the post office each time and even spoke in rabbiton to one of the
+delivery workers there.
+
+Gradually, however, the duck noticed something strange — the more Inky had
+dinner at the shop downstairs, the fewer and farther in between the recipes
+came, until they eventually stopped appearing altogether. Initially it had
+tried to remind Inky by stomping its foot and nudging their hand with its beak,
+but Inky had only smiled wanly and said they didn't have any good ideas right
+now. The duck began to suspect this was patently false when, while following
+Inky around on a trip to the market one afternoon, Inky had opened to a page in
+their notebook to jot down a few words. Hopping up onto a wooden crate to get a
+better view, the duck saw the notebook was almost completely filled with
+ingredient lists, preparation steps and extensive notes.
+
+It looked up to admonish Inky, and saw the rabbit imp was staring wistfully at
+a barrel of pimientos. When the duck looked back again, the expression had
+vanished, as did its owner, who had already crossed to the other side of the
+road and was walking at a brisk pace towards a juice stand. The duck gave an
+indignant quack and hastily waddled after them. How is a marketing manager to
+keep up when the recipe developer is twelve steps ahead of the process?
+
+
+#### III.
+
+"How did you do on the writing homework?" the turtle asks the imp.
+
+They are sitting at their favourite spot in the forest clearing — or rather,
+Enrique is leaning back against a tree with his knees partially drawn up, while
+Inky is sprawled on their back on the grass gazing at the clouds overhead,
+the schoolbooks next to Inky's head momentarily forgotten.
+
+"I don't know. I only know you wrote that you plan to be an ale brewer." Inky
+replies airily.
+
+Enrique looks down at the imp. "How did you know?"
+
+"It's written on your face, Henry. Literally. There's still hops pulp on your
+forehead. I'm sure you'll get a good grade though, most of the teachers like
+boring bottle answers like that."
+
+The turtle glowers at the imp's chuckle and swipes at his own forehead.
+
+"What did you write?" he retorts.
+
+Inky does not immediately respond.
+
+"Well? What *did* you write?" he asks again.
+
+"Invisible Ninja Kookie Yulestarter."
+
+The turtle blinks, slowly. "What— what's that?"
+
+"I don't know." replies the imp.
+
+"You don't know?" Enrique echoes, perplexed.
+
+"I just made something up. How would I know what I want to be in two-score
+years? It's not like I've met and had tea with future two-score-year me. Next
+year I'll be an Intergalean Neuestar Kickback Yorkie for sure." Child-Inky nods
+at Enrique sagely.
+
+"You really are something." The turtle shakes his head in exasperation, though
+a small smile appears on his face.
+
+"A terrible infant? That's old news, Henry." laughs the imp.
+
+"Telling the truth never gets old."
+
+Inky pouts. "Ouch. You win. But only because it was a quote from your mother."
+
+"Finish up your homework. I'm going back to the brewery soon to check on the
+new batch." Enrique gets up and brushes off his clothes.
+
+The imp gives him a pointed look. "Yes, Hen-reek."
+
+~~
+
+"Henry—" Child-Inky pleads.
+
+The young turtle looks extremely frustrated, almost angry. "For the umpteenth
+time, it's Enrique! See, that's your problem. You have no respect for other
+people's wishes and boundaries. Everything is a silly little game to you. Can't
+you be serious for once?"
+
+"Okay. Are we *seriously* going to the play—"
+
+"No." says the turtle firmly.
+
+They are standing at the dark iron gates leading into the brewery. Enrique has
+finally exited a huge building after Inky had stood for half an hour outside
+repeatedly yelling his name. But no matter how child-Inky wails and pouts,
+Enrique has still refused to accompany him to see the new garden play being
+performed in a field of scorpion grasses up the road from the forest.
+
+"Why not?" Child-Inky asks, head tilted to one side, not understanding.
+
+"Because I have things to do at the brewery. A new dryer has arrived. Father is
+going to show me how to use it and I need to get the moisture levels right."
+The aspiring brewer seems to be at the end of his patience.
+
+"But we haven't done anything fun together for a whole fortnight!" Child-Inky
+protests.
+
+The turtle wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. "I don't have time to
+trawl around the forest anymore."
+
+"You're saying that now, but I'll come by tomorrow and we can go see it then,"
+child-Inky says anyway.
+
+"No."
+
+"The day after tomorrow?" asks child-Inky hopefully.
+
+"No."
+
+"The tomorrow after tomorrow?"
+
+"No means no. This isn't the time for fun and games."
+
+"What if I don't come back tomorrow? Will you go see the play with me?" Inky
+asks, eyes watering and expression wobbly.
+
+"That's not how it works. Go home, __. I have to get back inside to check on
+the boilers." The turtle turns and walks along the path back into the building.
+
+"Then I'll come the day after the day before tomorrow!" Child-Inky calls after
+him. 
+
+"You didn't say no, is that a yes? Henry!"
+
+~~
+
+Blurriness, gradually coming into focus in the form of an elderly man's face
+with thin eyebrows, kind brown eyes, round spectacles and a concerted frown on
+the unfamiliar features.
+
+The man spoke slowly. "I see you've finally woken up. What's your name, little
+one?"
+
+"I—I …" The imp winced as a sharp prickling pain in their head made itself
+known at the sudden movement, followed by confusion and alarm when they attempt
+to answer the man's question and drew a blank.
+
+"It's all right, easy now, nib." said the elder as he helped the imp sit up
+with some rustling of bedclothes. "How are you feeling?"
+
+"A bit sore but … okay? What … happened?" asked the imp.
+
+"We found you two days ago on the river banks right outside of town. Some of
+the fisherfolk say there was a flash flood from a big storm a few hundred
+miles up the rapids which washed collapsed buildings and other debris
+downstream." The man explained.
+
+"Then where … where am … ?"
+
+The old man smiled. "Welcome to the township of Waterlan."
+
+~~
+
+"I'm sorry, Mr. Iridis. I haven't recalled anything yet." The imp said sadly to
+the ink craftsman as they sat at the small table over dinner. It had been
+almost a week since the elderly man had taken in the imp and assured them they
+could stay as long as they wished.
+
+Mr. Iridis was unperturbed by the news. "Hmm, well, we should still call you by
+name in the meantime … how does Inkulos sound?"
+
+
+#### IV.
+
+"Uggghhh!! That group of flaming owes were such noisy slobs. Dropping chunks of
+bread everywhere on the floor, squawking at a hundred decibels a minute, then
+accidentally scorching the table. Why can't we have more customers like the
+Swanson family?" Marnie groaned, tail twitching in irritation as she rubbed her
+temples.
+
+"Or that tea seller," added Gil sympathetically. 
+
+Enrique hadn't heard from old Takao in a long time. The elderly, jovial tea
+merchant who previously came with his partner and parakeet on weekends had
+retired a few years earlier to his ancestral home in Rana'For Valley. Maybe
+they had returned to visit relatives in the city.
+
+"Tea seller?" He turned to his head waiter, a portly frog named Gilgamesh.
+
+"Yeah, they've been coming almost daily for the past couple o' months now when
+they didn't disappear for a week or two in a row. Don't talk much but tip
+pretty well for a street vendor. Even left us free samples a few times. Marnie
+said the pepperwood blend did wonders for her headaches. I'm not a tea drinker,
+y'know, but she made me a cup once and it was definitely the real deal. Not the
+horse piss those shady asses over at Normington Mews try to pass off as tea."
+
+It wasn't Takao, but someone new in the district. Months? How had he not
+noticed before?
+
+"How does this tea seller look like?" he asked.
+
+"Short imp, dark eyes, kinda young? Wears a brimmed hat, carries around a tea
+flask and a wooden box. One of my neighbours saw them a few weeks ago at a
+market and thinks they're half-rabbit, but he says stuff like that about half
+the people he meets anyway."
+
+Enrique frowned. He knew all his regular patrons, young or old, and was sure he
+would remember seeing someone who fit the description.
+
+On further questioning his wait staff, he found out a few more things about
+them: they usually came around the same time most evenings when he was in the
+kitchens; had no particular menu preferences that Gil or Marnie could name
+(which was unusual, even the most adventurous of his customers reverted to a
+few personal favourites after some time); sat at the same corner table, the one
+he himself made use of occasionally on slow days where he could have an
+unobstructed view of the room and out into the street; and sometimes ordered
+enough for a gathering of associates, who did seem to have more distinct
+selections.
+
+He had seen his share of tight-lipped customers who were only there for a hot
+meal before or after a gruelling day of work and he was not one to pry.
+However, word of this new tea seller had piqued his interest. Maybe he'll buy
+them a round and have a look at their offerings. While ale would always remain
+his pride and joy, he did enjoy a good steaming cup on some of the coldest days
+of the year.
+
+Time for tea and a new acquaintance.
+
+~~
+
+The tea was excellent.
+
+It was easily the best tea he's had since Takao and Kaiya had moved away from
+the city and were unable to find a successor before they left. He ended up
+procuring more than he may have originally expected after sampling five
+different teas, including two recommended by the vendor, and found them all
+very pleasant, one even lightly invigorating. The tea seller, who went by the
+name Inky, was mild-mannered and polite as they described each blend in turn
+and answered questions about its origins. However, the imp had declined payment
+for the teas and when pressed, had mumbled some excuse and looked as though
+they wanted to leave. Eventually Enrique got them to accept some ale from the
+shop with a bit of haggling.
+
+Enrique had begun their conversation by introducing himself and inquiring about
+the meal earlier, whether his new regular had anything they liked in particular
+from the menu. Inky had responded positively, but seemed genuinely confused by
+the second question and only repeated "everything". After tea tasting, the
+topic had turned to the daily running of the shop and the effects of the late
+barley harvest this year on the breweries and their products. As a brewer
+himself, he was always keen to talk about his ales and beercraft in general,
+and was only a little startled when after some time, Gil appeared at their
+table to let him know the staff were done with cleaning and bid him goodnight. 
+
+To his surprise, Enrique found himself a little reluctant to chase out his new
+frequent customer so he could close the shop for the day. He turned back to
+his guest apologetically, but the tea seller had gotten the waiter's hint and
+was already on their feet with their flask and box. The imp thanked him, gave a
+quick little bow and was out of the shop in two blinks of an eye.
+
+The turtle stared after the closed doors for a moment, then returned to
+clearing away the tableware. Rinsing out their glasses, he collected the bills
+left on the table, counted them, and mentally shook his head. Little wonder his
+wait staff were so amenable to the tea seller's presence — it was enough to pay
+for a nice full-course dinner for two. Normally he would bristle at a potential
+insinuation that he was not paying his staff properly, but was oddly calmed at
+the sight of the boxes still sitting innocently on the table, almost as though
+he'd just had another cup of peppermint tea. Ridiculous, he told himself, and
+turned off the lights.
+
+~~
+
+"Why do you keep calling me Henry?" Enrique eventually asks as they walk
+though the forest on the way to his house. The imp is facing him as they trot
+backwards along the path, but at his question they turn and skip ahead a few
+paces before replying.
+
+"Because."
+
+"Because … ?" The turtle prompts.
+
+The imp says matter-of-factly, "Either your name's Henry or it's too long.
+Would you like to be called Too Long?"
+
+"No, but learning to call someone by their name properly wouldn't hurt."
+Enrique says evenly.
+
+The imp spins around and comes to stand in front of him, hands clasped behind
+their back and leaning right into his personal space. "Yes, it would, Henry.
+How would you like people calling you 'Julienne' all the time?"
+
+"I don't see anything wrong with that. Julien is a good name," he replies
+honestly.
+
+The little imp wrinkles their nose. "It's irritating. They never pronounce it
+correctly. I'm not a bunch of little matchsticks." They say peevishly and take
+a short step back, arms crossed.
+
+"Is that why you keep changing your name every other week?" the turtle wonders.
+
+His friend swings their arms to and fro as they resume walking, this time on
+tiptoe. "I haven't changed it yet. It's just written differently," they reply,
+bottom lip jutting out slightly and looking a bit thoughtful.
+
+Enrique recognises the expression as one that would appear whenever the imp was
+about to say something outlandish, and is proven right the next moment when the
+imp suddenly smiles.
+
+"Aren't you going to ask how?" The imp hops from side to side, as though
+jumping across invisible holes in the dirt.
+
+The turtle sighs internally. "All right, how is it written this week?"
+
+"J-o-u-l-e." His friend recites proudly.
+
+"That's … different." Enrique says consideringly.
+
+"Obviously." The imp seems pleased with their announcement as they shift into
+step next to Enrique along the path.
+
+"Didn't you say you were only changing the way it's written?" Enrique points
+out, and is rewarded with a cheerful reply.
+
+"Nope. Changed my mind just because you asked. You're welcome."
+
+~~
+
+Over the course of several months he got to know more about his new tea
+supplier, partly from the imp themselves and mostly through rumours and hearsay
+from his other regulars, though what he'd learned only brought more questions.
+
+He knew Inky occasionally departed the city on some business, joining a caravan
+with other travellers that went up and down the countryside to restock as well
+as hunt for new items and products. This Inky had told him once after they had
+been gone for almost two weeks and returned with a particularly zesty blend
+of citrus maghrebi. The imp had been adamant that it was a gift, and although
+Enrique had protested mildly at first, he was grateful nonetheless.
+
+When the tea seller was in the city, they would peddle on the streets during
+the day around various districts including some of the poorest neighbourhoods,
+though from what he was hearing from other diners, they were succeeding at
+handing out more cups of tea than they were at selling them. They didn't have a
+shop or trading office that he was aware of — he had tried asking for
+directions or an address where he could request a new supply, but the imp
+assured him with a quirky little smile they would come around regularly to take
+orders for their special tea enthusiasts.
+
+The lack of an address was bewildering. Surely with tea of such quality and the
+right customers they could afford rent for a small nook at the docks, or even
+near the shopping districts if they were serious about their trade? Moreover,
+what kind of tea seller gives away their wares freely like that? The imp's
+attire, while clean, was worn in several spots and had clearly seen better
+days, yet they had no compunctions about any of the menu items nor problems
+settling the tab afterwards. Maybe they were some type of mercenary who dabbled
+in a side business. If a customer did not wish others to be privy to what they
+did out of the city, he would leave it be.
+
+Their menu selection was another puzzler. Enrique looked forward to the tea
+seller's arrival and had made a point of getting some of his next-day
+preparations out of the way a little earlier so he could talk briefly with the
+imp on less busier evenings. However, after months of conversation he was still
+no closer to finding out what this regular customer of his liked. Inky seemed
+to order anything with no discernible pattern in the way some diners would
+always order a herb bake on Liandays, only that they never ordered the same
+dish to the day before, and rarely the same dish more than once a week.
+
+He did often have customers who relished variety, and this had been an impetus
+for Enrique to endeavour to come up with novel breads and recipes that would
+draw a new crowd and occasionally offer a bit of excitement for his repeat
+customers. Lately he had been trying out variations of the little elf's most
+recent recipe, but something was lacking. Offhandedly he mentioned his problem
+of the missing ingredient to the tea seller one night as the latter made their
+way through one of his carrot and cucumber loaves. Inky had merely looked at
+him and said "shishito". At that moment he was called away with another
+customer's request, but after all the patrons had left, he remembered their
+conversation earlier and went back to his recipe, this time adding the
+suggested peppers. The resulting flavours melded wonderfully — he had hit upon
+a winning combination.
+
+The next evening he prepared a small plate of his new empanadas for the tea
+seller to try, but the imp did not appear.
+
+
+#### V.
+
+It had been some time since he had heard from the little elf, as Enrique had
+taken to calling them in his mind. The tapas had stopped appearing, replaced
+with delightful recipes by mail from wherever it was helper elves went between
+visitations (the letters had no return address). Meanwhile the brewer busied
+himself with expanding his selection of empanadas through the recipes, even
+adding a new kale telera in a stroke of inspiration.
+
+More concerning was the fact that it had been at least several weeks since he
+had seen or heard from the tea seller. All manner of strange folk passed
+through his shop from time to time, so he shouldn't be surprised the tea seller
+may have decided to move on to another city altogether. Still, he did feel a
+pang of disappointment at losing good company, or the way the imp had left
+without so much as a farewell. There was something about the tea seller that he
+couldn't place that came with the ease with which they would talk of various
+subjects, from beer-making to the pilgrims who would stop in at the shop
+occasionally.
+
+On his way back from the market on one of his few days off when the shop was
+closed, he passed by the post office and was struck by a sudden thought. He
+went inside and showed the rabbit postmistress on duty the last message he had
+received (he had taken to carrying one or two of them on him for new ideas
+whenever he went to the market) and inquired about the sender. The postmistress
+was initially reluctant to answer on account of customer confidentiality, but
+after hearing his concern over the plight of his little elf friend, eventually
+relented. She recognised his shop address and was able to recall the appearance
+of a half-rabbit whose description matched the tea seller. Enrique walked the
+rest of the way back from the post office to his shop, thinking hard.
+
+Stunned bemusement soon gave way to vague worry — it was unlike the tapas chef
+to go silent for long without a leaving message, usually accompanied by a
+recipe. If the tapas chef and tea seller were the same person, it was possible
+they had gone with one of those caravans and something horrible had befallen
+them on the journey. He sighed and threw himself back into his ales and
+pastries with a single-minded focus, trying not to dwell on the possibility the
+imp might not return.
+
+~~
+
+"Enrique," his mother called.
+
+When he appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, his mother hesitated before she
+said, "I have some upsetting news, dear."
+
+"Mrs. Sapaverde came by earlier. She said one of the mill workers saw a small
+imp at the bottom of the hill from the brewery on her way home before the
+storm. The worker tried to warn the imp about the storm, but the child insisted
+they had to meet someone at the brewery."
+
+His mother was looking at him now with concern in her olive-coloured eyes. "We
+think it may have been your friend looking for you, not knowing the brewery was
+closed because of the weather."
+
+Enrique stilled. His father along with the other brewery employees had been
+anticipating the storm and had stayed late the day before carrying out
+preparations — elevating crates and barrels, tying down equipment, stacking
+sandbags, checking the waterproofing and other tasks. Before they left for the
+night, the employees were advised not to come in the next day due to possible
+flooding and mudslides. They had later learned the area around the hill had
+been flooded for the better part of two days. Fortunately the brewery sat atop
+of the hill and was mostly spared from damage aside from a small amount of
+rainwater in several rooms and some spoiled dry stock. Everyone had been aware
+of an impending thunderstorm and would have done the reasonable thing and
+stayed home … or so he thought.
+
+"Thanks … for telling me, Ma." He managed after a moment, and was instantly
+brought into his mother's comforting hug. His mother eventually let him trudge
+back to his room with a mug of cocoa and milk roll in hand.
+
+The first night he didn't have to return from storm cleanup at the brewery and
+immediately fall asleep from exhaustion, he dreamt of an imp at the gatepost,
+and of teatime, bears and tuckleberry jam.
+
+~~
+
+"QUACK!"
+
+A small yellow duck was standing in the open doorway of his shop and looking
+directly at him while he was checking on the ale taps, almost as though it was
+beckoning him. As he came closer, the duck hopped out of reach and onto the
+street, looking from him to a spot next to the shop and back again, staring at
+him. When he was standing just outside the building, the duck nipped at his
+tunic, then padded towards a set of stairs that led up to the Milk Market on
+the second floor. It turned back and looked at him.
+
+Thinking perhaps his affable landlord wished to speak with him and had sent a
+messenger, Enrique followed the duck up the stairs into a spacious landing with
+a corridor with a series of rooms along one side, and another that led to what
+appeared from a distance to be a larger area with big vats. The duck waddled
+down the corridor into a room at the end of the hall.
+
+The brewer walked into what looked like a cross between a small office, a
+shisha den and a bath stall. At one end of the room was some sort of wooden tub
+filled with water attached to a mushroom sprinkler, and a thick towel laid out
+on the floor. Next to the tub in the corner was a short chest of drawers with
+all the drawers pulled out, like a staircase leading nowhere, and stuffed
+woollen carrots, toys and other objects peeking out. A chia plant with some of
+its leaves chewed off sat atop the chest. Croutons, a bag of candy worms with
+its contents half-spilled onto the floor, crumpled notes, an oval wicker
+basket, cushions of all shapes and sizes on a tartan rug, a writing block with
+notepaper, a quill case, an uncorked bottle of ink and a small stack of books
+were scattered about the room.
+
+In the midst of the carnage sat the imp, hatless, cradling a cup of tea and
+looking dejectedly out the open window at the foot traffic passing through the
+alley below. The sight brought back a distant image of rainy afternoons and a
+child's face pressed against the window of his old bedroom, as though they
+could will the rain to stop if they stared long enough.
+
+He would recognise that sulk anywhere.
+
+The eyes that turned to him in surprise (chased by a slight edge of panic,
+though it was gone before he could be certain), outside the dim recess of the
+shop and lit by broad daylight coming from the window, were a startling deep
+blue. A colour he had many memories of in a different place and time.
+
+"Joule?" he called out disbelievingly. 
+
+"Hullo Enrique," his irritating, impish friend replied sheepishly, casting
+their gaze downwards, though not before sending a tiny look of betrayal at the
+duck's retreating form.
+
+Relief, amazement, annoyance and a myriad other emotions flashed through him
+and for several beats he was at a loss for words. He eventually settled for
+rightful indignation.
+
+"You!" he groused. "Why didn't you send word that you had returned? Even Gil
+thought you'd tripped over a rock and broke your neck out in the country
+somewhere! Have you been right here above my shop the entire time?!"
+
+"Not the entire time, I just got back last month and …" the imp's attempt
+at an explanation trailed off under Enrique's reproachful glare.
+
+"And if you had the gall to break into my kitchen, you can sure as well have
+the guts to show your face and own up to it." Enrique bit out.
+
+They remained silent for a long time, the turtle's bulky frame filling the
+room as he stood with folded arms and a heavy frown a few steps away from the
+entrance, and the rabbit imp on the floor looking thoroughly chastised with a
+half-empty teacup and legs tucked beneath them.
+
+Enrique finally spoke. "You're a terrible adult." There was no heat to the
+words. When the imp didn't respond, he continued, "Come down downstairs to the
+back when you're done here, and bring some of that pepperwood if you have any.
+Marnie's been hankering for more, and I suppose I wouldn't mind a cup myself
+after this." He gestured with one arm around the room. "If this is your trading
+post, I can certainly see why you don't invite your customers here."
+
+"It's my marketing manager's office." Joule, or Inky, as they were now known to
+the locals, had started picking up stray bits of paper and books and was
+clearing a path through the litter from window to doorway.
+
+"You have a marketing manager?" Enrique asked.
+
+"QUACK!" The duck had re-appeared at the door and was looking at Inky
+expectantly.
+
+"Five more minutes, okay?" Inky said to the duck. To Enrique, "It wants its
+bath and basket chair back." The candy and croutons had been scooped up into a
+small pumpkin-shaped metal bucket and set next to the chia plant.
+
+Enrique stared at his friend in bewilderment after the duck wandered off again.
+"Your marketing manager is a duck."
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"How do you have a duck as your marketing manager?"
+
+Inky shrugged. "It followed me back and we made a deal."
+
+The turtle was unconvinced. "You mean you roped it into following you back."
+
+"Have it your way if you must insist on rewriting history, but for the record
+there is no forced labour involved and it gets all the benefits and perks." As
+they talked, Inky opened the writing block lid (actually the tea seller's
+wooden box now that Enrique had a closer look), pushing aside items inside
+before extracting two bags of fine tea leaves which they tossed at the turtle,
+who fumbled a bit but caught them. With Inky's teacup, books and quills packed
+away, they left the room to a mildly disgruntled duck who waved at them before
+strutting inside for a well-earned nap.
+
+Enrique looked around the hallway leading to the stairs. "Is your office also
+on the same floor?"
+
+"No, don't need one." said the imp as they descended the stairs.
+
+He frowned, but before he could ask, Inky answered his unspoken question. "I
+don't sell tea, Enrique." The ale brewer was about to argue the point when
+the imp's words abruptly came back to him: *Please consider it a gift.* He
+turned to Inky and found his friend already watching him from the bottom step.
+Waiting.
+
+A grin slowly spread over Enrique's face. "That's a pity. I was just thinking
+my tea seller might want to try my new line of empanadas on the house after
+making the deliveries."
+
+The imp only rolled their eyes. "Great. So your diners won't have to turn into
+skeletons to get their bread after all."
+
+The giant turtle chased the laughing imp all the way back to the kitchens.
+
+
+#### Epilogue
+
+Enrique looked up from checking on the walnut bread in the oven when Inky
+walked in accompanied by an unfamiliar face. A toque, newly arrived to the
+city by the looks of it, he guessed.
+
+After depositing a small box on one of the worktables, Inky settled atop an
+icebox and waved the visitor to a wooden stool nearby. Enrique greeted them
+both before closing the oven door again and stepping towards the worktable.
+"What brings you into my kitchen today?"
+
+Inky gave the chef a serious look that was immediately undermined by the
+humorous tenor in their next words. "I bring you a problem."
+
+Enrique snorted. "Just one?" he asked, but a small smile quirked on his face
+nevertheless. He opened the box to preview the contents and found one of his
+favourite blends. He set it to one side of the table for later.
+
+"For now. This one," Inky gestured to the toque next to them looking around at
+the loaves cooling on the racks with barely concealed excitement, "has never
+had an empanada in their life. And they have the gall to call themselves
+Bread!"
+
+Enrique shook hands with the toque. "Hi Bread, I'm Enrique. Unfortunately the
+troublemaker is right, you must try them. Made by hand as they have always been
+from the first day, every one of them!" informed the chef with a definite note
+of pride in his voice. He handed Bread a pair of enticing golden brown pastries
+wrapped in a paper sleeve from a tray kept warm on a broiler.
+
+To Inky, he said, "So you wanted me to give them a quick demo?"
+
+Inky grinned as they replied, "Even better, have you thought about taking on an
+apprentice? Bread here is a sturdy hand, hard worker and keen to learn."
+
+The empanada chef stroked his chin with a thumb and fore claw thoughtfully.
+"Well, I suppose I have, actually. The nut breads we talked about have been
+flying out the door so fast I can barely keep up. At this rate I'd need another
+one of me to get more out there!" He chuckled.
+
+He looked at Bread again, assessing. "When can you start? We'll be up early to
+get the dough going and all the ingredients prepared for a long day. How about
+we begin with the basics, see where you're at, and go from there?"
+
+~
+
+Inky had left with Bread shortly after the latter had further introduced
+themselves and they had arranged for the toque to return the following week.
+Although Enrique had reiterated it would be on a trial basis initially, he had
+a good feeling about the new hire. Maybe it was the way the toque's eyes lit up
+at their first bite of empanada. The fact that this was someone Inky had
+casually dragged in should set off all of his mental alarms. Still, despite his
+friend's often flagrant disregard for anything inedible, they could be very
+observant when they wanted. Clearly they had seen something in the toque's
+character to recommend them personally.
+
+He was already going through lesson plans in his head, and was so engrossed in
+making a list of things to gather for his new apprentice that when he turned
+around to grab a pair of oven mittens, he had to do a double-take. There, on
+the icebox that the imp had recently vacated, a small green turtle stared back
+at him from where it sat on a cocoa-coloured pie slightly wider than the
+turtle. On closer inspection, the ensemble appeared to be a cake decorated with
+cream and dark chocolate buttons for eyes, set on a round wooden plank lined
+with parchment. Under the plank was a note in the now-familiar crisp blue
+lettering: "ENJOY YOUR TERRAPAN :)"
+
+Enrique huffed out a laugh. He already knew what he would find on the other
+side of the note without turning it over. Pocketing the slip of paper carefully
+in his apron, he went to get a knife and plate to help himself to a slice of
+delicious mud pie.

src/characters/inky.md

@@ -24,4 +24,4 @@ Paths:
 
 - Retriever: Contractual Obligation, An Auspicious Start, Two In The Hand, The Triple Lindy
 - Were-Hare: Lepusthropy, Beast Sense, Hybrid Form
-- Tasseomancer: Reading, Ceremony, Steeping
+- Tasseomancer: Reading, Ceremony, Steeping, Blending