“I’m no pro at this,” Kimihito cautioned as he peeled potatoes for a mash. He’d been conscripted into kitchen prep, and despite his concerns, he had to admit that cooking for the girls had made him a reasonably competent sous-chef.
“Honey, you’re doing fine, especially since you hadn’t expected to help.” Rachnera was in the kitchen, too. The manager had given her a notebook of his handwritten cocktail recipes, which she nodded at occasionally as she read. “Should I speak to the manager?”
“Thank you for offering, but this is probably less stressful than waiting around.”
“If you say so.”
“How about you? Can you memorize all those drinks?”
Rachnera was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “I think I’ve got it figured out. The notes include the liquors, what glasses to use, and the measurements.”
“That’s our reliable Rachnee,” Kimihito said.
She laughed a bit, with an enigmatic smile. But it quickly dimmed, and she touched a hand to her forehead as if she was getting a headache. “The real problem is Miia. Her sense of taste is so wrong that she’s liable to mix poison. The customers’ll pass out at best, and the bar’ll be shut down.”
Her concerns about Miia made sense. “Should I give her a hand? Mixology is similar to cooking, right?”
“These are our jobs. We should be able to figure them out on our own.” She shuffled uncomfortably. “Miia’s trying her best, too. She might actually allow some of my advice into that strange little head of hers.”
“But—”
“I wonder, do you have a disease where you’ll die if you’re not taking care of anyone?” she interrupted with an accompanying side-eye.
“Uh.” He was tangled in her thread of logic and knew he wasn’t clever enough to escape.
She waved her hand to disperse some of the tension. “Just keep peeling your potatoes. I’m not much of a big sister if I can’t help everyone out sometimes.”
“You’ve got me there. I really do rely on you, Rachnee.” Kimihito sighed.
Her smile returned. “What a good boy you are.” Though the circumstances under which she’d entered Kimihito’s household were rather complicated, and their relationship could get violent, at heart she was a calming woman who excelled at taking care of people. Unsurprisingly, their chat had addressed all his concerns, and he almost felt like he could relax.
So, of course a shout from the front of house interrupted them. “Hey, Rachnera! Whenever I use this shaker, the drink gets bubbly and it goes everywhere! What do I do?”
Rachnera scowled and proceeded through to the bar. Her voice carried back to the kitchen: “I want to know what happened here, too! What could you have put in that drink to make it foam so much?!”
Would they really be okay? Kimihito stood numbly at his potato bench. He didn’t like to doubt her, but he knew there were some problems even reliable Rachnee couldn’t solve.
✦ ✦ ✦
By the time the girls had learned a passable amount about bartending, Zetto N was ready to open for the night. Though Miia and Rachnera had been fighting like cats and dogs (or snakes and spiders, as it were), they settled as soon as there were customers in front of them. They even managed to cooperate on a few orders. Beneath the bickering, there was something compatible about the two girls, though they would never admit it.
“Welcome, welcome! For one night only, I’m here to serve as your own lamia bartender! Please approach the bar and place your order!” Miia’s affable personality could charm anyone, of course.
“What would you like?” Rachnera said, soothing people with her mature disposition. “One Samurai Rock? Of course, just a moment, I’ll make that for you. Where did I put that sake?” Her self-confidence hadn’t been misplaced—she could mix any drink on the menu without issue.
While the two of them handled the bar, Zombina worked the floor, from the tables to the sofas. “Hey, sorry for the wait; here’s a Red Eye and a mimosa.” Her signature cackle carried over the crowd. “Hm? What do I recommend? Don’t discern between flavors, myself, but how’s about a Shotgun? That’s tequila and sparkling water and—too strong? That’s the whole point!” By most standards of customer service, she was crass and impolite, but for some reason the clientele seemed to like her.
In fact, her crassness made some of them try to push boundaries. “Huh? A comedy routine?” She shrugged. “Dunno why I should, but whatever, here goes.” With a crack, she twisted her arm and broke her elbow so it pointed the wrong way.
Kimihito gaped despite himself and another customer screamed.
Without reacting to the scream, Zombina adjusted her broken arm to offer a short glass of liquor to the customer behind her. “Here’s your highball.” It looked like a morbid version of a contortionist’s performance.
The male werecat who’d suggested the comedy routine stared on in shock…until he came to grips with what had happened and started to cackle madly.
“Physical comedy might break your bones, but jokes’ll never hurt you, huh?” she quipped as a finisher. Despite the initial shock, her stylings had also managed to break the ice—the bar buzzed louder and louder.
“They’re so amazing,” Kimihito muttered.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Kurusu-sama. Have you worked in hospitality before?”
“Oh, no, nothing like this. I just do home cooking. Tomato soup’s up!” He passed the order out from the kitchen. A line of appetizers-in-progress sat across his section of the bench. Is it okay to do this when I’m not an employee? I guess if it’s supporting the girls… Maybe he was going a bit too far on the dishes, but it wasn’t hurting anyone.
Smith herself had told him to help the girls as best he could under whatever circumstances they found themselves in. She’d pointed her finger and said, “If there’s a problem with the customers, it’s on you to save the day, Darling-kun! It’s no trouble if you fight another human, so you’re there to throw the first punch!”
He’d done it before, so he supposed he could do it again. There had been a man outside a love hotel who had insulted Miia, and Kimihito had landed a real king cobra hit on him. Smith had played fixer that time too, but she couldn’t fix his discomfort over the incident.
It didn’t compare to how bad he’d feel if he didn’t protect his homestay girls. Cooking for them and assisting them on their adventures suited his personality more than fighting, but when push came to shove, he knew he’d jump into the fray for them.
Perfectly flipping the rolled omelet in front of him, he exhaled in relief. It’ll be okay.