Danny was adopted by Pariah Dark after some... convincing (Clockwork, blackmailed his former lover >:3) Unfortunately, for Danny, the ghost becomes eligible for summoning.
At first, it was just some random shenanigans, like drunk teens, sleepover rituals, the usual. Until Fenton luck strikes, and he accepts his first sacrificial summoning.
Now Danny has a harem of both scary and hot men and women. Who can now visit his personal haunt/home anytime.
I've finally been able to write for self-care again. Hallelujah. I'm feeling inspired and on fire.
Anyway, Yes, Chef!: Second Course is a fic I'm doing for no good reason. It's a 'where are they now' type story canon to The Cooking Chronicles AU and also explores plotlines that fell to the wayside in the original fic because they weren't relevant. It's sort of vignette style, but I'm going to try and make it a coherent narrative.
This is an extremely early draft and just me working some things out for now. If it ever gets finished and posted, which seems unlikely but maybe, it'll probably get drastically changed
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It was about 13:45 on a Sunday afternoon, and the plaid couch sitting in the center of the cabin’s main living room was fully occupied, as were two of the armchairs and recliners off to the sides. The air was rife with chatter, layered and meandering, and thick smoke, which was weighted by heavy notes of chicory and ash. Woolen drapes blocked soft golden sunlight from glaring against an enormous holo screen. The sound was muted, replaced by the backdrop of sizzling meat cooking on an induction stovetop in the nearby kitchen. The couch frame creaked as Zane Flynt leaned back, his feet, snug in a pair of hiking sandals, coming to rest on top of the coffee table. He blew smoke from his cigar towards the ceiling fan making a slow rotation high above him, ashing into an empty beer can sitting between his legs.
“It’s what I said, innit? Thinking this old dog has reached the end of his tether. I’ll still be on with the lot of you. Just to the lesser extent.”
Sitting in one of the armchairs, Athena had turned away from reading the closed captions on the holo screen to stare Zane down. Her features were drawn and rigid, her gaze unwavering. Zane, who made brief eye contact, looked away and sighed.
“Anywho, wasn’t going to do it till after the holidays,” he added. “Give you all some time to find the next chef with the right amount of bollocks.”
From his place on the other end of the couch, Rhys turned to Zane. The space in the center of the couch was occupied by Wilhelm’s girth, so he had to lean forward to situate the other man in his line of sight.
“What?” Unable to help himself, the latter half of the word came out in a squawk. He cleared his throat. “When were you planning to tell us?”
“I’m telling you now. That night we do final holiday seating before we close for sabbatical, that will be my last huzzah.”
Troy Calypso, who’d been slouched down in one of the recliners, sneakered feet dangling over the edge of the raised footrest, looked up from the portable game device he was thumbing.
“What, you got wanderlust, old man? We should celebrate.”
“I’m not leaving yet, Calypso.”
Troy hummed, his articulated cybernetic making a dismissive gesture. The cybernetic arm was new, upgraded with the salary that had been bolstered with a promotion to line cook. Rhys had hooked him up with a prosthetic specialist and Troy had managed form there. For a man who’d relied on rudimentary prosthetics or nothing entirely most of his life, he’d adapted quickly.
“Good, cause I’m not taking up your mantle.”
“As if ye even could.”
“Guys,” Rhys’ tone dipped sharply, cutting between their banter. “Zane, let’s discuss this in private next time we get a chance.”
“We can talk about it now, since you lot are here and the floor’s quiet.”
“No, we’re here to relax and enjoy a meal as family. I’m not letting that get char-broiled to hell without a fight.”
“Sounding more like Jack everyday, boyo.”
Wilhelm grunted. It was the only sound he made, unclear if it was an agreement or just him growing annoyed by the bickering.
“Well….” Rhys began, his smile tight. “Speaking of, I should go check on what he’s doing to that poor prime rib.”
As Rhys stood up from the couch, Athena asked, “When was the wedding again?”
It took some time for Rhys to answer. He seemed to be assessing if Athena was being serious or not. Then he remembered that she didn’t seem to have any type of sense of humor.
“We haven’t even set a date with Pandora’s justice of the peace yet. It’s on the agenda. Soon as I figure out the new tasting menu and get Jack’s approval for a few things.”
“You should hurry figuring it out then.”
“Trying, chef. You know Jack.”
“Yes. I know him well.”
There was a sharp creak as Troy spilled over the side of the recliner. He came to stand next to the couch, snatching Zane’s cigar away in nimble robotic fingers.
“Me and Flynt, we’re getting hitched, too.”
The cigar sizzled as he drew on it, the lit end blazing vibrant for a few elongated seconds. He held in the smoke, straddled Zane’s lap and threw himself at the man. As he met Zane’s lips, the pushed him off, sputtering.
“The feck we are, boyo.”
But Troy opened his mouth then, and Zane’s protest died on his tongue. Instead, he succumbed to that sweet smoke between them, inhaling. The two fumbled into another kiss that was too forceful and noisy to be the simple act of shotgunning.
Rhys’ jaw worked and Athena scowled.
Shoving Troy’s elbow from his ribcage, Wilhelm said, “Knock it off.”
As if in response, Zane’s arm came around Troy’s waist, fingers slipping beneath the loose waistband of the man’s cargo pants. Troy’s growl was muffled.
“Okay, I’m going to go check on Jack now,” Rhys said, trying not to gape at the pair.
“Got to make a phone call,” Athena deadpanned.
Rolling his eyes, Wilhelm scooted over on the couch to the space Rhys had previously occupied. He found the TV remote and hit the button to unmute it.
“How’re the kids getting along?” Jack didn’t look up from where he was turning rib steaks over on the induction cooktop as Rhys entered the kitchen. “My brother show up yet?”
“Zane and Troy are about to bone on your couch right there out in the open in front of everyone.” Rhys opened the fridge, grabbed two crisp, cold bottles of IPA and held one out in offering. Jack shook his head in declination. “Tim’s a no-show so far.”
“Tell Flynt and Calypso they better clean up their mess when they’re done. Tim’ll show up eventually.”
“You sure? He said he’d be here over an hour ago.”
“I’m sure. Wilhelm’s here.”
Rhys sprung the top from the beer bottle using only his robotic grip and swigged. “Good point.” The label on the drink was considered and set down. He came up behind Jack, planting a soft kiss on to the man’s cheek. “Sorry. I forget you stopped drinking. I shouldn’t be doing it around you.”
“S’kay, Rhysie. You having a drink ain’t going to put me on a bender.”
“Still.”
His arms circling the other man, Rhys pressed himself against Jack’s back and leaned his chin into his shoulder. Over the last few months, while he followed a strict plan of abstinence, Jack had bulked up, parts of him yielding less to prodding now. In the middle, though, he had softened, likely due to his metabolism returning to a natural state. Once, Jack had mentioned offhand that he’d gained something like over fifty pounds in the last two years of not being on the good shit. Rhys was fond of the change.
“Am I interrupting something?” came a new voice. It was identical to Jack’s.
Rhys let go of his fiancée and turned around. Abandoning his steaks for a moment, Jack followed suit, nodding a greeting to his brother.
“I was just about to stuff my boyfriend full of meat,” he told Tim, keeping a straight face. “Feel free to wait in the living room until I’m done.”
