Chapter Thirteen - Kampai!

“I look stupid,” I scowled, staring down at the maid outfit Emi had made me wear.

“Maids do not look stupid,” she lectured me, peering at the sheaf of papers Ms. Harada had left for her. “Maids are glorious harbingers of sophistication and class. Is this a 1 or a 7?”

“Maids are a pain in the ass when I have to dress like one,” I muttered darkly, flipping the apron in frustration. “That’s a 7.”

“You didn’t mind at the café,” Emi pointed out.

“We were all dressed like maids, it wasn’t just me. Why is it just me? This hardly seems fair, you know. And don’t give me that ‘mistress of the house’ crap.” I warned her as she opened her mouth.

“Ms. Harada said she’d only make the food if you helped me serve it because she trusts you to not break her plates,” Emi finally admitted. “Plus you look good in the maid outfit. I can’t wear it, I’m the chef and chefs don’t wear maid outfits.”

“What if it’s a maid chef? Besides, since when do you care about what Ms. Harada says?” I scowled. “What happened to that whole ‘I’m going to make candy anyway and she’ll be sorry’ thing?”

“I never said that” Emi shook her head. “I’d never say something so childish.”

“You’re trying to weasel out of what you said on a technicality,” I growled. “You never said those exact words but pretty close.”

“One woman’s weasel is another woman’s… I have no idea where I’m going with that,” Emi cocked her head to the side and frowned. “Mustelidae or not, I never said that.” I sagged in defeat.

“What the hell is a Mustelidae?”

“The weasel family is Mustelidae.”

“Once again, how do you know these things?” I gawked at her. “And how are you failing literally every other class?”

“I have a trivial mind,” Emi grinned at me. “I remember trivial things that interest me. School is a triviality which does not.” I hoped she never became interested in politics, otherwise the whole world was doomed.

“Wait. When do we eat?” Emi stared at me as if I’d suddenly burst into her room with a flame thrower and was threatening to burn her porn magazines.

“Shit,” Emi whispered. “When do we eat?”

“We should have gotten Dominos after all,” I muttered wistfully.

“Let me call Ms. Harada,” Emi pulled her cell phone from her pocket and immediately dialed.

“You’re going to ask Ms. Harada when we eat? Seriously?”

“No,” Emi shook her head as the voice on the other end of the phone began talking. “Noooo. No, we don’t need the fire brigade. I don’t even think they’ve called it that in, like, a hundred years. What?” Emi’s face was a mask of frustrated impatience. “No. Let me ask the damn question!” She sighed and shook her head. “I mean dam, like in you’re damming my question reservoir.” Emi muted the phone and giggled at me. “She bought it!”

“Ask the question!” I snapped, peeking through the swinging door into the dining room. “The natives are getting restless.” Aria was tapping away on her phone while Mizuki talked earnestly to Saki about doll making. “Another few minutes and Saki will be getting doll heads in the mail from Mizuki’s grandma, too.”

“Shit,” Emi whispered before turning in horror to the phone. “No. It’s…uh…French for…puppy. Kasumi wants a puppy. Anyway! How are we supposed to eat if we’re making and serving food?” She listened for a moment before scowling. “What even is that?”

“What’s she saying?” I mouthed.

“It’s where?” Emi turned to me. “Could you check in the pantry for a heated buffet cart?”

“What’s it look like?” Emi shrugged unhelpfully.

Emi’s pantry was bigger than most people’s kitchen and dining room combined. Shelves were fully stocked with enough food and supplies to survive a decently lengthy zombie apocalypse. I flicked the lights on and looked around helplessly.

“Heated buffet cart,” I whispered to myself. “If I were a heated buffet cart, what would I look like and where would I- “My eyes happened on an item covered by a white tablecloth in the far corner of the pantry. Curious, I walked over toward it and pulled the cloth back, revealing a cart some meter and a half high and at least two meters long stuffed with serving trays and lids.

“I think I found it!” I called, moving the trays around curiously. Emi appeared in short order and stared at the device with a discerning eye.

“Is this it?” Emi asked, snapping a photo of the cart, and sending it to Ms. Harada. Emi rolled her eyes and tapped her foot impatiently as the older woman struggled to figure out how to open the photo she’d been sent. “Good. So…uh…how does it…how does it work?” Emi nodded at me as if to indicate that was the item we were looking for. I pulled the cart behind me and soon we had the thing sitting in the kitchen.

“So where is the propane tank again?” Emi asked. A moment later she moved behind the cart and opened a door, revealing a cylinder. “So we just turn on the stuff, put in the food and we’re done? Great! Thanks! What? No, we won’t catch the curtains on fire. Yesss, if we do, we’ll call the fire brigade or whatever it is. Yesss, we’ll be careful. Ok, I have to go. Ok. Yes. Ok. Yes. No. I’ve got it. I have to go.” Emi ended the call and hung on the counter dramatically. “I’m exhausted. She’s sapped my will to live”

“So…what do we do?” I stared at the buffet table apprehensively. On the surface it looked simple enough but looks could be deceiving.

“We toss the food into the ‘warmer trays’, put water in the trays below them, light the burners, roll the cart into the dining room, serve everyone else then grab food ourselves,” Emi listed off what my working theory on the thing’s usage was. There was, of course, one small problem.

“You know what Mizuki’s going to say, don’t you?”

“Kaiseki’s not supposed to be served all at once,” Mizuki pouted as we wheeled the buffet table out and began to serve the delicious-looking food. Emi and I glanced at each other and smirked. “Aria’s going to get the totally wrong idea about what a traditional Japanese Kaiseki is.”

“It’s a multi-course meal generally served in individual courses but since Emi and I want to eat at some point, too, it’s all being served at once,” I explained to Aria matter-of-factly before turning back to the table.

“See?” Emi smirked at Mizuki. “All explained. Now let’s eat.”

“You mean the maid isn’t going to feed me?” Aria sulked.

“Actually, it’s entirely possible that back in the Sengoku period Geisha would serve the local daimyo to make certain their food wasn’t poisoned,” Mizuki dove in cluelessly.

“Unless the Geisha was the one who poisoned the food,” Emi supplied helpfully. “But that goes without saying.”

“Did the daimyo ever eat out the geisha?” Aria asked around the spoonful of Sakizuke in her mouth, a wicked smile curling her lips. Emi giggled wildly while I blushed. Saki seemed oblivious as she was trying to maneuver the pudding with the tiny spoon she was given.

“What? We were never cannibals!” Mizuki gasped indignantly.

“She’s not talking about actually eating people,” I supplied in embarrassment.

“Huh?” Mizuki looked horribly confused.

“She’s talking about…” Emi stuck her tongue out slightly before frowning. “Let me get a book.”

“That’s ok! That’s all right!” I interrupted her, taking her blouse in my hand to stop her from making things more awkward. I directed her toward her chair. “It’s not important, just sit down and eat.”

“But the book- “Emi protested as I sat her down.

“It’s fine,” I growled insistently. “Let me get you your food, ojou-sama.”

“Ooooh! I am an ojou-sama! Ohohohoho!” Emi chuckled, putting her hand over her mouth for emphasis.

“Yes, yes,” I patted her shoulder supportively. “And I’m sorry it’s not a real Kaiseki, Mizuki, we’ll just have to make do with what we’ve got.”

“It’s fine,” Mizuki waved my apology away with a brush of her hand. Oh, yeah, I thought. Now it’s ok.

“Can I help you, senpai?” Saki asked as I awkwardly swept the plates away from the Sakizuke, my cast even more of a hindrance than even I had initially thought it would be. I couldn’t wait to get the stupid thing off and had vowed over and over again to never be on the business end of a baseball bat again.

“I’m good, thank you anyway, Saki-chan,” I smiled at her as I began to serve the Hassun. The food looked absolutely delicious. It didn’t help that I was hungry, but the sushi was elegant and looked flavorful and appealing.

“Shouldn’t we be having sake or something with this?” Aria grinned as she ate her sushi.

“Traditionally, yes,” Mizuki nodded knowledgeably. “Sake symbolizes the beginning of a relationship. A deepening of bonds and in this case cleanses, making each course separate from the previous.”

“I have juice,” Emi supplied helpfully.

“Or we can have this,” Aria bent over and produced a bottle from her bag.

“Where did you get that?” Emi gasped.

“I have contacts, too, Emi-chan,” Aria grinned, setting the bottle of sake on the table in front of her.

“B-But, that’s- “Mizuki stammered before biting her lip. I could see the forces of tradition and order forming up in skirmishing lines in her head. On one hand she wanted to drink the sake because tradition demanded it. On the other we were all under-age and drinking was strictly prohibited.

“It’s not like if we drink it we’re going to be branded hardened criminals, Mizuki,” Aria cracked the top open with a metallic tearing sound. “Having a glass of sake at home isn’t going to make us take hostages later and try to overthrow the government. Besides, it’s tradition, isn’t it?” Mizuki was looking rather panicked, and I put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t drink if you don’t want.”

“Yeah, no pressure!” Aria tipped the bottle into one of the cups sitting on the table in front of her. A moment later she tipped the glass and drank the alcohol down. She lowered the cup and grinned. “Mmm! Liquid courage. It tastes like…tradition.”

“I’ll have some!” Mizuki declared fiercely. “It’s tradition!”

“There she is! The bastion of the old ways in the flesh!” Aria giggled. Mizuki stared down into the cup Aria had poured for her.

“Bottoms up!” Aria declared, pouring herself another glass.

“You don’t have to,” I suggested again, shooting Aria a displeased look. “Don’t pressure her.”

“No pressure!” Aria giggled. “She wanted it! Didn’t you, Mizuki-chan?” Mizuki swallowed heavily, still staring at the glimmering liquid in her cup.

“Y-Yep,” she finally nodded. “Kampai!” She shouted lifting her arm into the air in celebration before draining the glass in one large gulp. A shiver started somewhere on her scalp and passed through her entire body, and she started coughing and sputtering as the alcohol burned its way down her throat and into her belly. I patted her back gently, the possibility of her choking seeming very real at the moment. “Oh holy monkeys!” She finally gasped, resurrecting a phrase she’d favored when we were very young. “That burns!”

“How about it, ladies?” Aria grinned at us. “Time to celebrate!”

“Um,” Saki looked uneasy.

“Absolutely none for Saki,” I insisted. She was younger than us and it was bad enough Mizuki was shakily accepting another glass from Aria. I wouldn’t have Saki drinking, too.

“Someone’s a prude, huh, Mizuki?” Aria pouted at me.

“She’s a stick in the mud!” Mizuki giggled.

“Alcohol will lower your inhibitions and let you have some fun for a change, K-chan,” Aria waggled the bottle at me with a meaningful look.

“I’m fine how I am,” I shook my head. “Thank you anyway.”

“Suit yourself,” Aria shook her head in disappointment. “How about you, Emi?”

“I am already sorely lacking in inhibitions as it is. I doubt the sake will do much for me but I’ll have a little drink, I guess.”

“Another brave soul has joined our merry band, Mizuki!” Aria exclaimed, filling Emi’s glass and her own.

“A toast!” Mizuki laughed loudly. “To deepening our bonds!”

“The deeper and harder the better!” Aria laughed.

“Kampai!” The three girls shouted, raising their glasses high before tossing the sake down. I glanced over at Saki and shook my head. It was going to be a long night.