The day started just like any other. Or, okay, maybe not any other. It was a few days after they had all broken into a library (it’s still breaking in, even if the library is open, if you’re cool enough about it). And, instead of Raffa being at school, and Dust busking, and Sasha- doing whatever Sasha did, event planning and using Facebook in 2025 and putting googly eyes on street signs- they were all home, curled up on the couch together, watching a movie. They had been watching more movies together, lately. This time, it had been Sasha’s choice, and he had put in- gag- Legally Blonde. But, Dust supposed, if he got past the blondeness and the legal stuff, it wasn’t all that bad. Maybe. Dust at least liked the dog. But clearly it wasn’t perfect, because-
“That is not how law schools look at grades,” Raffa pointed out. “They would love to have a fashion major.”
“But the drama,” Sasha said.
“But the realism,” Raffa pointed out. “It’s a movie about law school, it should be like law school-”
“Why do you even care about how law school works?” Dust grumbled.
“Because realism,” Raffa said. Again.
“Okay, little Miss hooked up with both of your student’s moms,” Sasha said, rolling his eyes.
“What does that have to do with how schools work?” Raffa asked. “And I didn’t even-”
“Ha! That was a total burn!” Dust exclaimed, cutting Raffa off as he high fived Sasha.
“Just my egg,” Raffa said, with a dramatic sigh, leaning over and resting her head on Dust’s shoulder. “Just like my poor, innocent, egg.”
Dust, despite what any of his roommates would say, did not blush at that. “I was trying to cook it faster. And I did, thank you very much.”
“You burned it,” Sasha pointed out.
“It was cooked faster though,” Dust defended, crossing his arms. “Not like I knew it was going to- do that.”
Raffa and Sasha took a second to stare at Dust. Dust had been stared at a lot, in his life. Because he wasn’t cool enough. Because he was too cool. But he never knew what his roommates staring at him like this meant, exactly, but it sure happened a lot.
“Do you know how to cook, Dust?” Raffa asked, slightly quieter than before.
“At all?” Sasha added, with his head tilted.
“I bake,” Dust pointed out. “I made you a cake yesterday.”
“It was almost edible,” Sasha joked.
And Dust knew that it was a joke, because Sasha had eaten nearly half the cake. And nearly all the icing.
“Right,” Raffa said, ignoring Sasha. “But can you cook?”
“Why would I know how to cook?” Dust asked. “I’m a ghost vampire zombie mermaid whose only sustenance is ectoplasm, blood, brains, and kelp.”
“And Koolaid?” Sasha asked.
Dust nodded gravely. “And Koolaid. It has cool in the name. It’s vital to my existence.”
“And the baking?” Sasha asked.
“That is for you humans,” Dust said. “I don’t need cinnamon rolls. But you do.”
“I’d die without them,” Sasha promised. “The doctor prescribed me 500ml of cinnamon rolls, stat.”
“I don’t think you can measure cinnamon rolls in milliliters," Raffa said.
“You totally can,” Dust confirmed. “And I’m a doctor. So I know about this stuff.”
“A vampire baker doctor,” Sasha said with a nod. “Very fancy.”
“The fanciest,” Raffa confirmed. “But have you considered cooking actual food? And not just donuts?”
Dust shrugged. “I have Sasha’s Slim Jim’s. Why would I need to cook?”
“You never actually explained those,” Raffa said, turning her teacher gaze upon Sasha. “Why-“
“We are talking about Dust, right now,” Sasha said, the words all rushed out and squished together. “So. Let’s keep talking about Dust’s inability to cook. Please.”
“Why would I even need to cook?” Dust asked, drawing out the words.
It wasn’t a whine. Cool people don’t whine. Cool people didn’t cook, either.
“Because it’s a life skill?” Raffa said, though it sounded more like a question.
“You can’t live off my Slim Jim’s forever, babe,” Sasha continued. Raffa raised an eyebrow. Sasha shushed her. “Which we aren’t talking about right now, because we’re talking about Dust.”
“It’s not a big deal,” Dust huffed. “Nobody cool ever cooks. Batman has a butler. Dracula drinks blood. Morpheus is in the Matrix and so they get all their nutrients from goop. Or something.”
“Well, you can’t survive off of goop,” Raffa said. “You need food.”
Dust’s mood soured at the thought of needing anything. He didn’t need anything. Except for- sunglasses. And bracelets with studs on them.
“I’m a robot,” Dust said, instead. At least he had the guts to say it, unlike that weirdo at the library. And at the stomach party. “Robots don’t need food.”
“It’s still a good skill to have,” Raffa said. “And then you won’t burn my eggs anymore.”
“I did buy you a burger,” Dust pointed out. He huffed again. “Besides, cooking just isn’t cool.”
His roommates looked at each other, again, instead of Dust. Normally, the lack of attention would bother him- but it felt different, with them, in a way he couldn’t quite name. Sasha gestured a bit, and Raffa made a face, and then-
“Cooking can be cool, though,” Raffa said. “There are some very cool chefs out there.”
“Yeah,” Sasha said. “Like Guy Fieri.”
“Who,” Dust said, slowly, in genuine confusion. “Is Guy Fieri?”
The shriek that Sasha let out was enough to break windows. In space. Space windows were broken, for sure.
“Pinocchio’s going to try to evict us for the tenth time,” Raffa said, sounding more gleeful than scared.
“Who cares,” Sasha said, as he pulled out his phone. “Dust doesn’t know who Guy Fieri is!”
“And you still haven’t told me who he is,” Dust pointed out. He hated being out of the loop. “Or why he matters.”
“He matters because he’s Guy Fieri,” Raffa said, with a very serious nod.
“Yes,” Sasha said, as his fingers flew across his keyboard. “He’s Guy Fucking Fieri!”
“And,” Sasha said, dramatically holding up his phone. “He looks like this.”
Dust stared at the screen. At the man, on Sasha’s phone screen, with bleached, spiky hair, a button up shirt with flames- (they make the shirt go faster), yelling at the scream, and, the cherry on the hella cool top- red sunglasses.
“That’s- that’s a chef?” Dust asked, in awe. “That- that’s an actual chef? He cooks?”
“He cooks,” Sasha confirmed. “And he drives around in his car talking about other cool restaurants.”
It was Dust’s turn to scream so loud to break windows. And- he didn’t just break space windows. He broke every window in space. And on earth. And in every multiverse. His scream was just that cool.
“And that’s an eleventh eviction notice,” Raffa said, with a snort. “We’re going to have to blackmail him again.”
“We can always-” Dust started.
“We are not putting our landlord inside of a massive cannon and blowing him into space,” Raffa said.
Dust pouted. “How did you know I was going to say that?”
“Because you said that yesterday,” Raffa said. “And last week.”
“And the week before that,” Sasha added.
“And the first day you moved in,” Raffa said, with a fond smile. “To his face.”
“Don’t want to get put in a cannon, don’t act like cannon fodder,” Dust said with a pout.
“So true,” Sasha replied.
He was tapping on his phone again. Dust leaned towards Sasha, to look, but he moved the phone away. That only piqued Dust’s interest more.
“What are you looking up?” Dust asked. Still definitely not whining. “Are you finding more Guy Fieri?”
“Not Guy Fieri,” Sasha said.
Dust sighed dramatically, flopping onto Raffa.
“But,” Sasha said. “I think you’ll like this just as much.”
“Really?” Dust asked, excitedly sitting back up. He made himself a little bit dizzy, moving that fast- but who cared, when there was something as good as Guy Fieri. “I’ll like it as much as the coolest person on Earth?”
“I thought the coolest person on Earth was Dracula?” Raffa asked.
“Dracula’s not on Earth anymore,” Dust explained easily. “He lives in space now. He doesn’t need to breathe, there’s no sunlight in space, it’s perfect.”
“Isn’t there more sun in space?” Raffa asked.
“No,” Dust said. “It’s dark in there.”
“But the sun-” Raffa started.
Dust cut her off. “Dark in there.”
“Not how that works.” Raffa said.
“Pretty sure that’s how it works,” Dust replied.
Sasha cut her off, this time. “Okay, okay, before you both commit space based violence, I’m ready.”
“But I like space based violence,” Dust pouted. Or- Not pouted. Very coolly answered. Yeah.
“You’ll like this more,” Sasha promised, as he finally turned his phonescreen to face Dust. “It’s a cooking show. Where the contestants sabotage each other.”
Dust took in the sight on the screen. “Is- is that someone cooking with a dog cone on their head?”
“Yes,” Sasha said, with a grin. He switched to another photo. “And this-”
“She has to cook with a gun?” Dust asked.
“Yes!” Sasha exclaimed. “It’s not a loaded gun, but still.”
“It’s pretty cool,” Dust admitted. He smiled, not a practiced smirk, but- a genuine smile. “Like. Really cool. I should learn how to cook. Right now.”
“Not with a gun,” Raffa said. “Yet.”
Dust sighed, but he was still smiling, too. “Not yet. But once I’m a master chef, I will be shooting my food.”
“Maybe first try not to burn my egg, first,” Raffa said.
“I was trying to make it cook faster,” Dust explained. Again. But- “I’m going to make you a million of the coolest eggs ever, Raff.”
“Thanks, Dust,” Raffa said.
Dust stood up in a flash, only pausing to grab his cane, before walking-slash-tripping his way into the kitchen. He began grabbing random things. He wasn’t- Dust really didn’t know how to cook. But you needed a pot, right? And knives. Dust liked knives. And? Eggs? Did Dust actually want to cook eggs? Eggs didn’t seem all that cool. But he did want to cook something. He just started grabbing more ingredients out of the fridge. And the pantry. And more pots. Pots were good. People needed pots. Right? Right. Yeah. Pots. And pans. What even was the difference between a pot and a pan? Pans looked like better weapons than pots? Yeah. That was definitely it.
“So,” Raffa said, just barely loud enough for Dust to hear as he messed around in the kitchen. “You sure know a lot about cooking.”
“Cooking shows, babe,” Sasha corrected.
There was a pause. “Just cooking shows?” Raffa asked.
“Maybe,” Sasha said. “Maybe not. I’m mysterious.”
Dust didn’t quite know what this had to do with him cooking the coolest food ever. But it did seem to have weight, that was for sure. As heavy as the pot- the twelfth pot- that Dust was grabbing. And, well, okay, if Dust dropped that pot, that was not his fault. The pot really was heavy. And so was the conversation. But then the conversation paused because- maybe because of the pot being dropped. If Dust had dropped a pot at all, which the jury was still out on, it caused a pretty loud bang- although, not quite as loud as Sasha’s scream. Or Dust’s. Definitely not as loud as Dust’s perfect scream. Duh.
“Go help him,” Raffa said, once the pot that may or may not have been dropped stopped ringing out through the entire apartment. “Before he really gets us evicted.”
“We have so much blackmail on the Nochster,” Sasha started. “We really don’t need to worry about us being evicted.”
“True,” Raffa said. “And yet?”
“And yet what?” Sasha asked.
“And yet, you’re going to go over there and help him,” Raffa said.
Dust snorted. Like he needed any help. He was already the best chef ever- Even though, okay, he wasn’t the best pot grabber, ever, apparently, because he dropped another pot. Whoops.
“Do not say anything,” Sasha said, as he stood up from the couch. “Keep your lips sealed. For me, anyway, not for Dana-”
“Nothing happened!” Raffa called out, to Sasha’s retreating form.
“Yet,” Sasha corrected. “Nothing happened yet.”
“Her cousin’s hotter!” Raffa added, as Sasha made it to the kitchen.
He stood in front of Dust, staring at the mess of pots, pans, eggs, and night market produce covering the entirety of the kitchen counter. And the floor. And-
“So,” Sasha said, slowly. “What’re you trying to make, Dust Bunny?”
Dust smiled at Sasha, and, truthfully, said- “I have no idea.”
“Well, let’s figure that out,” Sasha said, with an oddly soft smile.
So, yeah, Dust thought that cooking was pretty damn cool. Because of Guy Fieri, because of Cutthroat Kitchen, because of his roommates.
Of course using the characters of my beloved @doorbellvibes and @shrimptacodaniels
