[Episode] Dinner's Served!

A towering figure cast a grim shadow over the samurai. She felt so very small all of a sudden. Perception was a powerful thing. Battles could be lost or won entirely within one’s head. And currently she was most definitely losing...

The grandmother’s stern words slashed like the finest blade. Yumiko gasped, as an imaginary spray of crimson burst from her chest. The wound may have been only mental, but the pain it caused was all too real. “I... I cannot be a girl as long as I wish to be a samurai.” Her retort was weak and wavering, barely lessening the overwhelming blow.

Unfortunately, the swordswoman was too weak to fight against the forceful redirection. She didn’t wish to resort to violence, for one. So she was pulled back to her seat next to her comrades. And the old lady’s fearsome aura shackled her in place. She could not afford to insult the honored elder any further.

However, a proud warrior didn’t fold without a fight. She stared at her empty plate. Her gaze narrowed, gleaming with peculiar determination. She clapped her hands together. “Then... I thank thee for this meal!” Her stomach growled again, sounding like a beast howling in ravenous hunger. All these delicious scents had awakened it...

Yumiko picked up a knife and a fork, holding them more like a pair of blades than utensils. With swift and sharp motions, she collected herself a small portion of meat and vegetables. It was some manner of... roast... Still sizzling with residual heat. Carefully she broke her fast and took the first bite. There was sauce on it with some dark dust... black pepper perhaps? Yes, definitely pepper.

Too much pepper in fact.

The weasel woman coughed and recoiled. A bright red flush painted her cheeks. She quickly scrambled for a glass of water and chugged down a big gulp. The burning clump still clung to her throat. With great gagging effort, she managed to swallow. Gasping for air, she stared at the roast before in disbelief. Gah, what manner of poison covered this delectable meal?!

...Then again, the samurai was used to rations where the spiciest meal was salted crackers. Years of rice and fish had left their mark on her delicate palate. All these foreign flavors were hitting her hard. Not only was her stomach not used to such heavy food right after a long fast, she was also struggling against her tastes. Double trouble.

Still blushing heavily, the warrior examined the opposing army carefully. Perhaps she would fare better if she focused her attention on something that seemed more familiar... There! Oddly shaped dumplings were still dumplings, she figured. Carefully she reached for what the savvy knew to be pelmeni, filled with minced meat, herbs and more.

The battle had only begun.

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The swordswoman scrutinized the misshapen dumpling. She glared at it much the same way an interrogator looked at a suspected murderer. Her nose twitched tentatively. Much to her quiet relief, she didn’t notice the stinging stench of heavily seasoned food. Perhaps this one was safe to eat...

Yumiko brought the treat to her lips and nearly took a bite. However, the very second her teeth touched the dough, she suddenly recoiled. That was too close! In the warm room she had missed it, but... Even now, wisps of steam danced around the piping hot portion. Plunging the whole thing into her mouth would’ve surely caused another shameful scene.

Luckily, the weasel woman quickly formed a plan. She took a deep breath... And blew on it! A sudden gust manifested from her breath, passing across the whole table like a miniature storm. The steaming food fought back valiantly, but the merciless winds tore away the heat protecting its soft core.

The samurai’s eyes widened. There! Her foe was wide open! With a single, fluid motion she lunged forward and chomped the dumpling in one bite. A mistake born out of hastiness and hunger. The foreign flavors and the strange herbs kicked back strongly. Yet she chewed valiantly, until the resistance had been devoured whole.

Victory was one bite closer.

...Meanwhile, the Commander’s troops had gotten caught in the sudden gust as well. One soldier looked solemnly at his now lukewarm sausages. Another wiped bits of mashed potatoes from his face. Third was chasing down peas that had escaped the plate. “Gee, thanks Commander...” They chimed together in a sarcastic chorus.

Yumiko glanced up from his plate, seeming more than a little puzzled. “Ah, thou are welcome! For... whatever service I have done thee.” The concept of sarcasm had always been lost on her. She could only silently wonder why her allies were such messy eaters...

The samurai returned her attention back onto the table. They were all making good progress, but there was still so much left... She could feel her stomach filling up and her appetite vaning. Either she finished this meal quick...

Or it would finish her.

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Upon witnessing the sudden transformation, Yumiko’s eyes widened with sudden clarity. “Thou are planning to increase the size of thy bites and stomach. Truly, a wise strategy.” She had underestimated the boxer’s cleverness, a shameful lapse in her judgement. No wonder the locals revered him as a hero.

Following the suit, the samurai crossed her arms and gritted her teeth. Dark fur burst through her skin and covered her entire body. The utensils fell from her hands, as her nails stretched into monstrous scythes. Her features twisted, eyes turning black and fangs growing sharp. Rapidly her entire frame expanded. Within a moment, the woman was gone and a mythical weasel sat in her place. However, even her full transformation couldn’t quite match the man’s sheer size.

Well, to be fair, weasels were quite a bit smaller than bears anyway.

The fellow marines stared blankly at the Zoans. One of them muttered a careless question. “But why is she now black?” His comrades looked at him, some shocked, others aghast even. “Dude, you can’t just ask why someone is black.” The others nodded in agreement. One threatened to cancel him, whatever that meant, while another made it quite clear that he ‘literally can’t even right now’.

Taken aback by the volatile reaction, the first marine raised his hands defensively. “I meant her fur. It was white back at Minion, wasn’t it?” Awkward silence replaced the accusations. The other marines exchanged odd glances. Was it...? Honestly, they couldn’t remember. Who even paid attention to something like that?

“This is my summer form.”

Yumiko’s deep, rough voice cut the argument short. “My curse changes with the seasons. During winter, I turn as white as snow, while during summer I reclaim my true color.” She sounded far manlier in this form as well, a byproduct of the transformation. “‘Tis also much lighter and smoother than my winter form. Go ahead, feel it.” She offered her bladed tail, but the offer was hastily rejected.

The weasel woman shifted her attention onto the final hurdle before them. This... Beef Flexington... A legendary cuisine made by an ancient master... Truly a fearsome foe. She couldn’t afford to hold anything back, lest she would surely burst.

“Let us end this...”

Inspired by Ryoichi’s example, Yumiko brandished her large claws. She exhaled deeply and focused... A faint breeze danced across the table... Her form blurred briefly. In a blink of an eye, the remaining slices of the Beef Flexing vanished. At the same time, traces of sauce stained the edges of her claws and mouth.

A costly mistake.

In a hasty attempt to end the battle, the samurai had fallen for a rookie mistake. She had forgotten to chew properly. Simply slicing the food hadn’t been even nearly enough. Now it was stuck in her throat like a plug at the bottom of a bathtub. Nothing was going down.

The weasel woman twitched weakly and tried to steady herself against the table. Tears glimmered in her eyes as she fought against the choking. Asking for help was not an option. She had to resolve this without causing a scene... Her manners and honor were at stake!

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Yumiko was, understandably, preoccupied with her little... situation. Her claws trembled, scratching against the table, seeking support. Her lungs were burning, heart hammering and head spinning. The world around her was growing darker...

Thus the granny’s brave invasion of privacy went uncontested. Even as the fellow marines gawked in disbelief, the Commander didn’t resist. In fact, had she been able to breathe, she would’ve taken the chance to explain how the softness was thanks to a meticulous grooming routine. It included cold water, brief but vigorous showers and conditioner given to her by the ship doctor.

Unfortunately, breathing was not on the menu today. The clump clung stubbornly to her throat. Like an immovable boulder it rested against the flap that guarded her windpipe. A doctor, even a dishonest one, could’ve told you its exact name, but a simple samurai had to settle on knowing merely what she felt.

The weasel woman’s strength was faltering. Her head nodded, before she barely caught herself. Fighting against the imminent unconsciousness, she steadied herself against the table. That had been too close... She only narrowly avoided the shameful display that would’ve come with fainting.

Searching for a way out, Yumiko’s teary gaze swept her surroundings. On the edge of her fading vision, she could just barely make out Ryoichi downing a big glass of water. Water... Of course! She could wash it down!

With quivering claws, the monstrous weasel reached for a drink. Unfortunately, sharp scythes were poorly suited for such a delicate task. When she tried to grip the glass, her focus faltered. The glass was sliced cleanly into sections, clattering against the table as the water within splashed out.

The shock combined with the immediate shame hit the swordswoman hard. She cut what she hadn’t intended to cut... An amateur mistake. If she survived this, she was most definitely cutting her stomach open in atonement. However, that was starting to seem like a big if...

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When the grandmother commanded more water to be brought, the samurai stiffened. Her trembling claws rose and waved frantically. They clashed together to form hasty shapes. ...Whatever they may have meant. Was that a house? The letter X? Pushing motion? It was anyone’s guess.

Unfortunately, charades had never been Yumiko’s strong point. Against her muffled protests, the obedient bear fetched another glass. She didn’t have the strength to resist, when he poured the water into her mouth. It sloshed and swished like the inside of a clogged sink. Some of it managed to seep past the blockade, to loosen it up ever so slightly.

Suddenly, the weasel woman’s body recoiled. Something fought back. Reminiscent of a cat hacking up a furball, she coughed and gagged. Not exactly an appetizing sight. With enormous effort she finally managed to dislodge the unruly piece of food. It plopped back onto the plate with a wet slap. She gasped weakly. Air had never tasted sweeter.

However, relief was a fading feeling...

Shame soon scorched Yumiko’s cheeks like glowing embers. She kept her head down and her gaze on the half-empty plate before her. Words could not do justice to how much she wanted to end her own life right then and there... But it would have been disrespectful towards the honorable elder to make a mess. Erm, even more of a mess.

Meanwhile, suppressed snickering and stifled tittering slipped from the ranks of the Marines lining the table. Seeing a superior struggling with karma was something of an universal pleasure. Served her right, the wordless consensus degreed. This was what the real world did to pretentious pricks who got their promotions through nepotism.

...Or something like that. Look, sometimes you had to appreciate the small victories.

The samurai, still hanging her head in shame, sighed deeply. “Thank you...” She gave a brief glance at the bear. Tears still glimmered in the onyx orbs. “I...” She paused, hurrying to correct herself. “This one will not forget this debt.” For him it may have been just a glass of water, but for her it was a debt of life.

Yumiko returned her attention back onto the poorly chewed piece of Beef Flexington. The food still radiated pride, smugness even, if a simple dish was capable of that. She promptly skewered it on her claw and brought it back into her maw. Waste nothing. While not strictly part of her bushido, it was nonetheless something she had learned while living alone.

Wasting food was the greatest insult one could impose on a chef after all.

Quietly the weasel chewed her prey. Even now, the sauce was a little too rich and flavorful for her. It was food meant for people, not for tools such as herself... Still, she would not complain. The meal was almost finished... As was she.

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