Homeless Bunny 9 (Patreon)

Homeless Bunny 9

"Jiii…" The single most adorable (and weaponless) grim reaper in the world stared me down as I went about making a marinade. Diced pineapple, roasted red peppers, dried tomatoes, and a host of other spices flew through the air, only to be intercepted by the blur of my chef's knife.

Yes, Junior's kitchen had a blender. No, I didn't use it. This was my treasured knife, the engagement gift from Luo Hao. I slew my first world serpent with it and kept it all these years. And, after some runework from Odin, it cut better than ever. It used to be a game of mine, to toss ingredients into the air and blend them via pure speed with but one blade. Used to be, because it wasn't really a challenge anymore.

"Jiii…"

"Are you going to sit there and pout all day, Ruby?" I asked. The ingredients that were thrown into the air fell down as liquid, straight into a large mixing bowl with cuts of pork already inside. I was going for something a little sweet, a little savory, with a nod towards al pastor found in Mexican and Tex-Mex cuisines.

But that was for tonight.

It was time for lunch and I had several pineapple rinds cut into perfect hemispheres, which meant pineapple fried rice. The seal of my "Semblance" lit up the wok in my hand, heating the iron instantly. A knob of ghee to oil the pan and we were good to go.

Off to the side, Jeremy, Lenny, and a few of the other boys sat around watching with rapt attention. As they should, I was their teacher and they, my pupils. I wouldn't be here forever and Junior had been good to me, giving me several leads into magical artifacts and the hidden history of this world. I wanted this club to feel my presence even when I was gone.

"Now, I'm using ghee, which is clarified butter. To make ghee, you remove all the water and milk solids until you have nothing but fat. It's got a more concentrated, nuttier taste than butter but can largely be used interchangeably," I lectured. "Fried rice is simultaneously simple and nuanced once you get down to it. For example, even though we're having pork for dinner, I'm opting not to use pork for lunch today because with ghee already in the wok, I fear the fatty meat will make the end product too greasy.

"Instead, I'm going with an even mix of diced chicken breast and thigh, eggs, along with shrimp. For the vegetables, go with diced onions, pineapples, chilis, scallions, ginger, and cashews. You want to sear the shrimp first so you're not putting a lid on the wok at the end trying to steam it into cooking. This way, it'll be done after you finish stirring.

"Then sweat the vegetables. Let it all caramelize in the pineapple juices. Start with just onions, cashews, and pineapples so they all brown. Add the ginger, chicken, and chilis. Then, just before everything comes out, toss the tomatoes and shrimp back in. To stir, you need a firm, smooth hand. Don't try to jar it into place like you're banging on a TV with bad picture. Like so:"

The meat and vegetables made a satisfying sizzling noise as they hit the wok. Ladle in hand, I began to stir with expert precision. The ingredients blurred and rippled, becoming a singular wave in my hands. As the moon commands the tides, the wok undulated in perfect rhythm, wafting an aroma that promised heavenly delights to any who smelled it.

"Jiii…" she started to say, only for her stomach to let out a ravenous growl. She looked down at herself in utter betrayal. When she looked back up, I smirked knowingly. Thus was my victory complete and my truth vindicated: Chefs were the noblest of all.

Using the emptied pineapple rinds as bowls, I plated up the food and slid a portion across the table to everyone watching.

"Oh, Brothers, that smells heavenly," Melanie moaned as she skipped through the door, her twin not far behind. The two were dressed in yoga pants and sports bras, having returned from the gym. They'd been waking up early to eat my breakfasts, which naturally meant they were fully energized for the day despite their regular late nights. The pair got it into their heads that they ought to work off the extra food I fed them, as if anything I made would be unhealthy.

I paid close attention to the health of everyone I cooked for, thank you very much. It was part of my Authorities. Both Peach Blossom Alchemy and the Power of the Name demanded I look after my clients to the utmost. I took account of their age, party lifestyle, training, and even estimated their BMI and other physical properties to derive their optimal nutrition.

Food is life.

Miltiades spotted the little reaper at the bar counter, salivating over her meal. "What's she doing here?"

I shrugged. "This is pineapple fried rice. I'm thinking about having the boys add it to the menu. Maybe a simpler version if it's too hard. It's visually impressive, smells great, and can be made in large batches like this. As for Ruby, she just zoomed in and none of the boys felt like tangling with a huntress, even an unarmed one."

"Ugh, Tianyu, if you feed her, she'll keep coming back."

"Yeah, listen to Mil," Mel grumped. "We're not running a soup kitchen, you know."

"He killed my baby," Ruby hissed. "I'm not leaving until he helps me fix Crescent Rose!"

I sighed. "No. You're not going to tell people I killed your baby. Do you have any idea how weird that sounds?"

"Baby-killer."

"It's a weapon. I'm sure it's a sentimental weapon, but it's a weapon. Not a baby. You don't see me polishing my knife and calling it 'my precious,' do you?"

"Murderer… Slayer of innocents."

Junior came down the stairs and caught the tail end of the conversation. He chuckled as he took a seat. "Heh, you know, Tianyu, the Vale Police Department still thinks you're White Fang."

I glowered at him. "I thought you cleared that up!"

"I mean… Kinda? You have a legal presence here, but it's not like I went to the fuzz and said, 'Oh, yeah, that guy who beat up two guards? He's legit. Definitely not a terrorist.' That'd make you seem even more suspicious."

"Ugh, you're fucking with me."

"Nope. As far as VPD is concerned, a white-haired, red-eyed bunny-faunus matching your height is still wanted for suspected connections to the White Fang. Now, this faunus is obvious not Tianyu, my godly chef who's been working here for over a year now, but I still don't recommend you do anything too suspicious."

Ruby angrily took a bite of her fried rice, only for her face to morph into utter delight. Naughty, sexual moans that had no business coming from the innocent girl sounded. Then her brain caught up to the noises she was making and her face burned red with shame. The shame turned into indignant rage as she glared heatedly at me, only for the aroma of the fried rice to call to her once again to repeat the cycle.

Ruby Rose was a very expressive girl…

"You deserve this, baby-killer," she hissed.

"Yeah, okay. That. That's exactly the kind of suspicious thing Junior's saying shouldn't happen in public. I'm not a terrorist. I don't kill babies. Both are lies and each makes the other infinitely worse to hear," I grumbled. Sometimes, I wished I didn't have a moral compass. Voban never got bullied like this by people weaker than him because he just murdered all his nuisances.

"So, bun-bun," Miltia said, "Have you found what you were looking for? You've been doing nothing but read myths and legends when you're not cooking."

"Not true, Mil," Melanie said. "He's also been beating us up with a spoon."

"Oh, yeah, that. Seriously not cool."

"Yeah, that hurts way more than it should."

I rolled my eyes. "The Wooden Spoon of Gentle Guidance is good for you. I've been slowly correcting your forms."

"Well it hurts," Melanie whined.

"Too bad. Anyway, I think I've found some stories I'm interested in. I'm especially interested in how the Maidens came to be and the four Relics left by the brother gods. If you find anything else on them, let me know," I told Junior. "Older the information source, the better."

"Seriously, what's with you and those things anyway?" he asked. "I've never had a weirder request from anyone. Usually it's about safe smuggling routes, who can be bribed, what the going rate for a gram of cocaine is, that sort of thing."

"Alalalalala, I can't hear you! The baby-killer doesn't live with a bunch of criminals!" Ruby yelled, hands clasped over her ears.

"You're not fooling anyone, midget."

"Whatever. I won't stay short forever. I drink milk."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why are you looking at me like that? Wipe the smug off your face before I do it for you, brat. Are you proud that you're taller than me or something?"

"I've never been taller than anyone."

"Seriously, how old are you?" Mel asked. "Both of you."

"Fifteen!"

"Guess," I said drolly.

"He can't be younger than us, Mel," Mil said, "You don't get that good at cooking, or that strong, overnight."

Melanie hummed in thought. "Twenty-four? Six at most. There's a limit to babyface."

"Seems about right. Like, we look young. You… I don't even know what you are, bun-bun."

"Try a hundred twenty-two. I celebrated my hundredth anniversary with my wife six weeks ago and I was twenty-two when we married," I told them honestly.

"Bullshit," came the collective response.

I shrugged. "Believe what you want. Anyway, Ruby, have you made a draft of your weapon?"

Ruby's face lit up like a Christmas tree. She really was adorable, like a puppy if that puppy had a single-minded obsession towards all things sharp and explosive. "I've been meaning to, but I'm kind of stuck. I want to take this chance to increase the caliber of my baby, but a sniper rifle has a lot of delicate pieces that don't stand up so well to being used as a melee weapon. I'm testing out different steels at the forge in Signal right now."

I nodded, humoring the girl. During my time here, I noticed the oddity of this world's weapon designs. For whatever reason, huntsmen felt the need to make damn near everything a gun. Knuckle dusters? Shotguns. Scythe? Sniper rifle. Club? Bazooka. Why? Because they all had the design sense of an eight year old and the engineering knowledge of a coke-addled redneck.

Then again, a ladle that could also lob grenades did sound pretty neat…

I shook my head and suppressed my inner eight year old. Reality must intrude sometime. Really, what did it say about this world that Melanie's knife-heels were some of the more practical weapons I've seen? "You understand that a gun isn't supposed to be swung like a club?"

Ruby let out a dramatic gasp. "You take that back! My baby can be whatever she wants to be!"

"But if you stopped trying to attach a scythe to the end of your muzzle, maybe you could upgrade the caliber without worrying about tolerance. Really, close or long range. Pick one."

"A mother supports her daughter's life choices."

"This is more like eugenics and gene therapy, except if you tried to purposely make your child inbre-Oh, gods, see what you've done Ruby? You've made me sink into your metaphor."

"Not a metaphor, baby-killer."

I sighed. I reached into the expanded bag in my coat pocket and pulled out a metal ingot. It clattered onto the bar top, catching everyone's eye with its pure, silver luster. "Here. I promised I'd help you reforge your weapon. This is lunar cold iron, one of the metals used and maintained by Baihu."

"Who?"

"My servants, the White Tiger of the West."

"You have a servant?"

"I have many servants. Doesn't matter. Take the iron ore and make whatever you want. It should be enough for your scythe."

"I have iron," she pouted. "It's not really good for weapons on its own, you know."

Junior pointed at the ingot. "Is no one going to point out that the bunny apparently carries raw iron in his breast pocket? Or that the pocket's bigger on the inside somehow?"

I gamely ignored my nominal boss. "It's lunar cold iron. Why would I give you regular iron? Trust me, this thing is stupid-durable."

Ruby took it in her hands and flipped it around a bit. "Ehh, fine. I'll try smelting it first. But don't think you're off the hook, baby-killer!"

"Can we please stop calling me baby-killer? It really sends the wrong message."

"No."

"Ugh, whatever. Just come back with a finished scythe. Then I'll engrave it for you."

Ruby gasped, scandalized. "My baby doesn't need a tattoo!"

"Are you serious?"

"She's not a-a delinquent or something!"

"You know what dust-weaving is, right?"

"That's only for clothes."

"Runes can be applied to weapons too," I explained patiently. "An alcoholic friend of mine taught me how."

Junior sighed. "No? We're just going to accept that the bunny does impossible things? Okay then…"

Melanie placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I stopped questioning it. Life is easier when you stop trying to figure out how Tianyu's everything works."

"Totes," her sister chimed in. "And what do runes do?"

I shrugged. I was a hobbyist at best but both Odin and I had a great deal of respect for masters of any art. He liked to watch me cook and was prone to highly informative if long-winded lectures on runes. From what I could gather, runes could do damn near everything assuming the caster was powerful and creative enough.

But I'd be using dust, the crystals of elemental mana unique to Remnant. I'd probably be limited to whatever element Ruby chose, and more on the physical side, not the metaphysical "fire of courage" bullshit I was used to with Peach Blossom Alchemy. I supposed I could use that Authority even now, but I generally preferred to bless food and with my house the way it was, I wasn't sure how effective it would be.

"Runes can do a lot but it really depends on what kind of dust you want engraved into your weapon."

"What? Why haven't you engraved our weapons?"

"Because you two are criminals."

"B-But, since when do you care?"

"Since always. Why do you think I haven't taught you the Moon Bunny Combat Arts? Sure I've polished your forms a bit, but I won't teach you all the cool shit I do unless the pair of you stop treating your body counts like the scoreboard of a video game."

"You're killers?" Ruby gasped. "You're supposed to be bodyguards!"

"We are," Melanie said defensively.

"Yeah, we're just enthusiastic about our jobs," her sister added.

I clapped my hands. "Right. You two aren't getting magic weapons until I'm confident you'll be responsible with them. Ruby is getting a magic scythe because I think her silver eyes are cool and interesting things will happen if I stick with her."

"That's so unfair!"

"Deal with it. Or become proper huntresses."

"Hah! Good always prevails!" Ruby cheered.

"Whatever, get out of here. I need to do the dishes," I grumbled.

Author's Note

Have a random animal fact: Chimps and bonobos are considered separate species. One is notoriously brutal and aggressive, even chewing off eyes and testicles of their own tribemates. The other solves almost all conflict with copious amounts of sex and even trades fucks for food.

There are physiological differences, but the main one seems to be ecological: The river that divides their territories (the Congo River) has made it so that bonobo territory is full of food and has few or no natural predators while chimp territory is much rougher.

Despite being taxonomically considered two separate species, chimps and bonobos can breed and their offspring is fertile. The main thing that keeps the two populations distinct seems to be their reluctance or inability to cross the river, though to be fair, the Congo is the deepest river in the world.