Order #66, Your Sandwich is Ready!

[The Deli Moff]

His was not an establishment built on puffery. Indeed, the small prefabricated eatery was adorned with a utilitary sign that read only SANDWICHES. Inside, there were two tables, capable of seating four people each. There would be no seat saving. It was rule #11 in The Manifesto, a simple and efficient addendum inserted into each menu holoflimsy that he expected each patron to read and understand fully before agreeing to place an order. He did not have time for seat saving. He did not have time for substitutions (rule #23). There were no gluten free products served in his establishment (rule #14).

He was a hard man. Misunderstood. Some called him cruel. Nevertheless, the results of his dedication to order were unassailable. His customers were rational actors, people coming to a place of business to exchange credits for a product and service rendered. That product was a sandwich. The service rendered was placing the wrapped sandwich into the hands of a customer. It did not include cutting off the crusts (rule #58) or adding extra meat (rule #40) or extra cheese (rule #41).

He had once been a prince. Of the culinary arts, that is. The personal chef of none other than Mitth'raw'nuruodo himself. Like all Chiss, he knew above all else how to win through preparation, planning, and dedication to the task. Other chefs tried, and they all failed. It was he who had the strength of will to create a Flavor Revolution that began in the Ascendancy and conquered Coruscant itself!

But that was long ago. Even Thrawn, as the humans called him, had betrayed him. Oh yes, he remembered it well. A nerf pastrami sandwich on rye, and the so-called Grand Admiral dared to put a schmear of mayonnaise on it. Oh, not in his presence. Thrawn was more careful than that. But he found him out. It was a sin unforgivable. And with that, the Cook was outcast.

Cast down from his pedestal, he sought new, more fertile ground. Naboo, Mandalore, and Bothawui alike all failed to understand his vision, and he again moved on. Until he at last discovered a world that time itself nearly forgot. Ossus. The revived sanctuary of the Jedi Knights. Guardians of Peace and Justice. But were they also Guardians of Good Taste?

He would see. Oh yes. He would begin his empire anew here, in this humble world. He would blaze new trails without bourgeois side items (rule #7) or the prattling of holocomms while eating (rule #1).

For he was Chu'ado'ruomasy.

The Cook.

And he served sandwiches.

[Akasha Khan]

Akasha stepped into the sandwich shop that had just opened next to the commissary and was immediately assaulted by a colorful melange of scents - sweet, salty, savory, cured, corned, roasted, starchy, pungent, and spicy, all of it rolled up into one olfactory stampede that ran riot through her sinuses and fired her gustatory imagination in ways she had never dreamed possible. When she'd been introduced to the sandwich as a concept aboard the Whaladon, she honestly hadn't understood what the big deal was: putting meat between two slices of bread only meant there was an added barrier between you and the meat. But this wasn't pressed and salted meat product in rubbery, slimy discs, or questionable nut pastes smeared over dry bits of edible styrofoam. This was something altogether new and beautiful.

She vowed to herself, the highest of all possible vows for an Orryxian, that she would have one.

The feline Padawan cautiously approached the counter, where a blue-skinned humanoid stood with arms crossed like the imposing idol of a vengeful, mustachioed god. At the edge of the counter was a red plastic ticket dispenser with a small paper tag hanging out the end like a wayward tongue, and standing next to it was a small sign that read "PLEASE TAKE A NUMBER." Akasha looked at the sign, and then at the empty shop around her.

"Um... Excuse me? Sir?"

[The Deli Moff]

The Cook's mouth began to pull downwards into more of a severe frown than usual. The furry alien at the counter was treading dangerously close to breaking protocol. His eyes met Akasha's, and followed to the number dispenser at the far end of the counter.

He waited for her to follow instructions, returning to steel his 14 inch beskar chef's knife. Mandalorian craftsmanship such as it would only yield to another piece of their famous iron, and his steel was likewise comprised of the precious alloy. Metal sang across metal in sing-songy snips and zings as he drew the cutting edge to perfection, before cutting against the grain at a hunk of honey and juniper glazed shaak ham on the counter. The ham, still warm from the oven, nonetheless shaved beautifully in a single graceful swipe, cleaving in such a thin section that you could almost see the beskar blade that worked just beneath the surface.

[Akasha Khan]

She followed his eyes, read the sign, and said, "Oh," even though she really didn't understand any better than when she'd walked in. But, not wanting to upset whatever mystical procedures went into creating the heavenly bouquet all around her, she stepped over to the dispenser and took the first ticket, which read #001.

Akasha returned to the blue-skinned man and showed him the ticket. "Does this mean anything to you?" she asked.

[The Deli Moff]

The Cook's stern eyes rose, again disturbed from his work, to the ticket in Akasha's paw. If he could, he would burn a hole through the ticket with his eyes.

"Yes, place your order."

This should not be a difficult proposal. The menu varied by day of the week, each day offering three different sandwiches. Today featured the aforementioned honey-roasted shaak with Alderaanian cheese on a toasted Emperor's roll with well-carmelized peppers and onions and a Naboo mustard. Also featured was nuna salad on ten-grain bread. The last was the sinfully decadent Croque Mando'a, griddled with cave-aged hams and cheeses and wine-sauteed mushrooms.

[Akasha Khan]

Akasha batted an ear at the man's brusque demeanor, but she soldiered on. She didn't entirely understand the selections listed on the menu board, but the meat he'd been slicing looked and smelled delicious. She decided she'd start from the top and see how things went.

"I'll have the first one," she said. "That is, the... honey-roasted shaak. Oh, wait..." Akasha frowned, remembering a night spent in the toilet after trying Kala's homemade grilled cheese for dinner. "Probably better leave the cheese off that one."

[The Deli Moff]

"Cheese is mandatory."

Of all the hubris! A ham sandwich without cheese? This cat was trying to bend the laws of sandwiches with her impudence. The Cook's grip tightened on his chef's knife as he waited for Akasha to correct her mistake.

[Akasha Khan]

Akasha batted one ear, oblivious to the gathering doom that stood before her.

"Oooookay," she said. "Well, cheese's effects on my digestive tract are mandatory, too, so maybe today you could make an exception?"

[The Deli Moff]

"No exceptions. No special orders."

Irritated, the Cook turned to the board behind him that displayed today's three specials, and threw his chef's knife into it. The grip quivered as the tip speared into selection #2 - the Nuna Salad.

"No cheese. Order now!"

[Akasha Khan]

Akasha sprang backwards as the knife flew, claws unsheathed and tail a black explosion of puffed fur. Her eyes darted to the quivering knife in the menu board, then back to the chef to see if he was hiding any more knives in his powder-white jacket.

"Okay, okay, fine!" she blurted, "I'll have the nuna salad!"

She waited until hestarted looking marginally less murderous before she added, "But could you leave off the salad?"

[The Deli Moff]

The Cook turned to face her slowly, the frown of his mouth almost inscrutable against normal downward turn of his moustache. When he moved, it was with a quickness that was startling, plucking the order ticket from Akasha's paw and crushing it within a fist in front of her before letting it fall to the floor.

"No sandwich! Come back - one week!"

The Chiss's red eyes turned to a fixture on the far wall. What appeared to be a bit of the deli's decor suddenly came alive as a Magnaguard droid spun to life, twirling an electrostaff with an evil buzz as it prodded the Orryxian towards the exit without any hope of finding lunch today.

[Akasha Khan]

The Orryxian laid her ears flat as the metal executioner came clanking toward her. She considered reaching for her lightstaff, but between the chef's fiery glare, the still-humming knife, and the crackling fury of the droid's weapon, she lost her nerve. Lunch wasn't worth this aggravation.

Akasha spun away just as the electrostaff singed the tip of her tail, and with a yowl she sprinted out of the establishment on all fours and didn't stop until she was up the nearest tree.

[Jamis Kerr]

He'd heard that there was a new establishment set up for food, and Jamis - always happy to skip the offerings of the mess hall - had decided to see what exactly was up with the 'sandwich shop'.

Trudging down the narrow sideroad leading to the shop, he caught sight of a familiar black form, sequestered up in the limbs of a tree. It brought a strange look to his face, and the boy stopped to cast his eyes upward.

"What are you doing up there?"

[Kazahan]

Kazahan was hungry. This was an accepted fact throughout the Jedi encampment. He would also eat anything. Insects? Sure. Slimy worms? Extra fancy Trianii dish made out of them. Meat? Make sure there's enough for everyone else, because Kazahan will not stop until it's gone.

So when he saw the sign above the door, then, he hummed brightly and bounced inside. Instead of going directly to the counter though, he stopped immediately upon entering and stared at everything. The utilitarian decor. The laminated menu. The lack of sitting space. But the cook didn't seem to be wanting for anything.

Why cook for people when you don't like them?

But Kazahan wasn't one for prolonged introspection. He took two steps up to the counter and glanced at the rules.

"This one would like to know the special of today," he rumbled.

[Akasha Khan]

Akasha started again at the sound of Jamis's voice, then attempted to preen herself into an air of utter nonchalance. She was delayed only slightly by the problem of unsticking her claws from the flesh of the tree branch she was perched on.

"I'm... admiring the view," she said, with conviction. "What are you doing down there?"

[The Deli Moff]

The magnaguard returned to its place at the wall, stiffening as its ocular receptors dimmed and it went into inert mode once more. The Cook retrieved his knife from the menu board with a sharp yank, drawing a kitchen towel along the blade's backstrap to each carefully beveled edge before turning his attention to an onion, which fell apart on his cutting board in a flurry of precise slices.

"Three specials. Choose one."

A timer beeped, and the Cook looked up at the Trianii with malevolent red eyes before bounding towards the nearest wall to retrieve a wooden peel from a peg board. Twirling it in his gasp like a battle axe, the Cook turned to the oven, pulling the door free and using the peel to remove two aromatic boullés from within. The crust on the fresh-baked bread crackled and sheened, and with a wrist flick, the Cook tossed both breads in the air, where they landed squarely on a cooling rack in front of the counter. Only then did he acknowledge Kazahan's crime.

"No shirt. Come back - one day!"

Again, the Magnaguard came to life, raising its staff with inexorable intent.

[Jamis Kerr]

He made a funny face at Akasha's answer, and with an inclination of his head, Jamis gestured to the sandwhich shop.

"Going for some lunch."

And against his better judgement, he mentally shrugged.

"Wanna come with? Whatever is served in there has to be better than what's in the mess."

[Akasha Khan]

Akasha pushed with her forearms against the branch to stretch out her spine and coax out the nervous tension pooling there. "Mmm. Oh, lunch? What, you mean in there?"

She spotted the great furry bulk of Kazahan through the shopfront window and smirked.

"Thanks, but bread doesn't appeal to me right now. Go on and give it a try, though. Let me know if it's any good."

Her sensitive ears caught the buzz of the magnaguard waking, and she flinched and flattened to the branch once more.

[Kazahan]

The large Trianii glanced down at himself before looking back up at the cook. He, for all it would seem, ignored the magnaguard.

"Trianii do not wear clothing. Cannot, as fur makes clothing uncomfortable and often redundant. But to kick Kazahan out... Is this establishment... prejudiced?"

The big felinoid's eyes widened as he took in the place with a new perspective. He'd heard of prejudiced establishments, but to enter one on the Jedi homeworld? Amazing!

"Kazahan will have to tell everyone about this!"

[The Deli Moff]

Judgment was already passed, and the Magnaguard brusquely prodded the Trianii along. The Cook was harsh, but he was fair. No special treatment!