"Please, there's no need for such animosity," pleaded the head-chef, "-you're a lady of power. Maybe there's something we can do to qualm the failure on our part."
"But…" hearing Nole take the responsibility and blame, Ola's stance grew physical. The anger and injustice rose from within to the point of blowing over. *TSS* and blow did it as the pressure cooker whistled to break the argumentative atmosphere. Smartly holding the hand of the youngling, the head-chef waited through the high-pitch scream.
"Surely my lady, would you have come to a restaurant knowing full well we couldn't satisfy thy pallet."
"No, you're right," she took a loud stance, "-a man in need of liquor will head to a bar, not a pharmacy. Yet, the thing I want can be made available quite quickly."
"I don't follow," inquired Nole as a crowd of preoccupied chefs rallied behind. The numbers didn't matter as the Medusa of Cooking seemed to petrify those who dared stare.
