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The beautiful male elf standing in his living room looked just about as surprised as Duck felt.
“Well...this is weird as fuck,” the elf said.
“I’d have to agree,” Duck replied from the couch. “I mean I’ve seen a lot of weird shit in my life, but this is up there. How’d you end up in my house?”
“Fuck if I know, homie,” the elf replied, swinging his umbrella over his shoulder and eyeing Duck suspiciously. It wasn’t even raining outside, so Duck wasn’t sure what he needed an umbrella for, but he didn’t question it. “Istus magic maybe? You try understanding what she does, I sure as hell don’t know her motivations most of the time.” Duck wondered if this Istus lady knew Minerva.
“So, ah...are you from Sylvane?” Duck asked, trying to make conversation. This might be a weird start to his evening but he wasn’t about to be impolite.
“Cha’boy’s been a lot of places, but whatever-the-fuck you just said ain’t one of them,” the elf answered. He flopped down onto the couch beside Duck, his long limbs sprawling in every direction. He closed his eyes and frowned, sighing with frustration. “Dammit, I was supposed to have dinner with Kravitz tonight,” he grumbled.
“Well, ah, I don’t know who that is, but...I mean, if you need something to eat, I’ve got another one of these in the freezer, you could microwave it if you want. If you’re hungry, I mean,” Duck offered, showing the elf his dinner.
“Yeah, I was gonna ask, what the fuck is that that you’re eating? It smells atrocious.”
“It’s uh, well it’s a Hungryman dinner? It’s meatloaf.” Duck held out the plastic tray, suddenly unsure if the elf would even know what that was. “Do you...do you have meatloaf where you come from?”
The elf leaned forward to sniff the food despite his previous claim about its scent. “Nah, I mean...looks like it’s made with ground up meat? That’s kind of a new concept for me, ya dig?” He held out a hand. “You mind?”
Duck looked at his well manicured hand for a moment before realizing what he was asking for. “Oh, ah, sure, go ahead.” He handed the elf his fork and watched carefully as he took a nibble of his food. He contemplated the flavor only a moment before gagging dramatically.
“What the hell, you eat that garbage?” he cried, recoiling quickly and throwing the fork across the room. Duck could feel his face heating up in embarrassment.
“Yeah, I mean, sometimes...I’ve got some Kraft mac and cheese if you’d rather have that? I don’t...I don’t really do much cooking…”
“You don’t cook anything at all?” the elf asked, incredulous.
“Well, I managed to get a recipe for some real good French onion soup once, but it didn’t turn out so great when I tried to make it,” Duck admitted.
“So this is why Istus sent me here…” the elf mumbled, standing from the couch. “Well, you’re in luck, homie. Cha’boy does cook, so we’re gonna make sure you get to eat some real food, at least for tonight. Where’s this...what’d you call it? Fresh onion soup?”
“French onion soup,” Duck corrected him, sitting up a little straighter. “Do you know how to make that?” He could already imagine the smell, and he couldn’t help but agree that the meatloaf seemed incredibly unappetizing in comparison.
“Never heard of it,” the elf said. “But you point me to that recipe I can certainly try.” He spun his umbrella around in his hand. “You’re in luck, homie. You’ve got one of the best chefs in a hundred planar systems in your house. I’m gonna make sure you eat well tonight.”
Duck was already off the couch and rummaging through one of the drawers by the stove. He pulled out a recipe card and handed it to the elf. “Here’s the recipe. I mean, if you don’t mind, of course,” he said, suddenly aware of how awkward he felt about asking a stranger to make him dinner in his own home. The elf took the card and studied it closely, his long ears twitching as he read. “So, uh...what’s your name anyway?” Duck asked. The elf glanced up at him with an arched eyebrow. “I’m Duck,” he added quickly, holding out his hand for a handshake. “It’s a nickname.”
“Duck, huh?” the elf said, high fiving his outstretched hand. “You mean you don’t know who I am?”
Duck frowned a little, pulling his stinging hand back, confused. “Well...no. Should I?”
“I’m Taako!” the elf said, flashing a brilliant smile. “You know? From TV?”
Duck didn’t remember seeing him on TV before, but… “Oh, I get it. Taco? Because you’re a chef. Nice to meet another, ah, nickname guy. Sorry, I don’t watch a lot of cooking shows on TV, I’m more of uh...I’m more of an American Ninja Warrior guy.”
“What? No, I’m - Taako’s my real name, m’dude,” he protested, his ears swiveling backwards comically as he spoke. “Whatever, man, let’s get cooking. You got the stuff for this, right?”
“Well, I haven’t-” Duck stopped talking abruptly when Taako opened his refrigerator. He’d been about to say he hadn’t been grocery shopping in a while, but sitting neatly, almost miraculously, on the top shelf of his fridge was everything they needed - a jar of what looked like homemade broth, a pile of golden onions, a wedge of fancy looking cheese, a fresh baguette… Taako was already piling the ingredients into his arms as Duck watched in amazement.
“How did - did you put those in there?”
Taako shook his head. “Wouldn’t be the first time Fate provided, ya dig?” He dumped the ingredients on the counter. “You got a knife?”
“Of course,” Duck answered, quickly opening a drawer. Taako eyed the knife he produced skeptically.
“Yeah, man, you gotta sharpen that shit. Then get slicing. You’re gonna be my sous chef tonight, and you’ve got a lot of onions to get through.”
Duck followed his instructions as Taako began prepping the other ingredients and heating a pot on the stove. A few minutes went by before he glanced over at what Duck was doing and his ears stood up in alarm.
“What the hell, bububleh, have you never sliced an onion before?” he cried. Duck held up the onion he was wrestling with, the layers slipping apart and his eyes watering. Taako sighed dramatically and set down the spoon he was holding. “Here, this is how you do it,” he said, moving to stand behind Duck and guiding his hands with surprising gentleness and patience. “First of all, you gotta curl those fingers, m’dude, don’t wanna slice your nails off. Secondly, you gotta cut through the roots, like that. That will keep the layers together while you’re slicing.” Duck worked slowly and carefully, already feeling a bit more confident, and after a few minutes he had a pile of thinly sliced onion on his cutting board. Taako grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. “There you go, now you got it. Now do the next one on your own.”
The two of them worked side by side for a while, Taako occasionally giving Duck more instructions and inviting him to observe what he was doing. Duck tried to memorize everything Taako told him, hoping he could replicate the steps later on his own. It took longer to make than Duck would have expected - usually if he made soup he just microwaved it from a can - but the smells that filled his apartment were intoxicating. He knew he wouldn’t be able to find the time to do all this very often, not with regular monster hunting in his schedule now, but he was hopeful that from now on maybe he wouldn’t always have to go to The Wolf Ember every time he was craving this soup.
It was almost two hours after they’d begun cooking when Taako carefully pulled the ramekins out of the oven, carefully examining the melted cheese. Duck could feel his stomach rumbling in anticipation.
“So this is what you call fresh onion soup, huh?” Taako said, taking a sniff. “Smells decent. Ready to dig in?”
“It’s French onion soup, actually,” Duck corrected again, “and oh boy am I.”
They carefully carried their hot dishes of soup back to the couch and sat together. “You, ah...you wanna watch some American Ninja Warrior while we eat?”
Taako cocked his head at him. “What, do these...do these warriors come to your house or something?”
“What? No. It’s on the TV,” Duck said, picking up the remote and turning the TV on. Taako stared in fascination.
“So this glowy picture box is what you call TV?” he asked.
“Well...yeah. Wait, what do you think TV is?” Duck replied, now even more confused. “I thought you said you were on TV.”
“Traveling Venue, my dude,” Taako answered, plunging his spoon through the crust of cheese on his soup. “I had a traveling cooking show once.”
“Oh. So you...don’t have these where you’re from?” Duck asked him. Taako shook his head in reply, watching the television closely.
“So why do you watch this?” he asked. “What’s the appeal?”
Duck shrugged. “Looking for tips, I guess,” he said. “I’ve been given, uh...a prophecy, I guess? I’m supposed to be ready to fight...something.” He shrugged again. “I don’t know, man. I tried avoiding it for a long time, but I don’t think that’s going to last. But I don’t feel like I’m cut out for this...world saving thing.”
Taako nodded. “Yeah, I get that. Cha’boy’s not much of a fighter, either.” Taako finally took his first bite of soup, cheese stretching off his spoon as he did so. He closed his eyes and hummed a little. “Mmm. That’s some baller soup, homie,” he muttered.
Duck grinned and dug in himself, suppressing his own moan of pleasure. “Oh yeah,” he agreed, “way better than a Hungryman meatloaf.”
Taako held out a fist and Duck bumped it with a smile. “You were a good sous chef,” Taako told him. “And don’t worry about your prophecy thing. You look like you might have some muscles under there. Just work on feeding yourself a bit better, and I bet you can handle whatever it is you gotta fight.”
“Thanks, man,” Duck said. “For...for all of tonight. For the good dinner, for encouraging me to...well, to take on things I’m intimidated by. I’m just sorry you had to miss your date to do it.”
Taako grinned and licked his spoon. “No worries there, m’dude. I think Kravitz will forgive me for missing dinner tonight when I serve him fresh onion soup tomorrow.” He glanced at Duck. “You don’t mind, do you? If I take your recipe home with me?”
“Well, leave the recipe card here, I think I’m gonna need that,” Duck said. “But go ahead and make it as often as you want.”
Duck and Taako fell asleep on the couch together that night. Taako was gone when Duck woke up in the morning. He still didn’t understand where the elf had come from, and he might have believed it had been a strange dream if it weren’t for the two dirty ramekins on his coffee table and the dishes in the kitchen. The recipe card was still sitting on the counter. He picked it up and looked at it fondly, then grabbed a pencil. He carefully erased one word and wrote a new one before tucking the card carefully back into the drawer.
“Fresh onion soup.”