A/N- Mark mentioned in his 'I EXPLAIN EVERYTHING' livestream that the chef having a family was' canon.' Granted, he joked that they were all dolls living with him in his trailer, but I like to think there's more to our lovable, surly chef than we may know.
The loud music pulsed through the walls of the manor, leaving the Chef unable to concentrate on preparing the appetizers that Mark had requested he prepare. Scowling as a howl of laughter drowned out a few seconds of the music, most likely from that rowdy Colonel, he walked over to the sink and rinsed off the knife in his hand.
This party was out of the blue, and not something he expected of Mark. The man had been a recluse for years. Barely even came out of the master bedroom upstairs, let alone invited guests over. To host a gathering like this with no explanation as to it's purpose was confusing and downright weird. Very out of character for the man.
Chef shook his head, dismissing his employer from his mind. At least he didn't stare vacantly out the windows, wandering the halls in that creepy fashion he used to do. Anything was preferable to that, and it did seem like he'd regained some of the clarity and easy-going nature that had been lost since Celine had left him. Chef didn't dislike Mark exactly, but they weren't friends. He was his employer and the one who wrote his checks, nothing more.
At least this occasion allowed him to flex his love for cooking to a degree that the day-to-day humdrum of life in the manor hadn't. What many people didn't understand was that cooking was as much an art as it was an application. A great deal of technical skill went into the process, admittedly, but ultimately the result depended largely on the creativity and ingenuity of the chef himself. And Chef prided himself on being able to craft the very best meals for others to enjoy.
Another thump against the walls caused him to glare in the direction the others were causing a ruckus. Unfortunately for him, the extreme drunkenness of those attending would negate any worthwhile feedback he would've otherwise received for his hard work. They probably wouldn't even taste it, their minds too clouded with alcohol to understand what he put in to make the food taste so great.
His talents were wasted here, his time as well. The years he'd spent cooking for these damned people had all been for nothing. Before Mark had taken possession of the manor after his parents' death, things hadn't been quite as bad.
Mark's father had invited him to work for them, impressed at his talent in the kitchen. Back then, there had been social gatherings nearly every week, the heads of the house playing a large role in the community of the city. Well-known families and guests had been invited from far away places, and the house had thrived. For a chef, there had been much to do, many meals to serve, and there'd been a certain amount of enjoyment. Of course, he'd been much younger back then, more hopeful of what his future held.
He had expected this place to be a stepping stone into a satisfying and lengthy career as a tv chef, hosting his own world-renowned cooking show. But each rejection letter stung a little harder, each declined phone call to a network bit a little deeper, until he'd all but given up on his dream of making it big.
So here he remained, in a decaying mansion with no other aspirations to follow. Though, he had to admit, his lot in life wasn't all that bad. Who knew if he'd ever have met his wife, had he gone on to host that show? Would he ever have had his son, the light of his life? And when he compared the two, he'd give up a dozen network deals to live happily with the little family all his own. They were worth so much more.
The song in the other room ended, changing over to the next, and the attendees gave a hearty cheer. Chef finished garnishing the last of the appetizer, before picking up the tray and heading towards the door to serve it.
Take it one day at a time.
The minute Chef had left the crime scene, he went to go check on his family. He'd been gone less than ten minutes before all this murder business—he glanced curiously at the sky through the nearest window, wondering if even thinking the word would conjure up lightning, but nothing happened—had developed before his eyes. But with the knowledge that there was a murderer among them—still no lightning—Chef's priority was making sure the both of them were safe.
"Stay in the room, and don't open for anyone but me." He'd instructed them after that, promising to send them meals throughout the day. His wife, Eileen, had nodded, no trace of fear in her eyes. She'd always been brave, sure of herself no matter the circumstance, and this time was no different. Holding their son closer to her torso, she nodded, that steely determination to keep them safe in her eyes.
Satisfied that his family would remain ok, Chef returned to the main hallways of the manor. In times like these, it was good that the staff quarters were placed at the back end of the house, hidden away down rarely-travelled hallways most of the guests either ignored or weren't aware of. It would ensure no one could get to his family so easily.
Straightening his white jacket, he returned to his customary domain, spotting the detective leaning against the counter. His eyes traveled the countertops, trying to appear as casual as possible, but he knew that he was looking for any evidence that this crime had been committed by the surly chef. Well, he wasn't going to make things easy for the dick, that was for sure.
"What do you want?" Chef asked scornfully, grabbing his ladle and holding it with a tight grip. It wasn't raised threateningly, but if the sour tone and expression on his face gave anything away, it would make the threat clear enough without having to do so.
The detective narrowed his eyes, sauntering between his two feet and he straightened to regard the man. "Mind telling me where you were between the hours of midnight and 2 am this morning, or should I just take your confession now?"
It stood on very clear grounds that neither man liked the other. Chef didn't take too kindly to being accused of such a crime in his own kitchen, and the little display at the crime scene that morning hadn't done much to make a good impression of the detective. The haste in which he took control of the investigation, brushing off the Benjamin's suggestions to call the proper authorities, made him all the more suspicious in Chef's eyes.
"Watch what you say in here, prick. This here is my kitchen, and my home. You've got no right to be throwing around those accusations."
"Oh-ho, I've got every right!" The detective laughed boisterously, reaching into his coat for the ridiculous badge he had flashed him the last time. "You see this? This gives me all the rights in the world, because you're one of the prime suspects in Mark's murder. Now start talking, cookie. I want answers."
Chef frowned at all the different faces in the photos shown to him. He really didn't like this man. "It's Chef, and I'll tell you exactly where I was." He gestured to the rest of the kitchen with his ladle. "I was here until 1 am, then I retired to my room."
The detective's expression never wavered from doubtful as he folded up the badge, and he scoffed softly. "Anyone who can prove that?"
"My wife and son, but I won't allow you anywhere near them."
The man's gaze steeled, and he pointed accusingly at the chef. "That's impeding on an official investigation, and I'll have you arrested."
Chef smirked, eyeing the unimpressive detective maliciously. I'd be so easy to just manhandle him out of the kitchen, but he didn't want his family suffering any repercussions. That didn't mean he wouldn't push back, just a little. "Oh yeah? I don't see a pair of handcuffs on you, so just try it."
That stopped him short, but before he could find a retort, Chef continued, waving him dismissively away. "After everything that's been going on, like hell I'd let anyone I don't trust near my family. For all I know, you're the murderer. The only way you'd get to them is over my dead body."
The detective must have realized he'd pushed a bit too far, since he slowly took a step back, but eyed him with caution. "I'm not through with you yet, cookie."
"I've given you my alibi, now get out of my kitchen!"
The detective said nothing more, but threw him a parting glare as he ducked down the hall. Chef cursed his retreating form, moving to prepare a light lunch to bring to his family later, despite it being just after 8 in the morning. There wouldn't be much work today anyways. No one was particularly in the mood to eat.
Chef hadn't been prepared for the sudden introduction of magic and the supernatural to this investigation of murder. He'd already been on edge knowing there was a killer amongst them, while his family was close by, but now it wasn't even a real person doing the killing? How was he supposed to protect Eileen and his son from that?
Celine returning from out of nowhere had him reeling as well. Where in the hell had she come from? And how on earth had she so conveniently known when to get there right in the middle of all of this? All these questions with no answers. It was too much for a simple man like him.
He'd made sure the gates were locked, so no one could possibly leave or come in. That was another question he'd probably never get the answer to. How'd she even get in? Forget it, Chef thought with a weary shake of his head, it isn't worth the breath to ask.
The lady was upstairs with most of the others now, doing god knows what with the attorney fellow who'd been reluctantly helping the detective. He couldn't fault them for being dragged into this, seeing as the detective had practically forced them to be his new partner. He was willing to bet they hadn't signed up for a seance either, but here they were, waiting for whatever Celine hoped to accomplish with her little ritual.
Chef had secreted himself away to the staff quarters once more, reassuring Eileen that he was just fine. The yelling and gunshots earlier in the afternoon were sure to have carried down the hallways enough for them to hear. Best not to leave her worried for his own safety.
He patted his son on the head, ruffling the boy's hair with affection. Jacob stared up at him with wide eyes, but he smiled warmly to calm him down. "We'll be just fine, kiddo. I promise."
The soothing words were enough for him to settle, and Chef left them again, swearing to come back soon with some answers to everything going on. He was startled by the sound of shouting upstairs, and rushed to return to where the Seer had disappeared with the attorney.
A/N- I couldn't come up with much more than this for the Chef. His is a complicated character, and it wasn't easy writing for him.
ns 15.158.61.19da2
