[Snowfell Festival | S] Cooking With A Killer Robot

[Zelenin]

[attr="class","mischa"]

Another Christmas was on the horizon, yet here she was -- trapped within a world that some playfully referred to as the Database. Zelenin almost envied people like that. They seemed to be without a care in the world, whereas she was doing what she could to survive and adjust in this world. It would be one thing if it were herself, but there was also Shiva to consider. They needed to save up for a house and move out of the inn, while at the same time honing their crafts and skills. For Zelenin, that included cooking, tracking and hunting... not necessarily in that order.

Zelenin was far from the best cook in the real world. Truth is, she was bloody horrible. She was the kind of person who would find a way to set even water aflame, and was thus tasked with peeling potatoes or grating cheese. Her sister and mother were the cooks of her family, and their other female relatives were equally competent. Of course, she knew that she could not rely on them, and could prepare simple meals when she needed to. Fast food and quick meals were how she survived back then. But here? She needed to rely more on herself, as gold ran out fast if you were not actively adventuring.

There was a dull ache in her heart as she stepped out into the Sarum area. It was treacherous as a low leveled player, but she managed. She had to, if she wanted to hunt down one of those chicken monsters… Snow Chickens, they were called. Hopefully they were not actually made of snow; Zel wanted to bring back a decent amount of meat for her and her companion. She was particularly interested in frying something for the first time. Her lessons with Dorian had only taught her so much. She had to branch out and expand her horizons even further. There were guides for these things, as well as the system, though the latter was inefficient in taste and bonuses.

As she found herself approaching Moon Dance Forest, Zelenin quieted her mind and turned her thoughts away from her dilemma. Her eyes scanned the many trees and bushes that grew in clumps here. Her ears strained for any telltale sounds of life -- animal life, that is. She was uninterested in the blundering of fellow Adventurers. Now, what did a chicken sound like? They clucked, obviously, but she expected them to have light footsteps. Light footsteps, fluttering wings…

Her eyes narrowed into thin slits as she imagined it: a pale white Snow Chicken, wandering about and pecking at the ground for seeds or insects. Excluding the soft sounds of claws digging into the ground, it would be silent. But it would also be careless, leaving itself open for attack by bigger prey. Foxes were the first thing that came to mind, as well as dogs. If she were a chicken, where would she be? Near the lake, or was the forest as good an option as any?

[newclass=.babar]background-color:#050505; border: 2px solid #050505; border-radius: 5px; overflow: hidden; width: 175px; height:6px;[/newclass]

[attr="class","babar"]

[newclass=.babar]background-color:#050505; border: 2px solid #050505; border-radius: 5px; overflow: hidden; width: 175px; height:6px;[/newclass]

[attr="class","babar"]

∝: 504
♫: So Far Away
✏: Time to make Dorian proud.
@: Zelenin

[newclass=.mischa ::-webkit-scrollbar]height:5px;width:10px;background-color:#2c2c2c;[/newclass]
[newclass=.mischa ::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background-color:#211f20;border-left:1px solid #211f20;border-top:1px solid #211f20;border-bottom:1px solid #211f20;[/newclass]

[Zelenin]

[attr="class","mischa"]

The corners of the Russian's eyes curled in annoyance; the sounds of leaves crunching underfoot, no matter how quietly, irked her. Her Tracker skill, Silent Move, could only do so much. She paused long enough to deactivate the skill, and moved on at her own speed. The jig was surely up by this time, so why bother? She was also under the impression that these Snow Chickens would not be as flighty as their domesticated cousins. She predicted the birds would be itching for a fight, and was prepared to pull out her sword or ax.

As it turned out, her first encounter with a Snow Chicken came almost fifteen minutes later. She spotted said chicken on someone's property, bobbing behind a tall and barbed fence. Curious to find a way over, she found nothing in the way of an alternative entrance. There was nary a hole, nor a weak spot for her to investigate. So, just how had the chicken managed? She knew they were incapable of flight, so that option was put. Had it gotten into the fence by mistake, or was someone keeping it there for later? Was it a mere pet? Or a future meal?

Aaah well. How did that phrase go again? Finders keepers, losers weepers? That chicken was now hers. If they wanted to fight about it... Zelenin considered her chances. There was a good chance that the other person could overpower her. In this world, she lacked access to her hand to hand skills. That was an issue she intended to right soon. There were weapon skills that could make incompatible skills functional, and as her class allowed her to use all types of weapons, all she needed was the Unarmed skill.

To effectively crush someone's throat with her bare hands... It filled her with determination. Oh the other side of the fence, the chicken gave her an unnerved look. Was that fear in its eyes? If the chicken was hoping for a quick death, it would be greatly disappointed in the results.

She traced a finger along one of the barbed lengths of wire. Yes. She was going to eat that chicken, and absorb its powers. The wolf in her softly growled with delight. Her vision shifted along with her eyes, and a large pair of wolfen ears made themselves known atop her head. Did wolves even have a taste for poultry? Ah, she would find out soon enough.

[newclass=.babar]background-color:#050505; border: 2px solid #050505; border-radius: 5px; overflow: hidden; width: 175px; height:6px;[/newclass]

[attr="class","babar"]

[newclass=.babar]background-color:#050505; border: 2px solid #050505; border-radius: 5px; overflow: hidden; width: 175px; height:6px;[/newclass]

[attr="class","babar"]

∝: 408
♫: Serial Killer
✏: ---
@: Zelenin

[newclass=.mischa ::-webkit-scrollbar]height:5px;width:10px;background-color:#2c2c2c;[/newclass]
[newclass=.mischa ::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background-color:#211f20;border-left:1px solid #211f20;border-top:1px solid #211f20;border-bottom:1px solid #211f20;[/newclass]

[Zelenin]

[attr="class","mischa"]

She was never a fan of climbing fences, but those with barbed wiring irked her the most. For a person with decent arm strength, the basic fence could be jumped with little issue. The biggest obstacle with your average fan was usually height, and a means of anchoring yourself to get above it. Barbed wire fences were trickier, as in you could cut or seriously maim yourself if done incorrectly. And then there was the threat of fence AIDS, one of the largest inconveniences provided by barbed wire.

A good way to deal with barbed wire was to protect yourself with a thick patch of fabric, such as a rug or carpet. Another way was to simply cut the wire and walk around the ensuing hole. Unfortunately, Zelenin lacked bolt cutters or a rug. She was going to have to go under or over. If over, she needed an even height break. Under… there was no other option but to crawl under, and she disliked that even more. She would rather try to climb over the fence with no protection.

After a few more minutes of deliberation, Zelenin took off her jacket and tossed it over a stretch of barbed wire above her. That was not enough to completely dull the barbs, but it was better than grabbing hold of them with her bare hands. Pain was a very real factor in this world. She wanted to avoid it as much as possible, which meant not taking unnecessary risks. A mental note to acquire gloves later was made. She would need them regardless, once she picked up that hand to hand combat skill.

The Snow Chicken eyed her with distrust as she climbed over the fence. It did not choose to flee, however, but merely continued to hop cautiously about. As expected, the barbs bit in a little, but not to a painful degree. There was more discomfort coming from her backside, where a tail was straining against her pants, begging to be released. She landed hard on her feet on the other side, one hand tugging frantically at her waistband. Relief, cool and refreshing, spread across her lower back as the blonde tail wiggled free. She would have to start sagging her pants like a teenage boy these days. Her wolf characteristics only came out when she was either excited by the thrill of the hunt, or her emotions were getting the better of her. Now, about that chicken...

[newclass=.babar]background-color:#050505; border: 2px solid #050505; border-radius: 5px; overflow: hidden; width: 175px; height:6px;[/newclass]

[attr="class","babar"]

[newclass=.babar]background-color:#050505; border: 2px solid #050505; border-radius: 5px; overflow: hidden; width: 175px; height:6px;[/newclass]

[attr="class","babar"]

∝: 410
♫: Kosmos
✏: ---
@: Zelenin

[newclass=.mischa ::-webkit-scrollbar]height:5px;width:10px;background-color:#2c2c2c;[/newclass]
[newclass=.mischa ::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background-color:#211f20;border-left:1px solid #211f20;border-top:1px solid #211f20;border-bottom:1px solid #211f20;[/newclass]

[Zelenin]

[attr="class","mischa"]

The Snow Chicken bobbed its head to and fro, now moving in a languid manner. It was attempting to give off the impression that it was indifferent to the wolf hair, but Zelenin knew better than that. Her lips curled away from her teeth, exposing a set of neatly line teeth, and sharper than normal canines. Were she but a simple wolf, her plan to attack would be much different. For starters, her weapons would be her teeth and claws, and her first instinct to pounce on the chicken, and seize it by its throat. Once her teeth were firmly clenched around the neck of the fowl creature, escape was virtually impossible. With a vigorous shake of her head, and a sudden snap to one side, the neck would be broken. Depending on how much pressure she applied, the taste of fresh, warm blood would invade her mouth and tease her taste buds.

It was as simple as that.

But no -- her method of attack utilized manmade weapons and class skills. She unsheathed the hatchet from her side, and enchanted the blade with Atrophy Break. The chicken continued to eye her with obvious disdain, but if it were intelligent, it would not have tarried for so long. Or was it petrified with fear? It was pacing around like a caged tiger in a zoo, all too aware of the person inside with it.

The only warning it received was the way Zelenin cocked the ax. Reality struck it like a knife (or ax) to the back when she lifted the ax head close to her chin. The bird uttered a panicked squawk, flapped its wings, and then decided to take its chances and charge straight towards her. Oh, you silly little bird… It just made it easier to hit, really. She threw her ax, striking it in the side of the neck. A spectral chain formed upon impact, tightening around the chicken and paralyzing it.

Smirking, Zelenin twirled her ax and jumped into her Deadly Dance animation. The bird could only watch as she crashed down upon it, sinking the ax blade deep into its side this time. The Snow Chicken managed to utter a warbling cry, before Zel hacked half of its beak off. It was half dead from the attacks she had inflicted upon it thus far, so she had to be careful in how she chose to deal with it now. As a Chef, she needed to capture the bird, not outright kill it. So she stuffed the bird into a burlap sack, tied the end shut around its head so it could still breathe, and tossed the sack over the fence. Now she had to run away before the land owner got curious.

[newclass=.babar]background-color:#050505; border: 2px solid #050505; border-radius: 5px; overflow: hidden; width: 175px; height:6px;[/newclass]

[attr="class","babar"]

[newclass=.babar]background-color:#050505; border: 2px solid #050505; border-radius: 5px; overflow: hidden; width: 175px; height:6px;[/newclass]

[attr="class","babar"]

∝: 458
♫: Klouny
✏: ---
@: Zelenin

[newclass=.mischa ::-webkit-scrollbar]height:5px;width:10px;background-color:#2c2c2c;[/newclass]
[newclass=.mischa ::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background-color:#211f20;border-left:1px solid #211f20;border-top:1px solid #211f20;border-bottom:1px solid #211f20;[/newclass]

[Zelenin]

[attr="class","mischa"]

With her ill-gotten goods, Zelenin fled to a secluded clearing in Moon Dance Forest. She saw no obvious houses, nor were there other Adventurers in her neck of the wood. It was just her, the bird and the trees. In other words, it was just perfect. The peace and quiet suited her quite well. The only thing that would have improved upon it was the presence of her dear companion, Shiva. Zelenin felt her cheeks flush. She dipped her head, attempting to hide the reddened flesh with her short hair.

Unfortunately, the Enchanter was not here right now, and Zelenin was unsure if that would be wise, anyway. How would the girl react to watching her puppy kill and gut a live animal? Even if it was a monster, the chicken was real enough to inspire sympathy. Shiva was well aware that Zelenin could be violent, including those days before their departure from the real world. But actually killing something… Oh well. It was best to get this over and done with.

Thanks to Dorian and a few hours spent poring over library books, Zelenin had a pretty good idea of how to butcher a chicken. It was somewhat similar to culling rabbits, minus the feathers. She could not skin it like the Frenmic Rabbit, so she would have to scald the body. And for that, she would need a vat of water.

She went about making a small fire, first scavenging for small twigs and other fallen bits of lumber. She considered chopping more wood, but her hatchet was ill-suited for the task; it was too dull.

With a bit of effort, the pile of sticks were ignited. She left it alone to retrieve a fresh pail of water from the stream. This she transported back to the fire, and dumped into a waiting pot. The pot was set up in a small stand over the flames, and then left to boil so that she could focus on the chicken.

The Wolf Hair took out a plastic jug with the neck removed and the bottom sliced open. The chicken was stuffed inside, the jug suspended from the tree, and a cut was made against its throat. Unable to move and calm up until now, the bird lightly twitched. Zelenin watched impassively as the bird slowly began to bleed out.

[newclass=.babar]background-color:#050505; border: 2px solid #050505; border-radius: 5px; overflow: hidden; width: 175px; height:6px;[/newclass]

[attr="class","babar"]

[newclass=.babar]background-color:#050505; border: 2px solid #050505; border-radius: 5px; overflow: hidden; width: 175px; height:6px;[/newclass]

[attr="class","babar"]

∝: 390
♫: ---
✏: ---
@: Zelenin

[newclass=.mischa ::-webkit-scrollbar]height:5px;width:10px;background-color:#2c2c2c;[/newclass]
[newclass=.mischa ::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background-color:#211f20;border-left:1px solid #211f20;border-top:1px solid #211f20;border-bottom:1px solid #211f20;[/newclass]

[Zelenin]

[attr="class","mischa"]

The lifeless body of the chicken came out of the boiling water, its formerly white plumage stained brown. Much of its feathers had come off during the scalding. The rest she plucked herself. A small pile of feathers grew at her feet, utterly useless now. She shook the last of the feathers off, and used her ax to remove the head and feet.

The time seemed to drag on as Zelenin went about gutting and cleaning the chicken. It was a gruesome mess, more so now that the chicken's innards were unnaturally warm. The internal organs were dropped into a pile for the scavengers to take-- chiefly the tanuki and fox spirits. Chickens were only good for their meat and feathers, for stuffing pillows.

She used a small knife to separate the chicken into portions, and washed the meat in the water from the stream. Meanwhile, a pot filled halfway with vegetable oil was resting over the flames of her small campfire. Zelenin had studied the recipe for fried meals with intensity, and had carefully sorted through the available oils while shopping at a grocery earlier. Oils such as walnut and peanut oil existed as well, though she brushed the saleswoman off. Those oils costed more than the standard vegetable oil, which was more than enough for Zelenin. There was no way she could screw this up. Having an appropriate cooking area would have been preferred, though she was not in the mood to schlep back to the city and have people observe her while she tried to prepare a meal.

The cleaned and sectioned chicken was coated in flour and an herbal mix, the latter of which was suggested by the Landers of Moon Dance Forest. As a novice of her profession, she deferred to the professionals for advice. Whether or not anything she made would be as good as theirs was a problem that bothered her. The budding Chef desired nothing more than for her first solo project to be a success. It was somewhat alarming to consider (or even dream it), but the odds of her becoming a decent cook in this world were great. Her mother and sister would be proud... that is, assuming of course, she could find a way out of here.

[newclass=.babar]background-color:#050505; border: 2px solid #050505; border-radius: 5px; overflow: hidden; width: 175px; height:6px;[/newclass]

[attr="class","babar"]

[newclass=.babar]background-color:#050505; border: 2px solid #050505; border-radius: 5px; overflow: hidden; width: 175px; height:6px;[/newclass]

[attr="class","babar"]

∝: 368
♫: ---
✏: Fried Meal 1/2
@: Zelenin

[newclass=.mischa ::-webkit-scrollbar]height:5px;width:10px;background-color:#2c2c2c;[/newclass]
[newclass=.mischa ::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background-color:#211f20;border-left:1px solid #211f20;border-top:1px solid #211f20;border-bottom:1px solid #211f20;[/newclass]

[Zelenin]

[attr="class","mischa"]

Zelenin peeked into the pot, where non-stop sounds of light popping assailed her ears. The oil was bubbling, like boiling water. It should be ready for the chicken then, yes? Cautiously, she lowered in one of the battered wings. It was swallowed up almost instantly, the flour coating darkening. The faint smell of fried batter and fish drifted up to tease her nostrils. More...

One by one, she added the rest of the chicken to the pot. A vicious sizzling followed, but then lessened as the oil adjusted to the new additions. So far, it was all starting to look good. Maybe, for once in her life... Was this the power of this world? To turn zeros into heroes or pros? If her mother and sister could see her right now, they would be so proud of their little Mischa. She had doubts that her food was even edible, but at least it was not an explosive eldritch abomination,

Whatever the case, she was cooking. But now she had to retrieve the chicken before out overcooked. She laid out a cardboard bag, and picked up her ladle, unused until now. It was not made for this task, and so she struggled to move chicken from pot to cardboard, but only one piece fell to the ground. It was only a wing, so no worries.

With her small pile of fried chicken cooling in the cool air, Zelenin leaned against a nearby tree, eager to sample her creation. If all tasted well, she would round up the lot and return home. If not, then she would simply have to try again. There were plenty of other chicken in the sea. Or at least that was how she remembered the phrase going.

[newclass=.babar]background-color:#050505; border: 2px solid #050505; border-radius: 5px; overflow: hidden; width: 175px; height:6px;[/newclass]

[attr="class","babar"]

[newclass=.babar]background-color:#050505; border: 2px solid #050505; border-radius: 5px; overflow: hidden; width: 175px; height:6px;[/newclass]

[attr="class","babar"]

∝: 290
♫: ---
✏: Fried Meal 2/2
@: Zelenin

[newclass=.mischa ::-webkit-scrollbar]height:5px;width:10px;background-color:#2c2c2c;[/newclass]
[newclass=.mischa ::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background-color:#211f20;border-left:1px solid #211f20;border-top:1px solid #211f20;border-bottom:1px solid #211f20;[/newclass]