Work Text:
#3512 was not a social man.
He kept to himself, his little shop near the edge of the metal farms. He would leave to pick up fresh cow carcasses, and occasionally to buy other needed supplies from Zacharie- often a strange amount of Luck tickets, which the merchant refrained from questioning.
Due to his odd demeanor, and distaste of befriending other Elsen, #3512 gained both an unsavory reputation and a nickname- ‘The Butcher’. Nobody knew what his real name was, or if he even had one. He was simply Zone 1’s butcher, preparing the metal cows for consumption after their true purpose had been fulfilled. All the other Elsen were too squeamish, of course, even the ones who directly handled the extraction of metal. They couldn’t handle the squish of meat under a knife, so similar to how their own flesh would feel on the chopping block.
But the Butcher reveled in it. So much so that the cows weren’t quite enough, not anymore. He started small, trapping Tiburce and figuring out how to best prepare them- they didn’t have much meat on their bony frames, so a stew tended to be the best he could get. He tried a January, once, but no matter how long it was cooked the meat was flaky and practically crumbled away when he tried to chop it.
Eventually, growing tired of the Tiburce as well, the Butcher was able to sneak his way to Alma. He lucked out there, finding a newly-formed Troquantary and dragging it onto a late-night tram back to Pentel. Unlike his other experiments, the Troquantary had quite a few edible pieces, all quite salty and metallic due to its habitat. He found it worked quite well when dried, and added a nice flavor to the previously bland Tiburce stew.
This still wasn’t enough for #3512.
The flesh of Elsen was soft and stringy. The Butcher had learned this early in his career, after an accident with a sharp knife which resulted in his acquisition of some very thick gloves.
But how, he wondered, would it taste? Would a Burnt taste the same? Would the different Burnt variants have different flavors? What would he taste like?
That final question was quite an easy one to solve. Somewhere unobtrusive, just a small bit that a Luck ticket or two could fix right up… He decided on his inner thigh, carving away a slab about the size of his palm and 3 centimeters or so thick. By the Queen herself, he didn’t know how he didn’t burn on the spot from the pain of it, slapping a haphazard handful of tickets onto it the moment he could. It dulled quickly, leaving him with a deep ache and a puddle of blood on the floor of his workspace.
And a hunk of his own flesh in his hand.
Only a bit of it was actually useable- #3512 was not a small man by any means, and there was a thick layer of fat between the skin and the actual meat itself. But it was enough. For now. He was able to scrape a small handful of shreds off- not enough for anything big, but that could be saved for the future.
Now to figure out the best preparation. A stew would work best with the texture, but he didn’t want to compromise the flavor… maybe something simple. Pan-fried? That could work, that could work…
Oh, he was going to have a lot of fun with this.