Terence
Noma de Cuisinaire
The Mizzen Market, Tonate Proper, The Southern Isles

"Not only a returning customer, but a *Paying* Returning customer!?  Allow me to give you the VIP treatment!"  He chuckled as he slid the coins across the counter and into his palm.

"I have a great treat for you today!  In the Witherlands I had to carry *Powdered* Ingredients."  He made a dramatic vomiting motion at the word "Powdered,"

"My trenches were edible, but they were hardly delectable."  He reached under his main cooking counter to reveal his treasure.  It was a barrel filled with some kind of yellow paste.

"Behold!  My precious butter."  He was very proud of his acquisition of a single barrel of the stuff.

"It cost me a fortune to transport this one barrel from Ibethiel.  The difference is so obvious you'll never want anything without fresh butter again!  When you put it in the pie crust, the flakes just..." He put his fingers to his mouth and kissed them loudly as he brought them away, "Divine."

He wasn't lying.  The difference between powdered milk and butter was the reason local restaurants beat him out in business so many nights, but the festival was his turf, and he'd have the best food around.

He quickly shaped a roll of dough before it went into the oven to make his trencher, and sighed as he exchanged the tray of bread for his dessert tray.  He took extra care plating Caterina's dish, having his own reputation to uphold.  The berries of the pie fell outward in a picturesque cascade as he slid his knife free, the trencher was golden brown in color; the stew that held a brown flavor made a great contrast to it.

Noma placed the ladle in the heart of the bowl, and let the soupy broth overflow against the bread.

Noma laid the custom plate on his serving counter, adding the flourish of an Orange Peel atop the trencher, like he did in their first meeting.  He smiled at Catarina, bowing semi-gracefully after the act.

"I hope this meal holds up to the last one, Milady!"  He smiled brightly at the woman.
Marguerite
Catarina Tanner
The Mizzen Market, Tonate Proper

Her stomach growled again as she eyed the steaming bowl of stew and the pie, whose flaky crust was overflowing with still-warm, thick, decadent berries. Months—really, a few years now— of near starvation had given her a new appreciation and love of food. The fact that she could afford this was a gift!

She returned his smile and then happily dug in, first taking a bite of the rich stew. It was still hot, so she burned her tongue on it, but you wouldn't know it by the look on her face. Her eyes were closed, the slightest hint of a smile on her face as she savored the incredible flavors.

"Better than I remembered, M'lord," She said finally, opening her eyes again to shoot him a cheeky smile. The compliment was genuine, however.
Ora
Arin Cragton
Southern Isles

Another fist connected to the side of Arin's face, but the pain was fading, replaced by a newfound sense of rage. This was his father, and he was ordering his own son to be beaten. Arin grimaced, his jaw bone loosely connected to his face by a collection of sinew and muscles. 

He murmured as another fist connected, both of his eyes trying to swell shut. He forced himself to speak, his words coming out slurred. 

"Coward? The only coward I see here is you, *Captain*." He said, spitting on the floor. His vision blurred as he was kicked in the back of the head, and the boot of the man behind him began forcing his head lower and lower, but Arin forced his mouth closed and strained his arms as much as he could. The pain fueled his rage, forcing his arms to pull together. The men snatched him backwards, and the guard in front of him wrapped his fingers around a small piece of metal. Arin's eyes widened, but the fear quickly faded.

"Four.. Four against one. Yet... You call me coward?" He said, before the man's fist connected and everything exploded into a connection of stars and darkness. Blood dripped out of various cuts, and seeped out of his mouth, creating a small river that led down his chest and puddled on the floor in front of him. Arin couldn't force his eyes open any longer, but another hit forced him awake again, creating new waves of pain. His head lulled at his chest, and Arin couldn't find the strength to pick it up.
Harvey
Valkrin Farensun
The Mizzen 

"Tell me honestly, boy, where was all this during your bout with Brightwater?" Valkrin was impressed by the beating this kid could take, but that left him with questions about the match. 

He walked over and took Arin's right arm from the guard holding it. "Four to one might be cowardice, but honor is for men far nobler than I." He finished his sentence with a quick twist of the boy's arm, snapping the bone. 

"And with such a lofty opinion of yourself, I'm gonna have to make sure you won't walk so tall for awhile." He grabbed Arin's left leg, and stomped until he heard a crunch. 

Pulling out a few gold coins, he handed them to one of his guards, instructing the men to drag the boy to the nearest doctor and pay for treatment. "And before I forget," He said, reaching back into his pocket, "This here's the boy's cut." Valkrin handed his guard Arin's money and sent them off. Wiping any blood he still had on his hands off, and stepping back into the Royal Balcony.