Hello, um... lets start role playing??! :P

[Zemmerug_Zitspike]

(Yes, he is. I'll give him a name so you can remember better.)

The rat smiled craftily.

"Weel, Cappin Zimmerug is d'king o' the seas, so I'll 'ave 'im taste yer food. If'n he don' loik et, yew kin be his next meal. 'Ow does dat sound mate?"

Asked the sadistic rat. The rat left, heading for the cook, whos name was Itegarr.

[Mulchior Lancer]

A chill went up Dertwill’s spine at the sound of becoming the next meal for the crew. He turned back and saw the rat heading for Itegarr the ferret cook. The stoat sniffed before attacking the chopped onion as if it insulted his mother. In a fury of motion, Dertwill minced the onion into fine, though slightly uneven chunks. He scooped the bits of onion and dumped it into a boiling pot filled with a sort of cooking stock. The onion stung Dertwill’s eyes, causing his eyes to water. Wiping away the tears, he grabbed a wooden spoon and slurped the broth. The boiling liquid singed his mouth, and the stoat spat it out, covering his hands with the greenish liquid. Dertwill grimaced, and wiped the gunk on his kilt.

“’Yuck, ‘ow could anybeast eat slop loike this?” complained Dertwill.

The stoat grabbed a dirty apron, put it over his head, and tied it behind his waist. Dertwill wiped his hands off thoroughly with the apron before cracking his knuckles. If he was on the literal chopping block, he’d have to think of something quick to salvage this disaster of a soup.

[Zemmerug_Zitspike]

The kitchen bustled with beasts running around and preparing the food. Once a bell rang, it was time to eat. The kitchen helpers and cooks stopped working. They picked up the plates and bowls and rushed out to the mess. There was a scattering of tables and chairs with some crew members sitting waiting for their food. Itegarr came up to Dertwill.

"Da cappin is in 'is quarters, waitin' fer 'is food."

[Mulchior Lancer]

((Sorry, meant to have this out sooner, as I try to reply to my RPs at once.))

Dertwill whisked the soup concoction as fast as he could. With no real idea what he had been doing, the newest chef had been tossing whatever he thought sounded good into the mixture. Onions, carrots, bits of fish, apples, and adding in a heavy dose of whatever seasoning he ran across.

“Don’t wanna make it taste borin’,” mused Dirtwill as he shook the tin pepper container over the boiling pot, sending a spicy cloud of pepper high above the kitchen.

Hearing Itegarr giving orders behind him, Dertwill swallowed hard, but straightened his apron in determination. Spooning out a generous portion of the food into a bowl, Dertwill marched after the ferret, trying to keep the soup bowl steady and stop the broth from spilling over the bowl’s edge.

[Zemmerug_Zitspike]

As the food was being served, a weasel pointed up the stairs.

"Git t'da cappins cabin, slug! Go up dese stairs and knock on da big door."

Yelled the weasel.

[Mulchior Lancer]

((FYI, I’ll be gone for a bit and won’t be back until the beginning of next month. Just so you don’t think I’ve abandoned this.))

Dertwill yelped at the sudden order, but recovered his composure and changed directions. Taking the stairs one step at a time as carefully as he could, the stoat reached the top and to the outside of the captain’s quarters. Dertwill wiped the bits of soup that dribbled around the sides of the bowl with his apron before giving the door to the Captain’s quarter’s two hard knocks with his paw. He stood at attention, waiting for a response inside.

[Zemmerug_Zitspike]

The captain opened the door. The beast he least expected to see was Dertwill, holding a pot of soup.

"Wot in da name of..."

[Mulchior Lancer]

Dertwill waltzed right into the captain’s quarters holding the pot of soup with a cheery attitude.

“Yer meal is served o’ captain,” announced Dertwill as he placed the pot of soup on the captain’s desk with a loud thud. Bits of broth splattered all over the desk, and the stoat quickly wiped the mess up with a corner of his apron. As he did so, the stoat jabbered on about the captain’s meal. “Made ya me mother’s own onion an’ leek seaweed stew! ‘Tis an old family recipe goin’ back many a season, from me great great great great grandmother three times removed, or so she saids.”

Dertwill ladled out a heaping portion of the soup into a bowl at the captains chair before pulling the chair out for the captain. Dertwill bowed with flair and looked at the captain with innocent eyes.

“Yer meal, cap’n! Don't lets it get cold or nuthin'.”

[Zemmerug_Zitspike]

Zemmerug nodded and sat down. He grabbed a spoon, slowly dipped it into the stew, lifted it, and daintily sipped the contents of his spoon into his mouth. He swallowed. His eyes grew. He began eating rapidly, talking through a full mouth about how good it was and spraying stew out onto his desk. When he was done, he turned to Dertwill.

"Ah 'opes yew made seconds! Yew'd be'er remember dat recipe!"

[Mulchior Lancer]

Dertwill nodded his head so fast his head seemed to blur.

“Oh aye, cap’n,” laughed the happy stoat. “I has it tattooed on me brain. ‘Tis th’ stuff that puts fur on yer chest.”

Dertwill breathed a sigh of relief. He’d have to remember exactly how the recipe went, but besides that, the stoat was pleased that something was going right for him for once.

[Zemmerug_Zitspike]

Zemmerug nodded, pleased. He would have to appoint this beast as head chef, of course. He wondered what exactly went into the stew.

"Go get meh seconds!"

[Mulchior Lancer]

Dertwill bowed respectfully to the Captain.

“As ye wish, cap’n!” muttered Dertwill, before standing again.

The stoat took the pot and bounded down towards the kitchen, excited that some beast respected one of his talents.

[Zemmerug_Zitspike]

The cook did not expect to see Dertwill come back down. Well, maybe he expected to see his head, but not attached to his body. He stared at Dertwill, eyes wide and jaw dropped.

"But... yer... dead..."

[Mulchior Lancer]

Dertwill snickered and set the empty pot down next to the cauldron of soup.

“Dead, me? Could a ghost do this?” asked Dertwill did a quick jig in front of the stunned ferret/ “Weel, mebee one could, but I’ms as fit as a fiddle. Mayhaps yer bit seasick, mate?” The stoat was oblivious to the cook’s ill will towards him as the ecstatic greenhorn took the ladle and began scooping another helping for the captain.

“Th’ cap’n ated th’ soup like a fox in a sparrowd nest he did,” continued Dertwill. “I ain’t surprised, me muther always says to me, ‘Grubleg,’, she saids, though that be me brother, always geddin me an’ ‘im switched. But she’d say, ‘ya always gots ta make yer vittles full ‘o flavor’, an’ tha’s wot I did.”

Dertwill dropped the ladle down and grabbed the pot once again, before doing a polite bow to the cook.

“Now ‘scuse me, as th’ cap’n wants more,” excused Dertwill. “Cap’n’s orders an’ all.”