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Page 6: Six Pax.
Feeling the pangs hit in the pit of his stomach, our master counter rattled the thin black lock barring entry through the sidedoor leading to the castle's cookery. Baked brimstones arched above—smelling of sweetened smoke wafting from the blocks—it's portal admitting him into the relative warmth. Though most of the food preparers had retired following the large feast, Nero approached our host. "Ah, siñori Count" the blueish demon greeted in his blazen breathy Italian accent. "Whata brings you to my kitchens?" "Your kitchen?" "Well, is true, I share this home... But eh, I take pride over the ovens... And at the moment I am-a the only one here." Chuckling goodnaturedly, the Count's stomach belied his purpose for visiting the roaster. "Ah, you hungry. Is no problem, let me see whaza I can make tonight." As all demons, Nero prefered the homey heat of the ovens, shunning the cold of the refridgerator. Deciding on his course of action, he took the plunge withdrawing some leftovers—extracting them from the inner chill—accenting and turning his scales even bluer and paler than normal. Pan buttered, E.V.O.O. sizzling, mashed potatoes and flour shoved straight in. His hands deftly set to building up the sides as the batter plumped. Red fiery marinara poured onto the fluffy flaky foundation, the liquid spiced with heated chipotle sauce. His claws quickly shredded the turkey meat, baby carrots, snapped pea pods—snapped with maniacal glee in those vertically slitted saucer eyes of his. Once taken off of the stovetop and allowed to cool, Nero presented the Count with his offering... "Here we go, a potato pancake pot pie pizza pan. And to bring out the flavor of the mootzarellah, we sprinkle some flecks of snowy parmesana above. Bon appetito." Fork and knife in hand, the numerian noshed on the delicacy. "Ah Nero, your pizzas are alvays hexcellent." Pleased with the comment, the chef merely slicked back his black slickened hair. "Gratci Count." Black bat cherry sodas popped to seal the deal with a toast, a marble white 6 found itself set aside for our host to remove and retain, both spooks dined on the fine dish. Meanwhile, Ed received a sixth storm cloud, tucked into his bomber's other pocket—as the first was now fully filled with the first five.
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