4chan Hazbin Hotel story: An X-Mas Special part 3

from /hhg/ - Hazbin Hotel General Thread #198
part 1: https://pastebin.com/G9cGuQxm
part 2: https://pastebin.com/bC45GyEf
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She was starting to get envious - "boys will be boys" doesn't cut it when they're clearly having THIS much fun!

Tom made quick work of the potatoes - Army training: 10/10, would die as a one-man 1919 Spring Offensive again -, the two of them set about cooking the rest of the dishes. They fraternized rather quickly, exchanging jokes and jabs to an equal measure - and Tom just looked adorably ridiculous in the weird ushanka-chef's hat crossbreed that the Slav gave him.

The ironic aprons were also a nice touch - the more bombastic Russian's demure, '50s style, Christmas themed "Kiss the Cook" apron looked even more ridiculous when compared to the her meek co-anchors' more vulgar "Eff the Chef" one (made in a style reminiscent of an infamous early work of an underground comic and cartoon artist).
They were having barrels of fun, swapping anecdotes and short stories related to cooking and their past - will still staying on topic, and making good progress.

Then, it came to the boiling of the potatoes...

"Now, remember!" Bratislav began, knife in hand "If you stick knife into potato, and in just slides off, then you know it is done. However!"

And he hovered the knife above another one.

"If you stick it into potato, and it goes--"

"ИДИ HA ХУЙ!" yelled the potato, causing both men to jump back.
After a minute of stunned silence, Bratislav continued:
"...And this is how you know they need a bit more time in бaня."

As the masked man got his bearings again, he began to look around.
"Hey, where did knife go?"
It was then that he noticed the wide-eyed (wide-lensed?) look of horror on Tom's face...
Looking somewhere behind (and above him).

Turning around, he staggered a step backwards - Stretch stood in front of him, knife lodged between where his eyes would've been, down to the hilt.
Katie stared, likewise slack-jawed - the idiot must've blundered his way onto the stage at exactly the wrong moment.

"...Ow."

Cont.
-
After managing to dislodge the cutting tool from his forehead, and covering it with a large band-aid during the commercial break, both Slav and Canuck waited anxiously besides the worried virgin and the nonchalant Chanperor.

"You sure you're alright?" John asked, looking at the x-shaped bands with unease.

"I'm fine." Stretch replied warmly "I think it slotted in perfectly between the two hemispheres, missing them completely!"

As this did nothing to calm the nerves of the others - or Katie's, for that matter.
The introduction of a third man meant another cook had to enter the kitchen, for continuity's sake - and the small set was beginning to grow crowded.
Tom offered to leave - him jumping in really wasn't part of the program -, but the anons insisted that he should stay, and that's what he would've liked, anyway.

However, Killjoy's worries were unfounded: the three of them managed well, even when they started to take increasingly frequent swigs from their choice of drink: Bratislav from his Soviet War Economy-sized hip flask of vodka, Stretch a bottle of Bull's Blood, and Tom fixing himself a maple cream ale every once in a while - though, he notably drank less than the other two.

All in all, the third member only provided one more reason for Katie to be jealous: his "equipment" consisted of a shako-chef's hat crossbreed and a leather apron, with the words "My Other Apron is for Welding" etched into it - electrically, by the looks of it.

Damn, she wanted that apron!

She wasn't really one for cooking - she knew her way around the kitchen, though not nearly to the degree of a master chef (nor to the degree of the three stooges currently fucking about on the kitchen set - and saving her ass on X-mas) -, but damn, she wanted that!

...Maybe he'll let her have it?
Stretch WAS the friendliest of the bunch...

Cont.
-
As the show drew to a close, the jokes wound down - the set up a samovar, an enormous Russian water heater/tea kettle, under the range hood of the stove, filled it with water, dropped some scrap wood into it, and lit it - stovepipe quickly secured, and hood set to low suction, so as not to ruin the mood with the sound of an airborne vacuum cleaner.

As the water boiled, the three friends set out the snacks they've bought:
Bratislav starting with the Tula Pryanik, Zefir and baranki, Stretch continuing with the poppy seed Bejgli, Saloon candy and honey cookies, and Tom wrapping it up with the butter tarts (four of 'em), Yule Log slices, and Nanaimo bars (again, four of 'em).
They continued sharing their memories of the unmentionable holiday, and how they've spent it in the most unconventional of ways, with the slav detailing a cultural exchange with "fellow traveler" afghan man during his deployment, Stretch talking about his "shoestring" holiday season in a dorm with the friends he'd made - ironically, with all of them hailing from countries that usually couldn't stand one another, and especially Stretch's own, and Tom recalling a moment of sanity in the final days of his dying rampage, as he rested on Christmas day, while the war drew to a close around him.

With desserts consumed and tea drunk, Brat bid the viewers goodbye:

"And with this, we bid you farewell. Hope you lot learned something, because we're not gonna repeat this. Then again, this'll probably be on the internyet by tomorrow, so I don't care. Hope you had fun. Happy Holidays, goodbye, and goodnight."

And the cameras panned out, the scene darkening as the three chefs seemingly continued their chat, before the credits - or what little there were - rolled.


Cont.
-
The lights turned back on.

"Alright, everyone, that's a wrap! There's our X-Mas Special, in the bag!"

"Awww, but I was having fun!" Stretch protested, jokingly, and the other two chuckled.

"W-Well, I think this'll be enough for tonight. Right, Katie?" asked Tom, as the woman walked up to them, holding her phone.
She had an incredulous, pondering frown, which halted the three men's chuckle.

"What's wrong?" John asked.

"I don't know how you did it..." she muttered "But you've just broke the record of Dahmer's most watched show... Hell, you've lapped it, three times!"

Stretch and Tom grinned, but Bratislav remained stoic.

"What show was that?" he asked, simply.

Blinking, Killjoy skimmed over the details - and she felt something she hadn't felt in a long time:
Shame.

"...Crème brûlée from Baby Purée" she said, sheepishly.
The three men stared back at her, stonefaced and stern.
...Why the FUCK did she ever approve Dahmer show?! What was she thinking?!

"And we gained three times the views of that." Stretch asked, with a monotone voice and unreadable expression.

"...Yes."

Finally, after a long pause, the slav just shrugged.
"Guess there's hope for Hell, then."
And he set about cleaning up the kitchen.

The others, awoken from their brief stupor, went about their work as well - it really was time to wrap up. A pre-recorded message would play instead of the evening news - there wasn't much to report, anyway, as it seemed all of Hell quieted down for the holidays, for once.

For Killjoy, however, there was still one thing left to do.
She approached the anon.

"I have a... Proposition for you." she began, but immediately regretted it, as Bratislav gave her a bemused look.
"Really? You hire amateurs, then?"

She was about to snap at him, but bit it back - he was right, this night could've been a fluke. Still she had this, this weight, this guilt that suddenly developed, that she wanted to get of her chest.
Time to bite the bullet.

Cont.
-
"Look... We got off on the wrong foot." she began.

"That, we did." he agreed, washing his pots. Killjoy sighed.

"I apologize for being a bitch..."

"Apology accepted."

"It was just that--wait, what?"

"You were in a tight spot." the slav replied "And we don't have best reputation. That, and you didn't know me, or what I was capable of. Is understandable that you were... Skeptical."

"...That's one way of putting it." she murmured, but he waved if off.

"Water under the bridge, now." he said "No point in holding grudges. Otherwise, I'd still be here, pissed about the Cold War."

She snickered, nodding.

"Well, anyways..." he went on "I had fun, and I think the viewers did, too... Or, they had fun laughing at me fucking about with Tom and Stretch."

They both chuckled at this, before Katie sighed.

"Well, for what it's worth, I had fun. And while today's show may have been a one-of lucky draw, I'd like to give you a chance, especially since... Well, we just lost one of our main view-drawers."

"I'll drink to that!" said Tom, taking a break from "sampling" the Bull's Blood "Good riddance!"

"Yeah, amen to that." she agreed, and the slav nodded, too.
"So, what do you say? Wanna make it official?"

"Sure, I can come over, cook you guys some dinner and commentate, and we'll just call it a show. Oh, speaking of which!" and he took of his ushanka, pulling out what appeared to be a small, blocky camera from behind the front flap "You got the feed from this, Chan?"

"Yeah!" the green-skinned man called back "Alternated between it and the other camera feeds, but it was primarily on that before Tom joined you guys."

Katie blinked, surprised.

"The Hell is that?"

"Is dashcam!" Bratislav replied, cheerily "For car to protect against insurance fraud. But is also good for first-person view camera. Is very popular on internyet, you see..."
"Thought we'd spice up the broadcast a bit." Stretch explained "I hope you don't mind..."

Cont.
-
"...Mind? That's genius!" she exclaimed, excitedly "Not to mention useful for a cooking show."

"Yeah, but it's only thanks to my crawl-game that the viewers actually got some useful info out of this show." said one of Chan's clones "Even it it would be appropriate to measure your meals in heartburns per cardiac arrest."

"I'm definitely hiring you!" the woman went on, high from the potential "...As soon as I get the contract."

Bratislav looked at her wryly.
"If it's the kind of contract that Alastor makes, I'll pass." he said, and then began to pack away the food.

"Oh, are you taking these away?" asked Tom, having had his fill of wine.

"Some of it." replied the slav "I still need to cook for the Hotel. I promised to do the Poждecтвeнcкий yжин tonight, and, if they watched the show, they've probably been as teased about it as you were."

Shit, that reminded her - she hadn't had, but 4 square packet of cigarettes today. She was starving!

"Actually, about that..." said John, answering a call "We gotta get back to the Hotel, ASAP."

"What? Why?" asked Stretch, and the board clones looked up as well.

"Apparently, Alastor got a bit envious of you, and decided to follow your recipes through the TV."

"That doesn't sound too bad." mused Bratislav, packing away another meal.

"...And that included following your alcohol consumption as well." the virgin added.

The soldier-cum-liquidator-cum-gopnik-cum-stalker froze mid movement. As did the others.

"No, wait..." John muttered, and listened to the phone.
The look of hope that spread on the others' faces quickly dissipated as he grew pale, and spoke up again:
"Scratch that... He drank as much as all three of you, put together... The same stuff as well."

There was a long silence.

Then, Bratislav inhaled deeply, gave a heavy sigh, and sped up.
"O-Kay, we have пиздeц confirmation! Hurry it up, everyone, I wanna get back before that ypoд burns down the Hotel!"

Cont.
-
As the anons departed (with the Niva's tires screeching on the asphalt), the two anchors were left behind...

...With all the food.

"So... All this for us, huh?" Tom mused, picking up a Zafir.

"Yeah..."

Damn, this was still a lot. Bratislav left with three of the six meals he put together, leaving behind three, and all the "End of the Month" recipes he'd done on the side.

That board clone wasn't kidding.
Forget hearty, these things could give most fast food restaurants a run for their money - there was enough fat in there to clog an entire sewer system, and four Type-2 Diabetes' worth of concentrated sucrose.

But FUCK if it didn't smell good!
God, she had to put concentrated effort into not salivating onto the floor - even with the virgin's scent now dissipating.
Honestly, with how well-behaved he was during the whole ordeal, she had considered riding Tom into the sunrise, just to let out some steam herself, but holy shit, she'd be surprised if she'll be able to walk after... Well, any of this.

Hoookay, Katie, easy now... Don't go overboard, you still have Tom to share this with, and--

"Dibs on the "shoestrings"!"

...Cocksucker.
Welp, Tom, there goes your sex for good conduct!
Unless the thirsty perv would like to get his pelvis crushed.

"We don't have to eat it all at once." the masked man reasoned, growing wary of her silence.

That's true. But still...

"God Lord, I'm going to go up at least three sizes if I have to live of of these..." she muttered.
Tom smiled.
"Eh, it's not that bad. You could wear a large pullover to hide it for the winter, or a turtleneck..."

Hm, good idea--Wait.

...No.
No, please tell me you haven't fallen for the whole "thick" trend, too. I know you lived through virtual starvation at the Somme or whatever, but please, don't be a fucking perv NOW!

"Besides..."

...God damnit, Tom, you fucking pervert...!

"You look beautiful, either way!"

...God damnit, Tom, you frickin' sweetheart...

Cont.
-
He got them both a mug of maple cream ale, and they stared out through the window, as the distant fires of Hell went from red to blue, creating a myriad of pale colors on the infernal sky.
Despite the fires now being cleaner, big flakes of damp, oily ash had began to drift down from above - Hell's first "snow" of the year.

Katie smiled - it was a small, soft smile, one of genuine joy and elation.
It's been a while since she had one - she couldn't even remember.
Then again, when was the last time she had a disaster averted like this,
Or the last time she made a friend? God, it must've been in high school, and even then, only around the final year before graduation.
Unpleasant memories came flooding back in, and the smile, like a snowdrop, withered away.
She drank deeply into her mug, hoping that the drink would wash it away - or, at least, hide her sorrow before her colleague.

...But then, she felt a hand on her arm.

"Hey, Katie?"

...Don't do this. Don't ruin this more than I did...

"Merry Christmas."

...She damn nearly laughed.

"Merry Christmas, Tom."


THE END