Shattered Ladder 1-28 (Patreon)

The utensil scraped hard against the side of the bowl, the harsh and grating sound of metal on ceramic only managing to remind Ken of exactly how lacking his current setup was. Several herbs sat out scattered on the counter in front him, the sharp tang of each one coating the air while he applied a decent helping of elbow grease.

No mortar or pestle anywhere to be found, so all he had to rely on was what Zee had in the cabinets of her barely-there kitchen. Meaning, pretty much just a chipped rice bowl and a bent spoon; both things he’d found in the back of a cabinet that smelled like dead bugs. 

…damn it. That was the only thought in his mind when he’d found both, one eye twitching as he sighed anyway and tried to make the best of things. Unfortunately, his best wasn’t good enough at all.

The dark red creeper just sat there in the bowl, stubborn and stringy. As hard as he pushed, it just kept refusing to properly break down into the fine powder Wei expected from him.

One grip per batch.

Ken’s eyes narrowed as he stared down at the herb in question. It’s too dry. Or maybe not dry enough. He wasn’t sure exactly what level of ‘dry’ this specific tincture needed but, either way, it still managed to resist the proper crush despite all the effort he was putting into it. Ken bit back a groan with each motion of the spoon, watching the Ironvine turning into a fibrous mess instead of dust. C’mon, work with me here. With each grunt, he leaned into it, putting his shoulder weight behind the spoon as he worked harder. 

Builds bone density. Sinew strength, too.

He wasn’t even sure he needed it anymore, the last few days the most peaceful his body had ever been. Not a single shudder in his fingers, and not once did his lungs hitch no matter what he’d done; running, climbing, fighting, nothing. 

Still… No point in risking it, right?  Besides, the tonic was simple, even if he’d never attempted it before. Not the most basic recipe in the book, but at least one step up from what he usually handled. 

If he couldn’t make this, he couldn’t really call himself an alchemist.

“So you just… what??”

The voice cut through his concentration, a knife jabbing right in his focus. Go do something else, already.“Mush it like that?”

Ken didn’t look up as he kept at his work, the rhythm of the spoon speeding up. “Grind.” “Same diff.” Like she had been for the last half hour, Zee let out a fake yawn and threw her head back, her legs kicked up on the edge of the table behind him. Rocking the chair on two legs, it was obvious she was bored. If he couldn’t feel the boredom enough, she definitely didn’t make any attempt to hide it in the slightest.Honestly, the tap-tap-tap of her pink-painted fingernail against the table was almost loud  enough to drown out the low simmer of the water bubbling on the stove.

The sticky snap of popping gum joined the tapping, Zee chewing louder and louder as Ken refused to make conversation. “How long you been playing with weeds, anyway?”

Ken plucked another set of herbs off a piece of brown paper, the dried red clumps already crumbling easy and without any work. One palm and a half. Joining the Ironvine already boiling in the pot, the Bloodmoss left his hand and dissolved immediately, turning the mixture the rusty brown of dried blood. Smells like it too.

“Three… three years.” He clicked his tongue, jerking his head back as one loc fell forward into his face. Anything before that had just been digging in the dirt with Gram or hunting for any plants Sora needed. “Yeah, three.” 

“Three years?” The chair legs thumped back onto the floor. “And this all you got? Mashin’ leaves in a bowl?”

Ken’s hand froze over the boiling pot, a breath held in his chest. One. Two. Three. He counted the beats of his heart the way Wei taught him.

“Foundation work.” He scraped the remainder of the Bloodmoss into the pot of boiling water with each muttered syllable, his master’s words sliding free without a thought. “Build a house on sand, your efforts return to the land.”

“Boooooring.” Zee’s voice was a drawl, the girl less ‘fearless leader’ and more the age she actually looked. “What else you know? You got poisons? What about bombs? Oh, oh, can you make any of that magic smoke stuff that melts skin?”

“...never tried.” He knew of it, at least, even if he’d never made it and couldn’t come close to making it with anything but the exact ingredients. Lamia’s Breath. Wei’s books had everything in them, that included.

“Laaaaaame.”

Ken pushed Zee’s whining out of his mind as he stared at the water, the bubbles coming too fast atop the heat. Stupid stove. What kind of stove didn’t come with a dial? Apparently, this one as you could only turn it on with a button so, by default, the only two settings on the electric burners were ‘off’’ and ‘incinerate.’ One hand went to the handle of the thin-bottomed pot, Ken trying to  turn the pot handle and angle it off the burner — work with me here! — but an uneven grate was making that harder than it had to be.

Two full boils. Water sloshed out of the pot as a single purple eye twitched, hissing as it hit the hot metal. Let rest one watch.

One-Mississippi. He had to count. Two-Mississippi.

“You so quiet, ghostboy.” Another accusation sent the other eye twitching. “Most people talk when they cook.”

“Not cooking.” Ken stretched out one hand for the Bitter-root. Two pinches, just two. The first was just enough to keep the stomach from rejecting the iron, and the second?Well, that was just enough to denature both the Ironvine and Bloodmoss. “Alchemy.”

“Whatever.” She sucked her teeth. “Smells like feet.”

Well…  Ken allowed himself a sigh, unable to argue that and not really wanting to either. …she’s not wrong. It already did smell like feet, and it especially would after this. With another sigh, he dropped the second pinch of Bitter-root in.

The water turned a murky, violently dark green and the distinct scent of used wet socks blasted back in his face with a puff of air from the pot. His eyes stung, tears fighting their way out of his ducts, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t already gotten used to. managed to tamp down the scent of old blood, the new aroma enough to make you gag with a direct whiff. 

But that was the smell of strength and it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Add alcohol drops. Stir nine turns.

He grabbed the small bottle of cheap grain alcohol Don had scavenged. It wasn’t the pure stuff, nothing close to it… It’ll have to do.

Three drops in and the mixture hissed, Ken cursing and coughing as sharp biting smoke rushed out from the pot. He hacked, throat stinging and raw with the stench, grasping for a rag to pull it off the heat. 

But the pot was already catching, black carbon scorched at the bottom as the medicinal sludge burned to nothing in seconds. The smoke bloomed thick and gray, choking out the smell of earth.

“Damn, ghost.” Zee slapped a single hand down on the table in front of her, coughing almost as badly as he was. “You trying to gas us out?”

Ken stared down into the pot, hands gripping the edge of the sink as water poured in, turning the harsh smoke to much more manageable steam. Ruined. 

The whole batch. 

A waste of herbs, a waste of water, a waste of time.

“Burning everything?” Zee snorted. Ken could hear the smirk on her face, the chair creaking as she leaned back in it. “Guess you ain’t much of an alchemist, huh?”

The half-bent spoon in Ken’s hand gave in all the way, metal yielding under the sudden, white-knuckle grip of his fingers. The shop was gone. Wei was gone. Most of the books were ash. 

And he was here, standing in a crazy girl’s kitchen, and failing to boil water.“Yooooo, ghost? You there?”

Ken whirled around, purple eyes narrowed as he faced the girl in a pink tank top and matching shirts, words already rising up his throa—

The door slammed open.

“Guess who?”

Ken choked on his own anger, shout dying in his mouth as his head jerked to the right at the same time Zee’s did.

Don Lee stood in the doorway, grin wide on his face even under all his burdens. Those burdens were obvious as they were heavy, the heavy rucksack slung over one shoulder clanking as he heaved it inside the apartment.

“My least favorite monkey?” Zee didn’t even look up, picking at a loose thread on her pink shorts.

“Ouch. You’re so harsh, Lady Zee.” Don kicked the door shut with his heel, the redhead walking over and heaving the bag onto the small, cluttered table with a theatrical grunt. “But I think you gonna forgive me when you see the haul. Big haul. Massive.”

Ken wiped his hands on his tunic, green fabric stained further with brown dust. As much as the anger simmered strong in his gut, he couldn’t deny that curiosity burned brighter. “The coin got you that far?”

“Any coin get me far, friend.” Don smiled over at Ken with the correction. “S’all about the money moves. Supply and demand.” The redhead wagged a finger on one hand as he started pulling things out of the bag with the other.

Real things.

Ken stepped closer, the smell of the burnt tonic forgotten as Don slapped a small bag of rice on the table.

Actual white grains.

Next to hit the surface came a block of ‘Meal-Ready Protein’, Ken blinking as he stared at the title on the bag. Prot-Weave Slab (Avian - Class 1)? The next words only left him more confused as to what he was looking at, but it was the lattice he saw on the ‘meat’, the honeycomb — a repeating diamond tire tread, only made of wet flesh — stamped onto it that made him nearly step back. 

Ken caught himself before he did, the sight of pinkness on the bagged ‘meat’ managed to keep him from running away, even past the words and ‘fake texture’. Okay… the meat is fake, I can live with that, sure, yeah.

Then a gray carton was lifted out, the package on it reading ‘EZ-Protein: Albumen-Gel (Shell-Free since 750 AW) - Grade C+’. That… Ken blinked, the word ‘albumen’ coming to him easily even as he frowned at the sight of it. What’s wrong with regular eggs?

After that came something Ken could understand, packaged pre-frozen vegetables in bags; a medley and a bunch of bean sprouts. The ‘vat-cultured’ in small letters on the bags didn’t fully help, but he was pretty sure he could live with it.

And finally came water. Four large, clear jugs of water that didn’t have the slight gray tint of the tap.

All in all, not a bad haul, but still…

“No, but how though?” 

Ken frowned as the words left his lips, looking from the pile to Don’s grinning face. He wasn’t exactly well-versed on the coinage outside of the few Gray he’d seen being handed to Old Wei but he knew a dozen Gray only went as far as purchasing some simple herbs and Don hadn’t left here with more than a few dozen. “That was… Zee definitely didn’t give you that much. Not for this.”A snort came from the sink, Zee standing there with her back to it. “I wouldn’t trust the monkey with nothing past twenty Iron and he knows it.”

“Ah, Zee-lady, that’s so mean. Ya boy’s got connections, y’know?” Don scratched the side of his sideburns as he looked down, grease on his finger leaving a thick smudge down the side of his face. “Know people who know people who know people like that. Plus, guy at the depot owed me a favor for fixing his comms unit. Tw-three for one on the rice, yeah?”

Purple eyes blinked, more questions running around in his head, but Don was already digging deeper into the rucksack. “And for the muscleman…” He pulled out a bundle of green fabric and pushed it across the table.

Ken reached out immediately, fingers brushing the cloth as he realized what it was. A tunic. 

Rough cotton, and sturdy weave, it was dyed a deep forest green. Not exactly like the one he had on, but close. Closer than anything he’d seen in the stalls.

“Got three of ‘em.” Don’s grin got wider at the look on Ken’s face as he held up the tunic to the light. “And pants. Proper tie-waist ones.”

“Why?” The single question came out quiet, Ken blinking over at Don. 

“Same reason I got the food.” The bigger boy shrugged, grabbing a jug of water and cracking the seal. “You old-old on the inside. Don’t mix with the quik-make street food.”

“You…you noticed?” Ken hadn’t once complained once about the food, eating as much of the chemical-heavy stuff as he could the last few days

“Hard not to.” Don trickled some water into a small cup. “You almost spit Zee’s tea in her face, man. Plus, you keep pulling the collar of anything too new. Old inside, old outside, y’know? Fits the vibe.”

“Whatchu say ‘bout my tea?”

“Vibe?” He didn’t even blink at Zee, even as the girl kept scowling over at both of them.

“ The vibe,” Don circled his hand around Ken’s general existence. “Old-style walker. Pre-War look, y’know? Gotta look the part if we gonna sell the image, friend.”

“Alright, alright…” Zee pushed off the sink and walked over to the table to poke the block of chicken. “Nice haul or whatever, monkey. I don’t care who you robbed to get this ick, but what we gonna do with market food? Raw stuff?” She looked at Don, eyebrows raised. “You cook, Don?”

Don paused mid-swig as he lowered his cup. “...uh, no?”

“Great.” A pair of golden eyes nearly rolled out of her head. “So we got food we can’t eat. Steal a brain next time.”“Why you think I stole, boss-lady?”“Why do I-have you met y-”

The argument around him tuned itself out of his thoughts as Ken looked down at the pile in front of him; rice, chicken, vegetables, and even the few spices Don had thrown in. Yeah… yeah, I can work with this.

“Don’t worry,” Ken snorted as he grabbed the bag of rice, the weight of it settling familiar and heavy in his hand. “I got it.”

Zee looked at him, then at the smoking pot in the sink. “You sure about that, heavy?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Oil hit the hot metal with a hiss, the scent exploding into the small room as it spit aggressive droplets of grease into the air. The stench of failure gave way to garlic as Ken worked his way over the hot stove. The simple knife Zee had given him wasn’t exactly kitchen-quality but it worked well enough; Ken brought it down and through the meat, chopping it up and sliding it over — piece by piece.

The vat-chicken was soft and easy to cut, the process going by quickly.

Honestly, it was almost too easy to cut, Ken unsure if he couldn’t just pick it up and pull it apart by hand. …being real, it could be designed that way since it came from a v-

Pushing that thought all the way to the back of his mind where it could die a quiet death, Ken continued dicing the chicken into uniform cubes, hand perfectly steady. 

He tossed the chicken into the pan, the sharp aggressive sizzle slowly softening into a steady crackle. The pan was held just above the burner, the heat too high to risk letting it sit for too long as he shook. By the time the meat had started to properly sear, Ken started to toss in the bean sprouts Don had produced; the other vegetables still stored in the fridge.

“Smells…” Zee clicked her tongue as she waited at the table behind his back. “...okay.”

“Smells better than okay!” Don’s volume was nowhere near as measured as Zee’s. “Smells better than street-meat!”

Ken ignored them both as he focused on the rice. Already boiled and drained before everything else, he threw it into the pan with the rest, drizzling the ‘syn-shoy’ glaze over the top. In no time at all, the white grains turned a rich, golden brown. Finally, he poured a small bit of the ‘albumen-gel’ into the center of the pan, scrambling the yellow-white fluid fast before mixing it in with everything else.

Three bowls hit the table, forks jammed atop mounds of fresh and steaming food. “Eat.”

The command came as he sat down, but nobody seemed to be listening. Hell, nobody seemed to be moving. Ken raised an eyebrow around the table as Zee looked at her plate like it would bite her and Don just drooled over it, eyes wide.

“Are you gonna…”Don caved first, a forkful in his mouth before Ken could even get the whole sentence out. One bite and he let out a groan. “Oh… oh wow. It’s way better than street-food.”

Zee took her first bite, a much smaller one than Don’s. She chewed slowly, eyes narrowed at it then at Ken. A few seconds later, she took another bite. 

Then another. 

And then a third, faster and faster.

By the time Ken picked up his own fork, Don was licking his clean and Zee was pushing her empty bowl away, leaning back in her chair with a sigh she tried to suppress.

Golden eyes looked his way as an order left her lips. “You’re my cook now.”

Ken took his first bite, smiling over at her. “I thought I burn everything.”

Zee glared at him, one finger pointed down at her empty bowl. “You’re cook now.”

“Fiiiiine.” It was his turn to roll his eyes. “But you’re doing the dishes.”