Oliver turned and stepped towards him. He stood behind a table laden with dishes. Beside him, there were many other tables, and many other cooks waiting behind them. "I suppose I am," he told the man. "I'm new here – am I allowed whatever I want?"
The question seemed to surprise the cook, for he raised an eyebrow in surprise. "But of course, ser. There's a range of different dishes down the length of the line, whatever takes your fancy, ya just need point, and we'll get it scooped onto a plate for you."
Oliver grinned at the man's direct manner. The cook likely didn't know why he was grinning. A week away from Solgrim, and Oliver was already missing the more rough-spoken accents of the country folk, to the point where even a comparatively well-spoken servant was enough to make me feel nostalgic.
"I'll have that then," he said with a point. "Is that beef?"
