Chapter Text
Roland is struggling.
He’s struggling to work a fucking grill.
No, it sounds ridiculous at first, but Roland is frustrated by the fact that the fire doesn’t seem to be heating up the coals enough. It's a miracle in itself that nobody has come to investigate the on and off smoke- and smell- that this Wing forsaken grill is omitting. He’s sure he’s chalked head to toe in this lung choking smog, considering how much he’s had to cough in the past half hour or so.
He kicks the leg of the grill. It detaches from the body, causing it to crash into the ground with an ear-shattering sound. Roland swears to nobody in particular, kicking the mess of parts and sending some of the metal parts flying. Surely the light can’t be interfering with the fire-starting process? He sets his hands on his face now, groaning, and dragging them downward in frustration.
Okay. Maybe he can still salvage this. He crouches down now, trying to stick some of the parts together. They don't. He groans, now going over to the other scattered metal parts and gathering them now, maybe he’s putting them wrong? Roland can feel the anger slowly dissipate as the parts start to click in place, earning a satisfied huff from him as the grill stands proudly. The coals are still spilled all over the place though, and he had to be careful with touching them, lest he burn his hand or something.
Yeah, that looks good.. He hummed a thought to himself, grinning. The grill proceeds to immediately collapse in on itself after that thought. What the fuck. So, he tries again. He isn’t well versed with the light, per say, but he knows how to manipulate it enough to… do some stuff. He tries manifesting some tape (and if that doesn’t work, he’ll probably spend all his energy again trying to create another shoddily built grill.)
This time, it stands. It looks… incoherent, but it’s a grill. He squints down at the coals that litter the floor now. He’ll take care of those later, he thinks, as he’s not really in the mood to either pick them up or sweep them away. So, his mind moves to the future.
Maybe he needs more firepower, or to douse the coals in gasoline or something.
Suddenly he gets a horrible idea. A dangerous, insane, yet plausible idea.
What if he asks Malkuth? Her entire floor has something to do with fire, so it’s totally possible that she could do a thing or two to help him. Get her to like… light a coal with a finger or something, like a lighter. He’s not really sure.
Alas, he begins his trek. He takes five steps towards the staircase before stopping. The coals are still burning hot, aren’t they..? Wings forbid the bookshelves light ablaze, along with the rest of his floor. So, he scrambles back over in a panic, to the fallen grill, feeling a bead of sweat trail down the side of his head. Upon his arrival, he noticed that the coals, are in fact, not hot at all. He groans miserably, all of that 10 second span of cardio was all for naught. Time to go back to his original plan.
Roland finally starts his descent down the stairs. It’s a shame that Malkuth’s floor is all the way at the bottom, as it's killer for either of them to travel up and down to each other’s floors (it’s even worse considering how often their books get mixed up, it’s practically a weekly occurrence.)
He’s given a few greetings as he descends. A scowl from Hokma. A tilt of the head by Gebura. A friendly wave by Chesed. Even Tiphereth seems to be in a good mood, giving a small greeting as she slides the ladders to an empty bookshelf (to which he returns the greeting, he isn’t particularly in the mood to rile up the teenager.)
Everything seems to be going normally. He stops in his tracks when he reaches Hod’s floor, hearing a slight commotion. Curious, he steps away from the staircase, walking towards whatever the noise may be.
It’s poker.
Yesod, Netzach, and Hod are all playing poker. It’s Texas Holdem, he observes, watching as Hod flipped over the last community card.
That wouldn’t be the strangest sight if it weren’t for the fact Hod had an unusually smug look on her face while Yesod had the most horrified expression Roland thinks he’s seen from the man. Netzach was the worst: he looked wide awake, more lively than he had ever been with any battle Roland recalls him ever having.
“Hod,” Yesod croaks, hand almost trembling over his poker chips, “Do not.”
Hod innocently takes a strand of her hair into free hand, twirling it with a finger. “Don’t what?” She blinked, smiling shyly.
“Don’t do…. It.” It’s like a taboo. What kind, he doesn’t know. He’s dabbled in a few card games, but his memory is too hazy to remember the rules of Texas Holdem, as he mostly found himself trying to cheat his way through Stud Poker or Blackjack.
He does note, however, that Hod has significantly more chips than Yesod does. Netzach has none left.
She slowly slides them all forward, that dreadful smile still plastered on her face.
“All in.”
Ah, it makes sense now. He sees Yesod keel over, placing his head in his hands. He almost weeps. Netzach comfortingly reaches out a hand to pat the poor man on the back.
“You win again, Hod.” Netzach sighed, all the life that was there initially seemingly rushing out as soon as the game finished. Hod giggled, slowly reaching to sort the cards out.
“Hod’s good at card games?” Roland chipped in now, walking towards the group. Hod looks up to him, waving.
“Hi Roland!! I wouldn’t say I’m good, I think they’re going easy on me.” She responded bashfully, the deck of cards in her hands.
“She’s beaten Gebura a few times.” Netzach added, unhelpfully, a hand still placed on Yesod’s devastated form. “You know how good Gebura is.”
“Aahaaah?~ I’ll have to play against you someday.” Roland grinned now (he’s silently terrified at the prospect that Hod, someone so harmless and unassuming, has a good poker face,) scratching the back of his neck.
“For sure!.. You can join us for another round if you wish.” Hod offers. Yesod shakes his head, muttering something. It’s probably a no.
“I’d love to, Hod, but right now I’m trying to find, ah.. Malkuth? You guys know where she is?” He asks.
“Malkuth’s up at Binah’s floor.” Yesod murmurs, barely meeting Roland’s gaze.
Wing– fucking– damnit–
“Thanks!..” He tries not to sound soul crushed. Roland turns on his heel, immediately beelining it out of the vicinity of the others, towards the staircase. He’s lucky he has some semblance of cardio training from his time as a fixer, yet it seems no matter what he does it’s always exhausting to climb up the stairs of the Library. Nevertheless, he continues on, stopping only to catch a break once or twice his ascent (a new record for him, he notes.)
This time, he’s given a weird look by Chesed as he passes, to which Roland returns to him a wave, and scrambles up the rest of the stairs. It’s surely not the weirdest sight Chesed has seen.
As he makes it to Binah’s floor, he almost collapses against the railing, exhaling as he straightens himself. He hears a distant conversation, between who he believes to be Malkuth and Binah. Roland sighs, walking over towards the commotion now.
Malkuth is oddly calm. And drinking tea. From Roland’s discussions with Malkuth, he knows that she doesn’t particularly enjoy the beverage, so this was, to put it simply, bizarre.
It seemed like the drink didn’t have anything extra either. Malkuth despised any drink that wasn’t at least a little bit sweet, so what the hell..?
“Maallkuth? Binnnah?” Roland smiles, walking forward to the two who sit on a couch. Malkuth puts her cup of tea now, waving at Roland.
“Greetings, Roland!” She cheerfully exclaimed. “What has enticed you to travel to this floor of all days?”
What the fuck.
“I-I uh, just needed your help with something. Yeah.. yeah, uh, you’re good with fire, yes?”
“I believe that I would be, yes?”
Roland gawks over at Binah, to which a dark smirk plastered her face. Oh, she’s the cause of Malkuth’s difference in speech and tone, and she’s well aware.
“Great!… Could… could you um… help me.. with something on my floor?” He grinned sheepishly. On one hand, he really needs this fucking grill to work. On the other hand, he doesn’t know if he could last with a philosophical Malkuth whispering threats at him for messing up.
“Of course.” She states, ever so softly. “Binah? My many thanks.”
“As always, my dear Malkuth. Perhaps, in the early risings of morrow, we will continue the ever so condescending topic that we were subjugated to so late in the darkness of today.”
“And discuss the limitations of humanity’s own existence?”
“Precisely.”
There is silence. Then, the two women laugh.
Roland almost feels like he is in danger. He merely tugs Malkuth’s arm.
“That’s.. so cool!… um… let’s go!”
Of course, Malkuth complies silently, following along.
“She- she didn’t like, torture you, right?” Roland asks nervously, grinning over at Malkuth. She returns his gaze with an innocent stare.
“My, whatever do you mean?” She questions, blinking up at him. Her tone of voice switches suddenly, like with the flick of a match. “Anyways! What did you need help with again?”
Oh. Just like that, she’s back to her cheery normal self. He makes a new mental note to himself to never interrupt one of Malkuth and Binah’s.. sessions like that.
“Ah! Well..” Roland stutters, still caught off guard by the switch up. Surely he wasn’t hallucinating? “Um.. Firepower! You see, I’ve been having some issues with trying to light my grill, as the coals simply won’t heat up as much as I need them to. I was wondering if you’d be able to provide me some support in that regard?”
Malkuth nods, listening along, “Well! I can help you with that for sure! It only makes sense you’d ask the Grillmaster for help with this manner!” She exclaims proudly, grinning.
‘Grillmaster, huh?’ Roland thinks to himself. “Suure. Maybe you’re a master at lighting coals, but surely not cooking the meat itself.” He chuckled, proudly flaring the collar of his shirt.
“I sure am!.... I don’t see your floor being notorious for grilling people!” She sneers back, waving his pride away with a hand.
“Oh yeah? Have you ever actually used a grill, though?”
“Yeah, in my first life?”
“I doubt that. You were, what, a measly scientist..?”
“And what, just because of that I didn’t have hobbies? You can’t even get one to work.”
The two stop mid-track on his floor now, glaring each other down.
“I bet you’d burn it.”
“I bet you’d turn it into a brick.”
“Oho, yeah? I bet you’d turn anything into ash.”
“Nuh uh, no way. I bet you’d burn yourself with the amount of oil present.”
Roland and Malkuth continue their stare-off. Several of Roland’s assistant librarians watch in awe, a challenge in the making.
“Challenge you for the “Best Grillmaster” title.” Roland growls.
“Deal.” Malkuth snarls.
They shake each other's hands.
“I’m not helping you with that grill now. Figure it out.” She grinned maliciously, her grip on his hand tightening.
“Not that I need it now anyways! I bet you’d just make it unusable.”
“Sure.”
They let go of each other now, scowling.
“Thursday, 6 P.M. Here.” Roland declares. That would effectively give them both 3 days in advance to prepare.
“Gotcha. Byee, loser!~” Malkuth thrills, backing away with a wave. She sticks her tongue out at Roland, before darting away down the stairs.
Roland cracked his knuckles now, turning to look at his trusty (not very) old grill.
“Alright, let’s do this! I’m the better grillmaster!”
–
“Yessooood~?” A familiar voice grits by his ears, like sand, making him scowl.
“Roland.” He doesn’t even have to turn to know who it is. Yesod nudges the stepstool with his foot, a bit to the left. He picks up a misplaced book and climbs up, scanning the shelf for an appropriate place to put it. “What is it?”
“Weellll, you see, I was wondering if you could help me with any… technology-related problems!” Roland sheepishly asked.
Yesod stops for a moment. He tucks the book in its place before descending down the stepstool and turning to Roland, deadpanning. “I thought that was a job for the Floor of Arts?”
Roland stares at him with astonishment. Yesod is able to pride on the first time his remark is able to silence the normally sardonic man. He grins. “I’m joking. You know what a joke is, right? What do you need?”
There’s a sigh of relief from the other man, who looked like he actively broke a sweat from the thought of Yesod being unable to provide any form of technological aid… on the Floor of Technological Sciences.
“You seee, me and Malkuth are trying to have a grill-off, but considering her firepower is..”
“More than adequate?”
“Yes, that! I need your help in getting something that I can use to floor her with!!”
Yesod stares. What an absurd request. He has to scan Roland’s expression one more time to make sure he’s being serious.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes!! I am serious??!!” Roland cries, anxiously gesturing at him. “This is not a laughing matter, Yesod! I’m going to lose my pride and dignity as a grillmaster if she beats me!”
He has to actively try to stop himself from laughing, covering his mouth with a hand.
“I’ll look into it to see what I can do. When are you planning to do this?” Yesod decides to entertain the idea. It could be a distraction from the mind-numbingly boring activities that normally go on on his floor.
“Well, Thursday at 6 P.M.! You see, I just can’t get the coals of my grill to light! I’m wondering if it’s because the Library tries to reduce the power of fire outside of battle… so… I’m wondering if you could help me with, like, a gas-fueled grill or something! I don’t even know what Malkuth would do, so I need something that’ll work for sure!”
He stares. Roland stares back with pleading eyes.
“I very vaguely remember the location of the bookshelf that keeps food-related technologies. Come with me.”
“Oh, thank you Yesod!! You don’t understand how important this is for me!” He cheers, grabbing the man by the shoulders and shaking him.
“Don’t do that.” Yesod glowers, grabbing his hands and prying them off his shoulders like unwanted leeches.
It takes a few minutes, but they eventually arrive at an unusually filled to the brim bookshelf. There’s various titles, with several technologies listed.
“Ovens.. Blenders… air…fryers? What the hell is an airfryer?” Roland skims through a level of books, shifting through the titles.
“Here.” Yesod ignores his question, pulling out a book about various grills.
“This looks like it was written by a total bumpkin.” Roland takes the book, flipping through its pages. His eyes skim through the lettering, not understanding what half of the words mean. He’s only used the more easily obtainable charcoal grills back in his younger days, so he’s unfamiliar with the terminology used for these gas grills.
“Aha!” He exclaims, finger slamming down on a particularly shiny grill. Yesod peers over his arm now.
“Looks fine enough. You know what propane canisters look like?”
“Uuuhhh.. Totally! Thanks, Yesod! Mind if I borrow this book for the next day or so?”
“I…. no, of course not. Good luck on your.. Grill-off.”
“Hah! Don’t you worry Yesod! Just because Malkuth is well-versed with fire, that doesn’t mean she’s well-versed in the art of flavour!”
Roland strikes a pose, finger pointed at Yesod, while the book drapes over his forehead. He gets a blank stare from the other man. Roland straightens now, clearing his throat. “Yeah, um. Yeah, thanks. Bye.”
Yesod watches him as he leaves. Roland notices he has a particular expression of amusement on his face.
He’s hoping that Malkuth was bluffing about having grilled in her first life. Considering Yesod’s reaction, it seems very unlikely that she was lying.
–
Tiphereth looks at the small collection of books that lay across her table now. She thought she’d be a professional by now. While it was easy to discern books of the Natural Sciences from others, this particular batch seemed confusing. She wasn’t able to determine if they belonged to her floor or General Works, considering it read more like a monotonous list of tasks.
She may as well pay a visit to that idiot. Who knows what he’s doing considering there’s barely anything to fight? He could be doing something really stupid, like getting beyond wasted with Netzach, and then trying to convince Angela in his drunken state to try to teleport him into the city, or something. As one of the voices of reason in this library, it’s her responsibility to check up on some of her fellow librarians.
She tucks the few books into a bag now, slinging it over her shoulder. Maybe Roland’ll be able to use his brain for once when it came to sorting books, considering his brain isn’t half concentrated on complaining these days.
When she arrives, she almost drops the bag of books. She watches as Roland flips what seems to be a meat patty of sorts. The result is immaculate.
Immaculate, as in, the cooked side was a charcoal black.
He lets out a frustrated grumble, scooping the patty up and dumping it into a nearby trash bin. How.. how long had he been doing this for?
Tiphereth walks up to him, raising a hand to tug on his sleeve. He spun around, almost whacking her with the grease-stricken spatula, before stopping his swing midway.
“A-Ah! Tiphereth! What, er… brings you here, today?” He grins nervously, immediately clambering to place the sodden spatula to the side. Tiphereth eyes the state of the grill, the spatula, and then Roland.
“I need you to help me with sorting some books.” She states bluntly, attempting to shove the bag of books into his hands.
“W-wait! Give me a sec, my hands are full of grease!..” He wipes his hands on his apron now, smearing the already tainted fabric with more oil and grease and Wings know what, before turning to Tiphereth. “Um… can we do this… another day, please?”
“We’re doing them now.”
“No, I can’t!-”
“What do you mean “you can’t”? Of course you can. You do nothing but sit and get wasted and party all day.”
“I don’t do tha-”
“Don’t you try to lie your way out of this. I know you do.”
“Tiphereth! I-”
“The books, Roland.”
“My dignity is on the line!” He almost screamed, pleading, his arms outstretched in panic.
Tiphereth stops. She blinked up at him now, grinning devilishly. “Dignity?”
“Y-yeah! My dignity, against.. Malkuth.. Grilling..”
“You’re… grilling? Against Malkuth?” Tiphereth looks at the trash bin. It’s full of meat patties, all ranging from horrendously undercooked to being indiscernible. “Hah. Yeah, good luck.”
“Please! You have to have some faith in me–”
“Seeing the state of your sorry cooking? No way. You’re going to get your ass bea-”
“Language!”
“I’m not a kid!” Tiphereth slammed her fist against Roland’s arm. She goes in to swing again, before Roland catches her hand.
“Yeah, but that’s still not appropriate for someone your aeAAAGHH!!” Roland yelled as Tiphereth kicked him in the shin, causing him to stumble to the side.
“Stupid. Listen, I have an offer for you.”
“A-an offer?” He gasps, clutching onto his leg.
“Yeah. Just because I don’t want Malkuth to win. That Upper L- um.. If you win, no drinking for a week, OKAY?!” Tiphereth crosses her arms, setting the deal on a metaphorical table.
“Yeah? What do you know about cooking- or grilling for that matter?!” Roland barked back, letting go of his leg.
“More than you do, apparently. I know how to not burn something.”
He stares. He’s considering the offer, looking at the poor trash bin. The patties look like they could cry.
“Deal..”
“Good.”
“Great! Now, what do I-”
He’s interrupted by Tiphereth walking around him, then climbing onto his head, like a feral animal. He shrieks, trying to swat at her, before she smacks him in the head.
The end result is Tiphereth sitting on his shoulders, arms crossed above his head. Roland sighs miserably, looking down at the ground.
“Everytime you mess up, or are close to messing up, I’m gonna knock some sense into you. Understood?”
“Yes ma’am…” Roland whined. He doesn’t really want to throw Tiphereth off (she’s the most fragile out of all of them, after all,) but he doesn’t want a distraction ruining his line of thinking. Perhaps he just needs to have a bit of faith.
“Good. Now, start grilling again. Let’s just see how bad you are at this.”
“You don’t have to insult me!..” He groaned, reaching for the spatula. He slaps another meat patty onto the grill, watching as it sizzles slowly. “I haven’t cooked any food since way before I got into the library, okay?! I only ate, like.. Instant ramen, or some shit!”
“Language!! And that’s NOT an excuse?!!” Tiphereth kicked his chin, almost dislocating his jaw in the process.
–
“You’re doing it wrong.” Tiphereth’s annoying voice nagged at him.
“What? I literally didn’t do anything bad this time!”
His face feels sore. There’s probably a few bruises from Tiphereth’s elbowing and punching, but he’s too frustrated to care much.
“You flipped it too early, idiot! Flip it back.”
“It looks cooked enough?!”
“No, stupid! Flip it.”
She grabbed onto a handful of hair, yanking it.
“YEESH!! OKAY, OKAY!...”
He reflipped the patty. He cusses when he feels a drop of oil splash onto his hand, making him reel back and wave it. Tiphereth just laughed.
She’s tormenting him on purpose, he thinks.
It reminds him of some old movie he watched, where.. Some sort of parasite- no, a rodent- piloted a human. What was it again, a squirrel?
He’s interrupted from his thoughts by Tiphreth pulling on his ear, causing him to yell. He swats at her hand, which has already retracted back to the top of his head.
“You burnt it now, you good-for-nothing piece of trash!” She yelled, crossing her arms. “Did the boo-hoo boo-boo demon get to you or what?!”
“It hasn’t even been a minute?!” Roland wailed, waving the spatula at the poor, hardened patty. “At least it’s not soggy anymore?!”
Tiphereth stays silent. Disapproval of the greatest measure. He groans, flipping the poor mound of meat over. It’s better than his other attempts, at least. It sizzles pathetically.
“Take it off now.” She ordered.
“As you wish, madam..” Roland takes the patty off, setting it aside on a plate.
All things considered, it doesn’t look offensive. The patty isn’t entirely cooked even (see: one side more burnt than the other,) but it’s edible. Roland scooped it up again, setting it onto a bun.
“I want ketchup. Save the lettuce.” Tiphereth muttered, watching Roland like a hawk as he reached for the average burger ingredients. Like an artist, he carefully sets everything down on the burger. First, just enough ketchup- but not too much! Second, the cheese, placed to look nice. Then, some tomatoes, and lastly, the other half of the bun.
It’s definitely a burger. Tiphereth pats Roland on the back, demanding to be let down. His shoulders are on fire, and he’s sure he’s already lost years worth of blood circulation from this. She takes the burger into her hands, inspecting it as if it were to be poisoned.
She takes a bite, squinting, and chewing. Chewing… chewing..
“This is awful.” She mumbled through the burger.
“What?! It ca-“
“Good luck, Roland. Malkuth is going to wipe the floor with you” She turned on her heel now, not answering him. He notes that she does not at any point discard the burger as she leaves.
In fact, he’s sure he saw her take another bite.
–
It’s peaceful.
Oh, wonderful silence.
Said silence is only interrupted by the sizzling of meat. Roland thinks he has it mastered now. He decides with his newfound skill to grill something for each of his assistant librarians. While eating isn’t a necessity, it’s always fun to make some grub from time to time. He’s reminded of Chesed.
Usually, Chesed likes to prepare things to eat, spoiling his assistant librarians rotten. Others come from their floors to engorge themselves with the meals or treats he makes, often sneaking out of their assigned work periods when word spreads around that Chesed’s making something that day. They were all like moths to a flame, really.
Chesed also hosted bi weekly dinner parties for the patron librarians. Of course, Roland always made sure to come along (who could say no, really?), managing to mooch off whatever extra bites he could get when some of the other librarians weren’t able to make it.
Binah never attended these dinner sessions, until one day, she popped in holding a box of sorts. Everyone was wildly confused, until she simply stated that “she had brought a treat” and left.
When they opened the box, it sent everyone into pandemonium.
It was quite simply, the most lavish dessert anyone had ever seen in the entirety of their three lives. There were several plants that some of them had never seen before, some almost alien, like they had come from the Outskirts. The spices were sprinkled too elegantly- perhaps, it would be more akin to say each grain or flake was placed one by one. The smoke of mist was almost ethereal, tickling their faces as it swept by them.
Many questions were sent around the dinner table, thoughts all shared by the patrons: “Is this what Arbiters eat?”, “Did Binah prepare this?”, “What other secrets does she hide?”, “Do we have any more booze?”
Maybe not that last question. Needless to say, Netzach didn’t get any of what Binah made that day.
Binah never elaborated. No matter who asked her or when she was asked, Binah never clearly answered. She responded with several excuses, each more cryptic than the last, and merely revelled in their apparent confusion and inability to grasp her exotic ingredients.
Ah, maybe such a thing comes from being an Arbiter in your first life. Needless to say, it ended up sparking a competition between Malkuth, and, surprisingly, Netzach, to scour the library’s books for any information on the typical Arbiter’s meal.
They weren’t successful. No matter how much the two tried to pry Binah like a crate, she wouldn’t budge.
“You must overturn the conglomerations of protein before it denatures further.”
Yes, he mu- What?
Roland turned, and screamed. Binah was looming over him, watching him like a predator would its next meal. He almost stumbled into the searing heat of the grill, only to get yanked back like a toddler by the collar.
“It will burn.” She states simply, revelling in his panic. Binah wasn’t even looking at the grill, merely staring down Roland’s pathetic form. She lets go of him now, and he only lets out a choked gasp in response. She points lazily at the bars of the grill, maintaining eye contact.
So, he flipped the patties, all five of them. He notices that the air around them feels… unusually cold.
“Binah!... What, ah… brings you to my floor?” He mewled, looking back over at Binah. Her eyes have not moved off of him. They bore into his very being like the hateful gaze of a looming God, merciless and condescending.
“I merely wanted to enjoy the spectacle of a show put on by an underdog.” Her gaze shifts from him to the grill, judgmental. The air feels less frigid..
“U-underdog?” Roland muttered, monitoring each mound of meat on the grill.
“Yes. I have heard word of you and Malkuth’s skirmish. I believe it would be in my best interest to see how a nonstarter fares in such a competition.” She responded cryptically, grinning maliciously.
“What an unpleasant way to say that you’re on my side.” He whined, running a hand through his hair. “At least give me a tip or two?”
Roland turned to look at Binah, who was looking back at him now.
“No.” She was back to her uttermost neutral expression now.
“Worth a shot.” He sighed, turning back to the grill.
“Perhaps ponder it as a challenging way of being trained. Learn it by yourself, lest you waste time on other manners that may degrade your ability to duel in the way of flame.”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever you uh, say, Binah.”
“Excellent. I look forward to observing your pitiful attempts. Overturn that one, or your battle will be all for naught.”
“What?” Roland craned his head to look over at Binah for clarification, “Flip which-”
And as quickly as she had appeared, she disappeared.
“Yeesh.” He said to nobody but himself, now squatting slightly to better inspect each of the patties. Maybe he’ll turn them all over just to be safe…
–
While he was laying on the couch, flipping through some flashy magazine with the latest barbeque recipes of the– the year is scratched out– he heard bickering from the distance.
A high pitched voice versus one more gruff.
“I’m not doing that, Tiphereth! I’m not a good cook!”
“Well, you’re better than whatever the heck Roland’s doing! I’ve seen you grill just fine!”
Huh?
He turned his head, slowly, to see a flash of red and yellow past one of his bookshelves. Yellow drags red across, and a rather miffed Gebura follows a prideful Tiphereth.
“Tiphereth?” Roland blinked, sitting up on the couch and placing the magazine on the cushion beside him. Tiphereth pushes Gebura towards Roland, who barely resists.
“Look, Roland! Since you just outright SUCK at everything, I’ve come with another helping hand!”
Gebura does not look like she wants to be here. If he had to guess, she only came by due to Tiphereth’s demand. The two were almost inseparable, like two peas in a pod. Tiphereth had the most influence on Gebura when it came to any of the other Patron Librarians, being able to make the former Colour do almost any of her demands. Wing forbid someone crossed poor Tiphereth, lest their body be found as a fine, red mist. Gebura had her fair share of influence too on the younger girl. Some of Gebura’s mannerisms had rubbed off on her, such as her tendency to swing punches at those who disagreed with or mocked her (to which Roland realized shortly after he had met the freshly awakened Gebura.)
It did leave him with good blackmail material, though. He caught Tiphereth trying to smoke one of Gebura’s cigarettes, threatening him to get out or she’d call the “Magical Girl of Justice!” (why doesn’t she just call it Queen of Hatred?) on him. He managed to get out fine with a few bruises that time. Likewise, Gebura was forced to take on the role of big sister, and what do big sisters do?
Definitely not tell little sisters stories about grinding people down into pastes of blood. Or demonstrate how to do so. Or go into detail about breaking limbs.
All the while, said little sister’s eyes sparkle with curiosity, trying to egg on more stories of violence and gore.
Luckily, Gebura doesn’t take it too far- he hopes, at least.
“I’m, I’m fine, Tiphereth? I don’t need extra help.” He lamented, fearing the possibility of what Gebura could do to his poor grill in the case she got frustrated. Tiphereth shakes her head, and waved him off as she spoke.
“Well, idiot, maybe she can help you lug around things at the very least. You know, she was the Red Mist, maybe her reaction time to flip a burger is faster than what your dimwitted mind could ever do!” She berated, the ex-Fixer in mind embarrassingly standing off to the side as the two went back and forth in their argument.
Roland turned to Gebura now, voice hoarse. “Surely, Gebura, you can’t think I suck this bad!”
Gebura’s eyes flicked over to Tiphereth, then, at Roland. A sly grin crept up on her face.
“I dunno, Roland. From what I heard from Tiph, you’re pretty bad.”
“Gebura!” Roland protested, gawking at his fellow Fixer-friend. Gebura crossed her arms, a judgemental look on her face. Tiphereth looked up at Gebura, then, mimicked her motion, pursing her lip.
“I told Gebura alllll about how much you suck!” Tiphereth egged on, getting a nod from Gebura. “You’re lucky she even dropped by!”
“Uh, yeah. I used to grill some, back in the backstreets..?” She reasoned, getting a proud nod from Tiphereth. Gebura almost looks unsure of herself for a moment, before the corners of her mouth crooked up. “I guess I can hold up pretty damn well.”
“Even better than Malkuth!” Her counterpart exclaimed, flicking her yellow hair back. “You’ll finally be able to stand a chance now!”
He let out a groan of defeat, having no choice but to allow Gebura to work with him. Tiphereth brushed her hands together, brushing off non-existent dirt, as she turned on her heel.
“You’re welcome, by the way!” She exclaimed, proudly skipping away from the two as she did so. Roland and Gebura stand together, the atmosphere turning relatively awkward.
“So..” Roland started, unsure what much else to say. He looks at the magazine on the couch, then at Gebura. Gebura stares at him expectantly.
“So? You ready to grill or what? Maybe I can teach ‘ya a few tricks here and there.”
“Yeah, yeah…” He mumbled as he cautiously picked the magazine up, as if it were ready to light ablaze. “Let’s just get this show on the road, eh? I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve to practice if I’m to beat Malkuth!”
“Pfft, that’s if you can even pick up on a few of my strategies! Watch and learn from the best griller in the backstreets!”
This was going to be awesome.