Firebrand

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Docius ripped open the wicker bag and snarled at the rich, fresh, crimson meat within it, still bleeding out onto the floor. He took a deep breath of its intoxicating, metallic aroma, and sighed, reaching his mighty paws into the bag and hefting out the slab of meat, before dumping it on the counter with a wet slap. Spines bristled out the back, and various gnarled bits of sinew and muscle sprouted from the thing across its surface—a remnant of the skinning process.

Docius lifted a wickedly-curved iron blade and began slicing away at any undesirable piece of meat, his maw salivating at the thought of clamping his jaw down on it and tearing off a juicy chunk.

Still, he continued to cut. The payoff would be worth more than the beast’s weight in gold, should he but be patient enough to wait. Once the fat and the flesh were stripped from the dark crimson muscles, he began scoring along the back, between the spines, and all the way down to the leg joints. Cuts around a half inch wide, and two inches deep, made to let the meat breathe, and for his baste to soak in.

Once the scoring lines were made, he put the knife down and picked up a brush, and a large bowl full of honey, cinnamon, and black pepper, mixing it well before lathering the brush over the beast’s back. While he worked, he failed to notice another figure entering the kitchen, and hopping up on the counter behind him.

“Hey, Chef!” The human said.

Docius looked up from his work with a growl that shook the under-plating of the floor.

“What’s for dinner?” the human asked again.

Chef turned at the waist, looking over his shoulder and sneering at the Human, perched up on the titanium-metal storage cupboards with a happy grin. The Brute turned away from the diminutive creature, and back to his therapeutic work basting the human’s future meal. “Whatever I give you, Keys,” Docius stressed.

Keys, the dark-haired human stretched out to peer around Docius, watching the lumbering titan work with such care brought a smile to his face. “Is that Thorn-beast?”

“Yes,” Docius replied. “And so help me—!” He slammed the bowl down onto the counter and picked up the knife, turning around and brandishing it at the human. “if Kikki and Ikkik take the spines, again, I will shatter the deckplates with their skulls!”

Keys looked at the knife, then at Docius with a grin. Docius said nothing, but turned back around to continue working on the beast. With the basting applied to the bulk of the creature, all he had to do now was baste the underside, and remove anything else that humans may have found less-than-appetising.

“So, uh,” Keys started. “How’re you cooking it?”

Docius brought the knife down on the beast’s neck, severing its skinned flesh and moving it to one side, perhaps for stews, later. “The same way I always do when I make Thorn Breast;” he said. “Honey glazed and served stuffed.”

Keys hummed in appreciation, which made Docius’s lips upturn and bare his fangs in satisfaction. He shifted the thorn beast to the side, and brought over a waste bucket with his foot, sticking the knife deep into the beast’s belly, and rending the flesh of its stomach apart. It gushed a thick torrent of fluid down into the bucket. Docius set the knife down again, and reached into the recesses to begin pulling out the superfluous organs, and entrails. Docius had plans in mind for a dipping sauce involving the bits of discarded tissue, and organs.

Keys looked away from the grisly scene, and straightened himself back up, now content with only seeing the Brute’s back. “Where’d you get it?”

“I hunted it,” Docius replied.

Keys blinked in shock. “You hunted down and killed a three-fifty kilo Thorn Beast?” he asked, arching a questioning brow and folding his arms.

The Brute yanked out the last of the organs and slashed off the worthless part at the back, that not even a runty child would eat, before tossing that in a bin, much separate from the valuable bits. “Correct.”

When no further words were said, Docius went to work basting the underside, the inside, and fetching peppers, herbs, and vegetables from a freezer unit. They went into the beast’s body cavity, then extra honey poured atop it.

“When?!” Keys spluttered.

Docius sighed and cracked his neck from side to side, keeping his eyes on his work. “Firebrand’s last layover at Asphodel.”

Humming, Keys unfolded his arms and cast his memory back to that time. “They have thorn beasts, there?”

“Smugglers have been importing exotic game,” Docius said. “ hunted one down near a spice field. It has been gorging itself on human spices for three years.” Docius leaned down and took a deep breath of the rich aroma of vegetables, herbs, spices, and honey—all of them permeating the meat and the room around him with a sensory cornucopia. “Can you smell it?”

Keys took a breath through his nose, but smelt nothing more than the Brute in front of him, and the bucket of entrails. “No, but I’m sure I will once it starts cooking.”

With a disappointed growl, Docius stood back up and discarded the bowl across the counter, moving to one side and picking up the bucket by his feet. “Human noses continue to frustrate me.”

Now that he could see the beast in all its glory, Keys could only wonder at the accuracy of his three-fifty kilo assessment. The thing was easily big enough to sustain everyone on the Firebrand for days. “How long is something like that gonna take to cook?”

“Six hours,” Docius replied, before reaching up into a pantry above them, and bringing out a small, plastic bowl, and a metallic can labelled ‘soup’. “In the meantime,” the Brute said, with a grin, “you may busy yourself heating up a can of soup.”

“Gee, thanks Chef.” Keys hopped down from the counter he had perched atop and walked up to where Docius had deposited the can, and the bowl. “I didn’t come here for food, anyway.”

Docius furrowed a brow. “That doesn’t sound right,” he grumbled. “Why else you here?”

Keys made a hurt face, and raised his arms by his sides. “It’s not enough for me to want your company?”

Growling, Docius crossed his arms. “Not for you.”

Keys deadpanned, and did nothing else but blink for a few seconds. “Wow. You know is it too much to ask for something as simple as a hug?” he asked, arms outstretched.

It was Docius’s turn to deadpan. “What?”

Keys took a step towards the Brute. “C’mere, big guy.”

“Touch me,” Docius grabbed the knife and brandished it, “and I will put you into the oven instead of the Thorn Beast!”

“Ooh, don’t be grumpy.” Keys kept advancing, despite the implied threat. As he advanced, Docius drew the knife back. Keys wrapped his arms around the Brute’s midsection and sighed.

The Brute stood there, shaking with rage, before roaring and throwing his arms up into the air.

Keys wisely made the decision to retreat out of the kitchen area, just as Docius tossed the bowl and the knife after him. The bow bounced off of the door jamb, denting and deforming in the process, but the knife sank three inches into the metal, and stayed there, swaying from side to side.

Keys laughed and shut the door, and found someone else waiting outside. The large, dark-skinned man eyed him with a hint of mirth.

Keys held up a finger at him. “You owe me fifty creds, Bubbles.”