Steven
Noma de Cuisinaire
Insert Joke here

Obama giggled at Catarina's remark.

"I'd hardly call myself an artist, but thank you. I only wish to bring some warmth on the road, especially since the world is going down a drain recently." The crackling of the fire was mirrored by the burning tobacco in his pipe as he continued to take drags, puffing away like some kind of steam powered contraption.

Modern medicine often spoke of the risks of constant smoking, but thankfully modern medicine didn't exist yet so Noma could smoke without a care in the world, which wasn't saying much since the man often left his worries behind him on the road.

"I take an extra minute to make food, but it's far from being good enough to be called art." He chuckled, and the ox behind him seemed to call out in agreement.

The chef turned, scolding his friend's brutal honesty. How dare he admit the truth Noma was only hinting at.
Raul
Catarina Tanner
Witherlands Roadside

She smiled at Noma's humbleness, finding it all refreshing and comforting. And a relief as well! He apparently expected no payment in all of this, which to Catarina seemed no less than a miracle. She undoubtedly wouldn't have survived much longer without food and warmth, and with this thought in mind, she breathed a prayer to the gods who had cursed her for letting her survive a little longer. She didn't understand why she was so desperate to live, truthfully, but somewhere she felt that she still had more to do in this world. Some task, somewhere, needed to be accomplished before her soul could finally be freed from the shackles of her curse and she could finally rest. 

"I'm grateful for it, all the same," She replied, then turned her attention back to Shaye and Maren as she snuggled closer to the fire and basked in the radiating warmth. With a full belly of hot food to warm her insides and the fire warming her outsides, it wasn't long before she felt her eyelids getting heavy, her head bobbing as she struggled to stay awake.
Stephen
Maren Tockett
Witherlands Roadside

Maren wondered to herself. Roads? Like how? "Like a map?" She asked, cocking her head to the side. She liked this lady. She seemed scared, though. Maren looked around and wondered what she was afraid of. The fire, no... The chef? Maybe... Her? Was this tall lovely lady afraid of little Maren? She looked down at herself and then back at Shaye, reaching over and placing a little hand on the top of Shaye's frosty cloak. She leaned in and whispered.

"*You don't hafta be scared...*" She murmured, before giving her a little nod. She glanced back at Noma as he continued to chat about cuisine. She smiled a little at the way he spoke. He reminded her of the color orange. Cozy and warm, with a bright hint of excitement. As the Ox himself called out in agreement, and Noma glanced back with a scolding glance, it made Maren really smile, and even let out a light and feathery giggle. Her voice was hoarse from the dry and cold air, but it made it even sweeter. She began inching her way over to the Ox in interest. She always loved animals...