How Girls Work (...we think) {Henry}

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[Yes]

Remy nodded; no one had ever explained this, and the books, well, they were a little confusing when it came to stuff like this. Most of it amounted to "you'll just know," which was the least helpful advice that Remy had ever received. Henry's advice made a lot more sense, and Remy actually appreciated the cooking analogy, nodding along with it.

"So, you'll be happier and more content or something around her?" asked Remy, gesturing with a hand. He nodded, "Makes sense."

As much as anything made sense. However, when Henry continued, talking about how the girls here were all kinds of strange, it was all Remy could do not to laugh. Most of the girls he'd met were previously animals, which made them easily as strange as he was. The few that weren't had problems of their own.

"We're all a little odd here though," insisted Remy, shrugging. He was pretty sure he'd said that already, but it bore repeating. "I still think I'm more or less normal though, except for the whole used to be a rat thing. Well, sometimes I see a floating dead chef, but I think it's just my mind's way of reassuring itself or something," Remy shrugged, hoping that little tidbit would just be swept up in the great rush. Or, better yet, that Remy's next question would just overwhelm:

"What about you? Is there a girl here who gives you that special feeling? Or are they all too weird?"

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"I--sure. Sure, that's it." Except not really. But Henry was ready to abandon that line of conversation, hopefully for good. So he let it go at that.

"Like, super odd," Henry muttered. Sometimes he was willing to swear he was the only ordinary guy around. An ordinary guy who had somehow managed to get saddled with a title and ridiculous family. But he wasn't about to let that affect his life.

"Wait, a dead chef?" That was more than odd. That was actually a little worrying. But before Henry could say any more on the subject, Remy tried to redirect the conversation back toward girls and relationships.

"Uh, no, not really," Henry said, answering the question but still a bit caught up on the whole floating chef thing. "I mean, there's a couple girls who are really pretty and stuff, but I think they mostly hate me...I'm sorry, are you sure it's really healthy for you to be seeing things? I mean, if your mind is making hallucinations, I think you're supposed to go see a doctor or something."

He was glad to avoid the whole "girl" thing. Because he wasn't really ready to think about any of the girls here in that way. He was still trying to figure out how to deal with the Cinderella mess, and on top of that the stuff with Lottie, not to mention running into Buttercup and Gwen...

"Huh? Did you say something?" His mind had wandered. What was that Gwen had said about multitasking?

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Remy tried waving off the comment. All things considered, he still figured that the whole seeing the floating apparition still put him a few rungs above most on the normal ladder. Besides, he was far more interested in trying to figure out this whole girl thing. For some reason though, Henry kept trying to redirect the conversation.

"I've been seeing him for a while now. I think it's just my subconscious working its way through things or something," said Remy, shrugging. "I'm not a psychologist."

He also didn't want to go up to the current one working at the school and open with "I see dead people," since he had a feeling that wouldn't go over well. From what Remy had heard, the current doctor on charge of such things was a much more direct person than most. And Remy had heard a lot.

"I didn't say anything," said Remy. He looked to the left and right, but didn't see anyone who could have possibly said something instead. "You sure you're not seeing things too? The apparition talks to me and stuff, helps me figure things out. Maybe you're all worked up about the girls, so you're picturing something?"

Hey, it made sense to Remy, as much as anything did, really.

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The dead guy thing was weird, Henry had to admit, but at least Remy knew it was odd. And it really wasn't as bad as a lot of things. He decided not to push the point. But now he knew what to do if the guy ever started talking to himself. Or...at least why he might.

"What? No!" Henry protested. "No, I just...I probably heard...the television. I have pretty good hearing, you know. No. I don't...I don't picture anything to do with girls. I'm not like that."

He tried to shrug off everything he'd been thinking of and derail onto a different train of thought. "Anyway, I wasn't really thinking about girls or anything like that. I was thinking about...food. And what I'm going to eat for lunch. Man, I'm starving, aren't you hungry?"

How did this become the subject of choice? Oh, right, when talking about girls went from 'hey check out that waitress' to 'how do girls work.' Food was definitely preferred. So long as it stayed on 'hey what's for lunch' instead of 'how does food work.' Because he was pretty sure he didn't want that conversation either.

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Remy gave Henry a look that was mostly skeptical. There was something... odd in getting that worked up about a question like that. Remy felt like he'd seen that kind of behavior before. Oh well, he didn't think it best to pry; not like they were going to be working together or anything.

Plus, Henry had wisely moved the conversation back onto food, and nothing distracted Remy from his true purpose quite like discussing his greatest passion.

"I could eat," he said, adding a shrug. He didn't want to mention that he could nearly always eat. It was something about the shift from rat to teenage boy, something that left Remy nearly constantly hungry. Plus: food. "I think there's some decent stuff in the cafeteria, like I said earlier. If you want, I could probably throw something together. We'd probably have to head to the Kumquat building before."

Remy was already nodding, as if this was something that got said everyday.

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"Eh, not really in the mood for cafeteria food again," Henry said. His mouth watered at the memory of roast goose at home, or even just the stew from his favorite joint. It had been so long since he had those sorts of comfort foods.

"The...the what building?" he asked Remy. "What's a Kumquat? Is that on campus somewhere?"

His stomach rumbled once more and he frowned at it. "You know, I think I'll just follow you. I have a feeling it'll be better than trying to put up with whatever they're serving here. Hey, have you ever made roast goose before? Stuffed and with a bed of greens? No, you know what, you can leave the greens. But what I wouldn't give for some goose crackling right now." His mouth watered at the memory. "And I'm thinking maybe some solid fruit wine to go with it. I mean, I'd be happy with just a nettle wine at this point, I don't need anything fancy. But really, all they have to wash stuff down here is that carbonated stuff, and I don't know about you, but I think drinks shouldn't be bubbly unless they're packing a punch. You know what I'm saying?"

Now that he was thoroughly onto a different line of conversation, it would take a great deal of force to get him to derail again, at least for the next five minutes. And if asked he could talk about his favorite foods for the next day. True, most of it would be some sort of hunted game that had been roasted over a fire or stewed for several days, but wasn't all the best food made like that?

"I kind of wish I could learn to hunt," he said, choosing to prattle on. It had been about five minutes, time for the subject to naturally move on. "I mean, not that I really care about killing animals or even the hunt itself, but have you ever tasted fresh meat? I mean, when it's just hauled in from the kill? And they get it properly seasoned and cooked. It's the best thing I've ever had, I'll tell you that." He smiled and elbowed Remy gently in the ribs, trying to get some input.

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"The Kumquat building," repeated Remy, as if that were enough of an explanation. "It's the place where all the arts and stuff are taught. I pretty much live there, since there's a kitchen and we're encouraged to cook on our own. Well, I'm encouraged to cook on my own, and I'm sure that other people are too."

Remy shrugged. He just went over there and cooked all the time. He wasn't even completely sure where all the food ended up. From time to time, he saw the stuff he cooked being served in the cafeteria, and he could swear that he'd seen some of his goods for sale in the local shops. Considering that the Grayle Corporation was pretty much paying for all Remy's schooling, he didn't figure that left him much room to worry about details like what happened to his food.

Which left his mind free for other things. Like mentally keeping note of Henry's cravings. "I can do a goose crackling," said the chef. "I did one before, though I'm not a huge fan of stuffing it with a lot of stuff, ruins the flavor of the goose and stuff. I do know what I'm doing with greens though, so I could totally whip some up for you."

If it was one thing that Remy appreciated, it was having someone hungry with decent tastes to cook for. He was practically rubbing his hands together in anticipation. They'd already started moving, heading out of the common room and toward the Urquhart Building: a path that Remy's feet knew by heart. The ex-rat was so busy mentally preparing his menu that he almost missed what Henry had to say.

"Fresh ingredients are important," he said, nearly reciting another lesson he'd picked up, "but I don't think I could hunt very well. If you caught anything though, I could definitely cook it up for you. Dress it too; I've practiced that before."

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Henry shrugged. "I don't remember hearing about it, and I've never had any classes like that. So if you think that's where we should head you're going to have to lead." He had even been pretty sure he knew his way around campus, but this place sounded completely unfamiliar. Weird.

As Remy actually offered to make some of Henry's favorite foods, his mouth began to water. "Really? You're not joking or anything?" he asked, looking intently at his new best friend in the whole world. "I haven't had any decent home cooking in...forever! I'm to the point where I'd be happy just to get a solid stew, I don't even care what meat you pretend to put in." But then he was usually up for a good stew. His favorite haunt back in his world had a cook who made this delicious stew, and while she said she put in beef most people assumed it was...rat...oh. Whoops. Henry was glad he hadn't mentioned that aloud.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to work with whatever comes up," Henry said, following Remy. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. His head was bowed and he squinted in the sunlight; his headache hadn't completely dissipated. "I don't think I'll actually be getting good at hunting any time soon. Maybe traps or something, but I doubt it. But that's fine, I can live." Or maybe ask one of the knights to bring in something...or would that be considered begging?

"Is there anything you're going to need help with?" he asked, not wanting to feel left out. "I could add...stuff...or maybe just...start the fire..." He really had no idea how cooked food worked, here or in any other location.

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Remy waved a hand, almost dismissively. "I've been cooking a lot of people's favorite foods lately. It's just nice to be cooking for someone who doesn't think that garbage is a perfectly acceptable choice for breakfast, lunch, and dinner," Remy crinkled his nose as he finished that, nearly retching at the memory. Thank God that he'd learned to break that habit; Remy hadn't eaten a piece of garbage in, well, quite a while now. Still, just thinking about some of the things that Emile and their father ate made Remy's stomach do flip-flops.

He turned a few more hallways, his feet easily guiding them toward the building where he spent most of his time. There were very few places that Remy could head automatically: the restaurant where he cooked, the dorms, and the Kumquat building were pretty much it. Still, he trusted his feet in this.

As Henry talked, Remy glanced over his shoulder, offering what he hoped was an encouraging smile. "Well, they say practice makes perfect and all. I started off cooking mushrooms by lightning and stuff, and now look at where I am."

Remy waved a hand toward the school, as if that explained things. He quickly turned the gesture into a point as he directed them down another hall, exiting and entering the grounds. It wouldn't take too long till they got to the building, but it would still take a few minutes.

"You can probably do some basic prep work and stuff," said Remy. "There's stuff in the kitchen that even the densest person can manage. My brother could help, and trust me, he's much stupider than anyone you'll ever meet," Remy paused for a moment, tilting his head, "at least, I hope so. Around here, you never can tell."

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"Who would think--?" Henry began. "Oh. Right. Rats. Does that mean that you ate garbage all the time?" Sure there were some beggars who went through the trash, but usually they could get a decent meal every once in a while. Most of the time. Really all the time if they were any good at begging. Or at least that was what Henry told himself.

He followed Remy through the corridors, not really paying that much attention to where they were going. How often would he really have to find this Kumsquat building, anyway?

"Well sure, practice, if you can manage to fit it...wait, lightning? How does that even work? Did you, like, have to wait for a storm every time you just wanted to eat dinner?" His difficulties with hunting and anything sportsmanlike were lost in the confusion of how you actually cooked with lightning and why you would even want to. Wasn't that incredibly dangerous, to get anywhere close to lightning?

Henry winced. The assurance that even the densest person couldn't mess up sounded like some sort of set-up to him. "I should tell you that I know absolutely nothing about cooking. Or anything really to do with food, except how it tastes and sometimes what it's called." He had to agree to the idea that some of the people around here were incredibly dense, though. He'd met some really thick bricks.

"Just...you know. Step by step. And maybe describe what things are. And like I said. Lighting fires. Punching things. Maybe some cutting. That's really the best you will probably get from me." Someone who'd had his food prepared for him since he was a baby, Henry wasn't even sure what uncooked food looked like.

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"What? Of course not, I have the super nose, remember? Plus good taste," said Remy, tapping his nose for emphasis. He nearly gagged, thinking back on those rougher days. Sure, there had been times when he hadn't known better, but he wasn't counting those. They hadn't exactly been long, and they really weren't pertinent to the conversation. Plus, nobody wants to think about the garbage they've eaten in times past. "My family did. Well, my brother and my dad and a bunch of other people. I'm really not sure who all is related to me and who isn't."

As Remy said this, he began to realize yet another little detail about rodent life that was decided different from human life. Again, this wasn't exactly something he wanted to dwell on. Thankfully, they were getting closer to the Kumquat Building, and, even better, Henry had once again turned the topic of the conversation toward food.

"You're talking to an ex-rat who accidentally cooked a mushroom with a lightning bolt. Trust me," he laughed dryly, "if anyone can help you figure out how to do some cooking, I can. We'll start it easy and work up to it. You'll do fine. Ah, turn here. We're almost there now."

Remy sounded decidedly more cheery now that they were getting closer to the building. Why wouldn't he be? They'd be cooking soon, and Remy was never so much in his element as when he was cooking.

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"Oh yeah. Forgot about the Super Sniffer," Henry admitted. Remy's description of his family seemed to be even more complicated than some of the situations that Henry was used to. He had to wonder if that caused problems with family politics. Or regular politics. "Do rats even have that sort of thing?" he accidentally mused aloud.

What would it be like being a rat? Having a tail...being tiny...being whacked over the head with the cook's broom, or having to deal with the poison. A real problem. He could understand why Remy was called on to test for poison. It was an important job, even if he didn't want to do it. Kind of like...ew. Kingship. But that wasn't worth dwelling on. Time to choose a different subject, Henry decided, before he started moping.

"Oh, it was accidental," he said quietly. That made more sense. Remy totally seemed the type to accidentally get fried by a lightning bolt. "All right, if you're sure. I still don't even know when I would use this sort of thing."

They stepped into the kitchen and Henry felt his mouth fall open. He forced himself to close it but couldn't keep his eyes from staring at everything around him. How could they just leave all this terrifying stuff lying around with no one to watch over it? And how was any of this equipment supposed to be used to make food? There was absolutely nothing here that resembled something edible. Where was it all kept, anyway?

But Remy seemed like he was in his element, so Henry deferred to his judgment. If they were in a tavern, he'd have the upper hand. As it was, well, he knew how to back down in the face of experience. "Well, sir, what's the first step? Are we going to have to go out and buy the food?" Though really they should have done that first. "Or is someone bringing it to us?" He glanced around, looking for the messenger who must be just around the corner.

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"Do rats have what?" asked Remy, staring at Henry for a few moments. "Noses? I did sort of explain how mine was really good, right?"

Okay, so Henry was a little strange. It wasn't like Remy wasn't quite odd himself, what with the whole being a rat thing. Remy was pretty sure that the whole being a rat thing would have been enough on its own, but he had to go and add on the whole being a food crazed cooking rat with a tendency toward really strange circumstances on top of things. Plus the thing with the colony. Plus his strange family politics.

Yeah, Remy was definitely weird. But that seemed to work here, so he was just going to roll with it.

At last they'd entered the kitchen proper, and Remy looked almost as if he'd received a jolt of energy just from walking in the door. He looked about the room, taking only a few seconds to check and make sure everything was there. He'd spent a lot of time learning the locations of everything, and he fully anticipated using that knowledge now. He was already heading toward the sinks with a determined gait.

"First, we get cleaned up and ready to handle food and stuff,' he said, waving toward the sink. "Then, you're going to have to remind me what all you wanted us to cook, so I can see what we actually have on hand. They've got loads though; I think the fridges are magic or something. Who doesn't want a magic fridge though? Those should be in every home."

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"Uh, no. I mean yes. Yes, you explained that. I was just wondering about something else. Sorry. Talking aloud. About, um, couches. Do rats have couches or any other sort of furniture?" Sure he could've asked about rat politics, but he was willing to guess it wasn't actually that interesting when you got into it, like the rest of politics. Maybe if he ran out of topics to talk about.

He looked around the kitchen. All this equipment was so unfamiliar. "Uh-huh, so...washing...um." He looked over at the sink that Remy waved to. That at least was recognizable. "Right! Right, clean hands." He wandered over to the sink and turned on the water, jerking back when it was too hot. He spent a moment trying to figure out how to change the temperature and finally got it figured out.

"Goose," he called back. "Goose and you said something about a spread, vegetables or something." He finished washing his hands--he got most of the dirt off--and dried them on his pants as he walked back over.

"What's a fridge?" he asked, completely confused. He'd never even heard that word before. He knew magic, but the other word made no sense. "Is that some sort of cooking tool? Does it make the food that you ask?" He knew he was looking like a total idiot, but could he help it? He dared anyone else to come from a privileged, medieval world and do as well.

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Rat... furniture? Remy paused to stare at Henry, wondering what was going on there. He ended up shaking his head. "Sure, we have, uh, some stuff like that. We used to make instruments and stuff too. It was kinda whatever we felt like we needed."

Much like some of what Remy had cobbled together to cook and stuff too. He didn't need to do that now, what with having access to all the supplies that the school provided. Just entering the kitchen had reminded him of that, and it was almost enough to override the momentary pang that came with remembering Remy's past life. It wasn't that he wanted to deny what he was or what he had been, so much as he wanted what he was now to be part of that. Or something. It was really for bigger minds than Remy's.

"Goose is definitely doable. We'll probably want it in a sauce, probably something with fruit. We'll see what they want used up," said Remy. He was already waving toward the fridge, figuring that surely Henry would have figured out what that was by now. To the chef's surprise, the prince hadn't. Remy paused and stared for a few moments, before pointing at the largest, closest fridge.

"That's a refrigerator," he explained. "It's used to keep food and drinks cold. You seriously didn't have those before? That's weird. But, yeah, we'll need to pull the fruit and stuff from out of there. The geese might be in there. I'm not quite sure how magic fridges work..."