Chapter Text
[Whiskey’s more adept to creating potions, “medicines” and the like. Cooking is something entirely different, and I’ve already adopted my own headcanon that Whiskey is a shit ass cook-- as some of you may know from my Whiskey Woes series.]
“Master Attendant.”
Whiskey stood in the doorway of his attendant’s chambers with a tray of hearty porridge and warm tea among other side dishes intended for a meal. His attendant sat in their bed scribbling in their notebook with a white cloth bandaged around their forehead.
“Ah, Whiskey. Come in-” the greeting was interrupted by a series of coughs that shook their body.
Whiskey entered and shut the door behind him; he came over to the bedside sitting the tray down before moving on to gently reprimand his attendant.
“Master Attendant, you should be resting,” Whiskey chided as he took their book and pen away.
His attendant showed him an frowning expression that hinted at contempt and annoyance.
“I’ve already been confined to this bed because of you,” they gestured at the bed with wide sweeping motions. They sniffled a bit before continuing their rant. “And you expect me to just lie here for twenty four hours and do nothing?”
Whiskey chucked. “Don’t phrase it like that, Master Attendant. I’ve brought your meal.” He reached for the bowl of porridge on the tray, carefully placing it in his attendant’s grasp.
“...Is this poisoned…?,” his attendant muttered as they started to spoon up the soup to their lips.
“Hehe… How mean of you, Master Attendant. I’ve made that myself,” Whiskey retorted.
“AH-!” The first spoonful elicited a cry from his attendant. “H-HOT!”
“Well, of course it’s hot. It’s porridge. Maybe you should blow on it before eating it?”
“HOT AS IN SPICY, YOU DUMBASS!” His attendant coughed a little bit before glaring at their food souls with teary eyes. “WHY IS THIS SO SPICY? WHAT DID YOU PUT IN IT?!??! A BAG OF CHILIS?!”
“Spicy things are meant to help with colds, Master Attendant.” Whiskey picked up the cup of “tea” that was on the tray and handed it to his attendant. “And it’s not chillies. It’s a Carolina Reaper. About 200 grams.”
Had his attendant’s illness had not deprived them of strength, Whiskey would have been strangled to death by now.
“Here, have some tea, Master Attendant.” Whiskey handed over the cup which his attendant hastily took and chugged without hesitation.
“URGPHPPHH-” The gag was intense but paled in comparison to the effort to his attendant’s effort to not vomit all over their bed. “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!” was the first thing that sprung from their mouth as soon as the repression of their stomach contents was quelled.
“Ginger tea with Whiskey~. Whiskey does help with cold symptoms, did you know~?”
Whiskey was quite proud of his creation. The fact that his attendant didn’t seem to understand how careful he was in creating a meal that would cure his attendant of their cold was disheartening to him.
“I already feel myself heating up inside… How much did you put in it-?”
“Ah, just a shot.” Whiskey motioned pouring an entire bottle of his food counterpart into the kettle.
The cup was flung at him. “YOU DUMBASS!” Whiskey dodged the cup with little effort. “ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?! I TRUSTED YOU WITH MY FOOD!”
“Well, in my defense, I did say that you shouldn’t trust people like me~.” Whiskey sat up from the chair quickly in order to evade his attendant that had risen from their bed to unleash hell upon him. “But you do seem a lot better, Master Attendant~,” Whiskey mused as he grappled with his attendant in an effort to not get strangled.
“WHAT?! How am I better if you’ve fed me ALL THIS SHIT?!”
“Hehe~. Well for one, that cough has seemed to elude you.” Whiskey dodged an arm swung at his face. “And that sniffling of yours has also gone away~.”
The act of strangling him was put on hold momentarily as his attendant stood there in thought as they attempted to feel any symptoms of their ailment.
Alas there were done.
But that didn’t deter them any in their efforts to strangle him to death.