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Within the luxurious and peaceful private chambers of the sultana, Nanamo Ul Namo sat, reading a book of poetry. These moments of quiet were rare indeed for a woman of such importance as she, and Nanamo knew that she must enjoy this moment while it lasted, for there was no telling when her assistant would arrive to--
"Your Grace," spoke her assistant, striding quietly into the room. "Forgive the interruption, but you have a visitor: Ser Biboteli."
"Ah," Nanamo sighed. She closed the book, regretfully. There would be time for poetry later, of course... but this particular visitor was rarely welcome-- even on occasions such as this, when he had come at her request.
"Show him in."
The assistant turned on his heel, and made to leave--
"Wait." Nanamo climbed to her feet, careful as always to smooth her royal silks. "I would ask that you remain with us until our conversation is concluded."
The assistant raised an eyebrow, but did not argue. "Of course, Your Grace."
Moments later, the assistant returned, this time accompanied by a flamboyantly-dressed Lalafell, with long, wavy hair as dark as ink.
"Ahhh, Your Graaaaaaace," said the visitor, bowing with far more enthusiasm than would have been warranted in almost any circumstance. "You sent for Bobi, and Bobi has come."
Nanamo's mood, already dampened, soured instantly. Her visitor was Boteli Biboteli, an eccentric but well-regarded culinarian of Ul'dah. "Bobi” was the nickname that the man had chosen for himself, and it was one that Nanamo despised-- mostly because of how the man chose to use it.
"Thank you for coming, Ser Biboteli," Nanamo spoke, dryly. "I am... grateful that you came, at my request."
"Bobi is your humble servant," the man replied. "And your most esteemed admirer, besides." He winked, causing Nanamo to feel slightly nauseous.
"Ah, Bobi thinks he understands now," the man went on. "You summoned Bobi to your chambers to prepare a private dinner for two? Bobi would gladly provide a selection from his personal wine ce--"
"I require your assistance on a confectionary matter, Ser Biboteli." Nanamo struggled to maintain her composure. As frustrating as it could be to deal with impertinent foreign leaders or the sharks from the Syndicate, she was beginning to think she would have preferred it to dealing with this man.
"Confectiooonnnnnns?" Bobi grinned, big and wide, brushing his long hair back over his ear. "A wedding cake, then, Your Grace? Ah, perhaps Bobi is getting ahead of himself."
"I dare say you are, Ser Biboteli. I would thank you to remember to whom you are speaking."
If Bobi heard the anger in her voice, his expression showed no sign of concern. Instead, the man grinned as if he hadn't had so much fun in days.
"Of course, of course," Bobi replied, waving a hand. "Bobi is here at the sultana's express request, after all. So devoted a servant could never refuse such a request. Why, Bobi would--"
"Then let us speak of the particulars," Nanamo interrupted. "I recently learned that tomorrow is the nameday of my dear lady handmaiden. I wish to surprise her with something delicious, and sweet, and special."
Bobi nodded. "A nameday cake, then?"
Nanamo shook her head. "I think not. She dislikes cake... in fact, she dislikes most traditional Ul'dahn desserts." Nanamo sighed, thinking back to the recent conversations she'd had with the lady in question. She had been fishing for ideas, and did not want to give away her scheme, of course; yet every suggestion she voiced-- with such subtlety as would have made Raubahn proud!-- was nonetheless met with pronounced disinterest.
"And so," Bobi spoke, "you sought an expert's opinion, one with an encyclopedic knowledge of confections from all over the world. You have done well, Your Grace, to call on Bobi. This lady of yours, where was she raised?"
"I admit that I do not know," Nanamo sighed. "I only know that she came to Thanalan as a girl of twelve summers, after spending her earliest years in a tropical climate."
"Aaaaaaahhhh! Yeeeeeesss!" Bobi twirled around, so suddenly and brazenly that Nanamo instinctively stepped back, lest the man's hair touch her face. In the dark recesses of the room, the assistant placed his hand on the hilt of a dagger at his hip, and Nanamo was ill-inclined to discourage him.
"You had the answer all along, Your Grace!" Bobi cried, snapping his fingers. "For as it happens, Bobi has recently come into a supply of wild bananas from the Cieldalaes! Ahhh, fresh bananas, sliced and laid upon a bed of vanilla pudding..."
"That... does sound like a good idea," Nanamo mused. "A pudding... yes, I should be able to do that much."
Bobi shook his head. "Oh, no, no! Bobi will do this for you; this, and so much more!"
"On the matter of bananas, we can do business, ser," Nanamo spoke. "But I will craft this confection myself. To do less would... would dishonor my friend."
Bobi frowned at her, his hands at his hips. "Come now, Your Grace. Your every meal is prepared for you by the finest culinarians of Ul'dah. Bobi would know; he is the finest of them all. Do you even know how to cook, Your Grace? Bobi thinks you would dishonor your friend most by presenting your culinary efforts--"
"I've had enough!" The assistant strode forward as if to destroy the visitor, but Nanamo held up her hands to pacify him.
"He has the right of it," Nanamo said. "Much as it grieves me to admit..." She returned her gaze to her guest, with a sly grin. "But surely I can manage to make a simple pudding, eh, Ser Biboteli? Or do you feel such things to be beyond the capabilities of a sultana?"
Bobi frowned for a moment, then relaxed, his usual self-satisfied smile restored. "Oh, Your Grace, Bobi would never doubt you. Bobi is your friend! Bobi will support you at every step of your confectionary journey. What would Your Grace say to a friendly wager, between friends?"
"That is three more usages of 'friend' than is warranted," Nanamo replied, dryly. "But I will hear your proposal."
Bobi clapped his hands together, and leaned forward. "Bobi will bring his best bananas. Bobi will give them, as a gift! The sultana will take them, and make her pudding, and Bobi will observe. There's nothing to fear-- for if Your Grace should fail, then Bobi will make it right. Your lady will have her confection." Bobi's eyes grew wide, and he leaned in closer still, such that Nanamo had to resist the urge to run out of the room. "But if you do fail, then... when next Bobi returns to the palace, it will be for a private dinner with the sultana!"
Nanamo heard her assistant draw his dagger. "Kill!" shouted the assistant. "Kill you!"
"Oh, don't make such a fuss, you fool," Nanamo groaned, waving the assistant away. Bobi had shown no sign that he even noticed. Instead, he was intently raising his eyebrows repeatedly, one at a time. It was, Nanamo thought, the strangest thing she had ever seen him do, and that was saying something.
"So, those are your stakes," Nanamo went on. "Then hear my own: When I make this pudding, and pronounce it a rousing success, you will vow to never again refer to yourself in the third person!"
Bobi leaned back, satisfied. "Oh, Your Grace does not like Bobi's way of speaking, eh? 'Tis true, Bobi can be a bit much for some."
"Do we have a deal or not?"
Bobi reached out his hand. "We do! We have a deal."
"Good," Nanamo said, ignoring the man's hand and walking toward the door. "We begin at once. My assistant will work with you to procure the necessary supplies." At the door, Nanamo turned, and regarded Bobi coolly. "I shall meet you in the palace kitchen in one hour. Do not be late."
With that, Nanamo Ul Namo left the room. Its remaining occupants turned to regard each other.
"You see?" Bobi said to the assistant. "She cannot wait to be with Bobi again. Come, then, for we have no time to waste! Bobi will guide you to his bananas."
The assistant suddenly felt as if he had lost his will to live, but dutifully followed Bobi out the door.
---
Nanamo stood atop a Lalafellin stepstool, trembling beneath the brilliant lights of the palace kitchen. It was not hot, yet beneath her toque, she was beginning to sweat.
On the counter before her was a recipe for vanilla pudding, graciously provided by a palace culinarian at her request. The ingredients were few, the instructions simple. Mix milk and starch, then-- in a saucepan, cook milk and salt and sugar together over a low flame... Whisk egg yolks into the saucepan...
Nanamo looked around, feeling feverish. "Where... where are the egg yolks? Where do we keep the egg yolks?"
"Bobi suspects they are inside the eggs," her companion mused. Nanamo waved her hands in his general direction, and he was silent, but clearly amused.
"I don't need any help from you! I can do this..." Nanamo took a deep breath. "Yes, I can do this. First, I need to measure the... the sugar, and the starch."
"Your Grace will need a scale. Where is your scale?"
"It's right here!" Nanamo leaned forward, and took hold of a very heavy device. This device appeared to be an ornate mechanism of some kind, adorned with several dials and displays.
"That is not a scale."
"It is! I have seen these before." Nanamo grinned, and patted the device affectionately. "Made by the brilliant young goldsmiths of Rhalgr's Reach! So precise, so beautiful, so highly sought-after that even the famous head chef of the Bismarck is still on a waiting list! Or... or so I'm told..."
"Nonsense." Bobi shook his head, and folded his arms over his chest. "A scale is a simple thing. Why make it so complicated?"
"Complicated! What rot!" Nanamo stomped hard on the stool, and turned to regard the scale once more. "Why, a device such as this is exactly what a... a beginning young chef such as myself needs! Hmph..."
With that, she turned her attention to the measuring of ingredients, and the operation of the scale in question. This will be a snap!
There was a large jar, labeled "Starch". Nanamo placed a bowl on top of it. Spoon in hand, she scooped some of its contents into the bowl. The scale responded, and one of its many dials changed, in some way that was incomprehensible to her.
"Yes, err... perhaps... a bit more," she spoke, far more confidently than she felt. Another scoop. And another. And another. And... no, the scale still made no sense, and now the bowl was nearly full.
"That... should be enough," Nanamo muttered. "Now, to... put it into the pot-- *cough* *cough* *cough*"
Bobi cackled as a thick, starchy cloud enveloped the sultana. In between coughs, Nanamo waved her hands to dispel the starch, a futile yet adorable gesture.
"Bobi recommends that Your Grace should separate the egg whites next," Bobi spoke. "Better to do that before the stove is ablaze."
"You, hush! I don't need your advice!" Nanamo shook her head. She needed to focus. "Separate the egg whites..." Next to her were six eggs, of varying color. Some were varying shades of brown, others white, one blue. She set the two white eggs apart from the others. From the remaining eggs, she selected the blue one, thinking of it as a precious jewel. The thought made her smile as she cracked it against the saucepan and emptied its contents atop the starch.
There was a minor incident when igniting the stove, which she survived intact. Nanamo was trying not to think about it, focusing instead on constantly stirring the thick, starchy sludge inside the saucepan. Was one egg really sufficient to bind all of this starch together...? It did not seem as if this mixture was going to become anything resembling a pudding.
Have faith, Nanamo told herself. All will be well. What is meant to be, will be.
Minutes later, it was clear that what was meant to be, was glue-- an impossibly-thick, intensely-sticky goop that had completely overtaken both her saucepan and her stirring-spoon. She strained, she pulled, she pushed, but her spoon would not move; it was rooted to the spot.
"Milk!" Nanamo cried. "Where is the milk!"
Bobi reached up, holding a tiny pitcher half-filled with milk. Nanamo took it wordlessly, and poured the entirety of its contents into the saucepan. The starchy goop persisted in its refusal to become a pudding.
Nanamo Ul Namo stood, then, upon her stepstool-- watching a furious, simmering mass of white, starchy goop, bubbling away inside one of Ul'dah's finest saucepans. She sighed, and stepped down.
"You win," she sighed, removing her toque and tossing it at Bobi. "Fix it."
"At once, yes," Bobi replied, climbing atop the stool. "But, Your Grace..."
Nanamo stopped to listen, but did not turn to face him.
"Don't forget," Bobi went on, "that whatever happens today, your lady will be delighted tomorrow."
"Thank you," Nanamo sighed. "I think I shall retire for now. I have had enough of this... pudding."
---
"I cannot get enough of this pudding," said Nanamo's handmaiden, scooping another serving into her dish before topping it with slices of fresh banana. "Truly, Your Grace, this is the most wonderful surprise! Why, I haven't had real bananas since I was a girl!"
Nanamo chuckled softly, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "Yes, well... they were not easy to obtain," she said. "But you do so much for me that a simple 'happy nameday' seemed inadequate."
Something over her handmaiden's shoulder caught Nanamo's attention. It was a Lalafell, with long, wavy hair as black as ink. He pointed at her, and then at himself, before flashing a thumbs-up. Nanamo rolled her eyes, and pushed him out of her mind entirely.
The lady set down her spoon. "Mmmm, so good... Your Grace, we've been to so many pastry contests and trifle tournaments, but I must say, I've never seen a confection like this. What shall we call it?"
Nanamo blinked. "Pudding?"
"No, no..." The lady shook her head. "It needs something with more--" Then the lady snapped her fingers. "I have it! Yes! Bananamo."
Nanamo stared at her handmaiden, horrified. "No. I expressly forbid you to call it Bananamo."
"But, Your Grace, it's my namedaaaaay... Just for one day?"
"Oh, all right," Nanamo sighed. "But please don't let anyone else hear you say it. Especially not that black-haired vagrant behind you-- oh, don't look!"
The lady turned to look. "Bobi? A vagrant, you say? You surprise me, Your Grace; I thought everyone loved Bobi."
Nanamo took a deep breath, then closed her eyes and filled her mind with pleasant thoughts of being anywhere else.