Open The Slups On Noodle Street

Character Biography
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The wonderful and infuriating thing about Bouillabaisse Harbor was that there were many streets, and they all had different names. Perhaps more names than there existed words, which explained why one street had been called Street Street and she'd even passed by Alley Alley.

"I'm gettin' paid fer this again, yeh?"

"Of course! My first bowl of noodles, all yours."

"Yarr, we almost be there. This be Tentative Road."

Korya continued following the strange ferret, holding tight to the elbow of his sleeve as he guided her along, her other paw dutifully keeping her large bucket of clean water steady. She focused on the feel of the cobbles beneath her paws. Trying to remember each twist and turn was futile, but the feel of a road or path was unique and memorable. It was a good learning experience, at the cost of more than a few stubbed claws over the last few days. This road in particular lived up to its name. The cobbles couldn't decide if they wanted to be cobbles or just bits of coral and random rocks slammed into the ground by so many boots.

"Noodle Street, next turn. I dun' unnerstand though. Why this place?"

She beamed, all fangs and wrinkled nose, whiskers splaying.

"Advertising!"

He showed her a fairly level, clean spot on the crooked, cramped, winding street dubbed Noodle Street, and leaned against the nearest wall as he watched her unpack. The cat had gone shopping, it seemed. Bags within bags, each placed with a certain studious precision as they were pulled out of her rucksack. The little stove she had slung across her back was laid out, a pot and pan placed nearby. She crouched, like a predator about to pounce, her paws working in a blur, her ears swivelling like a panicked semaphore messenger. The raggedy blindfold she wore was seeping through with something vaguely yellow and noxious, which worried the ferret a bit.

"Here," she called, unrolling a large, crumpled parchment and holding it in his general direction. "Can you pin that somewhere, somehow?"

He gazed morosely at the parchment, which read:

|v o P / y H , Ꝣ
M ϐ Ꝛ ° ʗ Ϣ

Ꝏ ᴅ ʇ —│├ ≡ഗ

And then said, "Yup." He couldn't read. He tacked it to the wooden wall behind her with a bit of rusty nail that he'd earlier kicked away when picking her a spot.

Korya had begun cooking, lighting her little stove with some peat and coals. Shrimp sizzled in a pan alongside disturbingly tiny versions of corn cobs, peppers, sliced carrots, seaweed, and more - every color of vegetable seemed to be represented. Several passerby stopped to observe or scratch their ears at the sign on the wall. Korya kept cooking, pan after pan of aromatic foodstuffs being crisped up and set aside in a large mixing bowl, her long tail wrapped snugly around it to keep it close.

The bucket of water came into play next, part of it poured into the larger pot, then set aside. The water eventually boiled, and out came the noodles. It only took a few minutes - the rosette-spotted feline counted under her breath the whole time. Pot set aside, pan back on, noodles dunked onto it, vegetables and shrimp mixed in. Sizzle, sizzle sizzle.

In the heart of the Slups, Noodle Street smelled amazing.

The audience waited with bait-breath as the first bowl was filled out, and given to the ferret who had helped her set up her spot. She even let him use her fork. He was so moved by this that decided he wouldn't steal it.

He took a bite.

His face flushed. His eyes watered. His whiskers curled as if the tips were set alight like a candle's wick and flames licked along their lengths.

Korya beamed with pride.

"It's..."

"Good?" Korya chirped, ears tilted in hope.

"WAY TOO BLOODY HOT, WHAT ARE YA TRYIN' TO MELT ME DELICATE TUMMY?" He dropped the bowl and scampered off, pushing through the crowd. "Y'all get outta here, the cat's insane, she's gonna poison everyone, me guts are on fire, me tongue's melted, help, help, get me a drink! I'm dyin', tell me mate I ain't gonna make it home, augh, oohoohoohoooo..."

The crowd dispersed in murmurs, leaving Korya, ears flat and dejected, pawing at the ground. She found the scattered noodles, her fork, and the bowl. She popped a pepper into her mouth and chewed despite the grit covering it, sniffling.

And now her eyes were hurting even more.
 
Boggy skidded to a halt, nose lifted in the air. "By 'Gates, what's that smell?" he said to nobeast in particular. The rat glanced down the adjoining street and saw what appeared to be the source of the delicious aroma: A small, spotted wildcat crouched beside a stove and a bowl of spilled noodles.

Always hungry, the thin rat sauntered towards the feline and her makeshift kitchen. He noted with curiosity that she wore a blindfold. Glancing at the sign behind her, he rubbed at his whiskers.

"Wha' ye cookin' 'ere, cat? Smells awful good."
 
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