Terrasphere was the promised oasis of the second life, albeit delivered by an incredibly sketchy virtual message that Nicole Rose’s system had flagged as ‘suspicious’ (which meant, roughly: 10% chance of porn, 90% chance of identity theft, with an overlapping 5% chance of identity theft for purposes that were vaguely pornographic. Roughly.) Naturally, in this wondrous new world, something suitably terrible had transpired; Hanzo Generico had found himself deeply entrenched within the mire of the unemployment line. Because, for some unfathomable reason, the friendly hub of Honeyhome Village didn’t have a burgeoning underground crime scene. This solitary revelation seemed so absurdly monstrous in its inequity that Hanzo Generico’s new temporary ‘job’ was casting his resentment upon the town-folk. “Look, buddy, I’m not saying this thing you do where you make the repeated forward-and-backward motions with the farming appliance to feed your wife and children throughout the unforgiving winter isn’t important or anything.” Hanzo’s pallid features contorted indignantly as he addressed the burly villager, whose features were themselves contorted, albeit by the hand-callusing struggle between man and harvest. “I’m just saying that maybe it’s not as important as equal representation in the job market. I picked the ‘Vice’ vocation, for crying out loud; where are my job opportunities? A confused blink briefly interrupted the struggle painted upon the farmer’s face, “Huh? What are you even saying right now?” “Oh, nevermind, you poor hapless NPC, but lemme ask you this one,” Hanzo leaned forward, close enough to make out each individual droplet of sweat that de-rendered as they melted down the man’s face, “My other vocation that I picked is Theatrics, you know?” For some strange reason, that got the farmer’s attention, “You saying you can act?” “Yes, my NPC friend, yes I can!” Hanzo Generico exclaimed, character perfectly integrated into the world of Terrasphere! --- As it happened, the farmer was not just a farmer but also an aspiring entrepreneur of sorts who sought to run a side business of selling fried-up chickens! Ever the keen businessman, he had offered Hanzo and his acting skills a star-making turn as mascot, garbed in the (morbidly obese) chicken-suit his (morbidly obese) wife had crafted. For about five minutes, Hanzo Generico was off the unemployment line, until he realized he was standing around in a chicken suit. He promptly retired. He would not suffer this degradation at the hands of Terrasphere perverts. And so 'newly' unemployed Hanzo stood in the midst of Honeyhome Village within a chicken-suit, with a sign that read: “SKILLED SHINOBI FOR HIRE!”
Leopold was in a bit of a slump as he wandered through the entrance of Honeyhome Village. He had never actually been here yet. He spent most of his time wandering through the woods and plains of Brisshal and had yet to set foot in what could be considered the 'beginner' town. Most of the stuff he wanted from the game could be accomplished by wandering aimlessly and exploring things. If not for the fact that he wanted to become skilled at cooking, he probably would have spent months in game without coming here. Unfortunately, he had been completely unable to figure out ways to get better at cooking on his own. He wasn't skilled enough to kill things for meat, and he didn't have the plant knowledge to figure out what was edible without trial and error. Granted, trial and error would be a viable method if not for the fact that everything he seemed to find made him sick. The good stuff was probably gated behind another vocation, or it was just hard to find. He couldn't accept the possibility that he might just be unlucky. When he reached the center of activity in town, he looked for the telltale signs of a restaurant. A good smell, a billowing chimney, or even outdoor tables. Anything that might indicate food was present. What he found was not exactly what he expected, but it was a sign of food that he was familiar with. There was a tall man in a chicken suit standing there with a sign. It said something that Leopold couldn't complete understand. 'Shinobi.' Probably some other language that he wasn't familiar with. Either way, if he was advertising himself as such while wearing a chicken suit, it probably meant he had some form of kitchen skills. Leopold wasn't sure if he should approach the guy though. The suit was a touch off putting. Who would wear such a thing to advertise their skills? The man was either terrible and needed the eye catching outfit to actually draw attention, or he was just eccentric and possibly quite skilled. Leopold had to mull it over for a bit, but eventually he came to the conclusion that some skill was better than his current lack of skills. He would be able to learn something even if it was minor. Taking a deep breath to collect himself, he smiled cheerily and approached the man. "I uhh... I happen to be looking for someone with your skillset. Do you have specific rates? Do you teach? Would you mind if I watched you work to learn for myself? I am very much interested in hiring you." Leopold rubbed his palms together in front of his chest. He was trying to be amicable so the man might not upcharge him or anything like that.
“Oh. Kon-nicky-wah!” The one behind the avatar of Hanzo Generico had less-than-even-rudimentary skills when it came to the Japanese language, and was debating if ‘Kon-nicky-wah’ was the correct way of greeting, with the alternatives being “Kon-bone-wah” and “Oh-hi-there gozaimask”. In any case, Hanzo was playing a ninja, and ninjas spoke in fists, not in Japanese! What mattered most was not his linguistic failures, but that his saviour had arrived to pluck him from the doldrums of the unemployment line. He gave the Faerin a once over, sizing his up his hopeful employer. “The only particular red flag was that strange hand gesture, the rubbing of palms that immediately conjured up mental images of skeevy goons who moisturized and lathered with olive oils and what he often theorized to be the surface of garlic bread. That, or perhaps it was the physical tic of a hungering old man, craving nubile women to devour whole with a side of chianti. Nicole Rose had, at some point in her life, dealings with various users of classified ad-boards (... to buy used furniture) and had long perceived palm-rubbing as a no-no. But then, unemployment didn’t suit her, and maybe this shinobi-in-training was simply failing at hand-seals required to use a jutsu? “Hmm, nah. No specific rates. After all, is money really so important?” asked the person desperate to get a job. “I do… teach. Yes. Hmm. You’re small; you’ll make a natural shinobi. I would be glad to teach you, for sure! … Was there something very specific, shinobi-wise, that you wanted to learn?”
Leopold was astonished at how polite and mystical this man with his moonspeak. Not wanting to offend this skilled chef called a shinobi, Leopold leaned his head forward in what he imagined to be a formal bow and repeated the greeting back. "Con-niggy-wow." Boy, this language sure was tough. Leopold was almost positive he had mispronounced it, but surely the man wouldn't be too offended by his western sensibilities. Especially considering Leopold wanted to hire the guy. Surely he'd be able to overlook it since money would be changing hands soon. Leopold's business sense was tingling at the mistake though. When it came to high stress, high risk negotiations, the slightest impolite gesture could throw the whole meeting. This wasn't such a situation, but some people took these games and their 'role playing' way too seriously. Leopold nearly fainted from joy when he heard the actual response. Money wasn't important? This was his kind of guy. Free training from an experienced shinobi chef? This was excellent. Leopold would be sure to snub the guy if he tried to backtrack later. A man's word was his bond, after all. When it came to the subject of instruction, Leopold had to mull it over for a solid minute. What did he want to learn? Well, he wanted to learn everything. All the mysteries of cooking eluded him due to the way he lived before, so anything was a good start. But, there was something that stood out as particularly skillful in cooking that Leopold wanted to learn. "I would be most humbly obliged if you were to teach me your masterful shinobi knife skills. I am very weak with a knife, I can hardly cut an onion." Leopold bowed his head once more when he made the request. He was really trying to milk this.
Hanzo was relieved that he had given his avatar a pallid visage, for he was sure he would have paled immediately upon Leopold’s request. A knife? He didn’t have a knife! That, in hindsight, seemed unusual for a practitioner of the ninja arts, considering all the strange weaponry they were known to carry throughout history. He stifled a sigh, somewhat resentful that he had only been given the option to select three masteries; as if three paltry masteries could a true American Ninja Warrior make. The resident (and only) shinobi-master of Honeyhome Village engaged in his finest secret ninja negotiation tactic; he lied. “My knife skills are ‘muy caliente’.” he paused, realizing that Nicole’s California roots were speaking there, not his shinobi personage, “... my knife skills are… sue-goy. If you will follow me, we can begin.” It was to Hanzo’s eternal misfortune that he had interpreted Leopold’s quip about ‘cutting an onion’ simply as a meaningless bit of hyperbole, as opposed to some clue regarding his true intentions. If he had known Leopold Chang simply wished to indulge in the culinary craft, he would have found (stolen) some onions from some unsuspecting farmer and went to town. Instead, he believed that Leopold was interested in learning regarding the art of combat. So, naturally, Hanzo’s guidance led them to a den of slimes (the shinobi was, of course, blissfully unaware of Leopold’s prior history with their ilk). Three masses of amorphous green bubbled about as expressively as gelatinous lumps could, inching ever so slightly towards Hanzo and (presumably) his charge. “They may look like Jello(™),” Hanzo intoned, “but don’t be fooled, you definitely need some expert knife skills to handle these things!” He looked to Leopold, the realization that he still didn’t have a knife dawning on him, “... you wanna give it a go?”
"I am very glad that your knife skills are so gooey." Leopold shrugged at the terminology he was unfamiliar with. This man was probably a good deal younger than him, so the slang lingo was probably the norm for his age. Leopold wasn't over traditional or judgemental about that kind of thing, so he'd probably give it a go later on if he knew the correct way to interject such a quip. 'So gooey.' It must be like... Nope. Still didn't get it, oh well. Leopold was a tad unsure of why they were leaving the village in order to learn cooking skills, but he wasn't the master. Sure, the village had eggs, honey, flour, animals to slaughter, and probably a plethora of vegetables, but real cooking was done in the wild. Maybe. Or perhaps there was a good location to get free produce or possibly even a good pond for fish. Leopold found himself thinking of all the possible options for food and cutting that his new master could be about to teach him. By the time they reached the cave, Leopold had worked himself up into a fever pitch. "... Oh jello, yes." Leopold heard the term and was glad that it was food related. It was even jello which was something he was familiar with. That must be why they were coming all the way out here. Why jello was in a cave was a mystery, but the thought behind the training exercise seemed smart. Jello is soft, and easy to cut, but if you waver, the edges will be jagged and unclean. To cut a clean slice through jello wasn't hard by any means, but it required stability which is obviously very important when working with a dangerous tool. Nodding his head a couple times, Leopold walked in. The small blobs of jello were jiggling and wobbling about. There must be some minor seismic activity in the area because these buggers were actually sliding towards him. How strange, Leopold couldn't feel any shaking. He was also having the strangest sense of deja vu, but he thought nothing of it. This was a cooking exercise, he didn't need to be worried. Reaching down, he braced one of the jellos with his left hand. Well, 'braced'. His hand sank right in, but that's to be expected. He then realized he didn't have a knife. "Woops. Silly me. Could I borrow a knife? It seems I came unprepared for class." Leopold was blushing a bit at his tiny blunder. How could he not bring a knife to learn how to cut? The dolt. He seemed unphased by, or perhaps unaware, that his left hand was turning bright red and starting to blister. This ignorance would not last long.
Hanzo looked upon Leopold’s hand, quickly festering and reddening within the slime’s treacherous innard… and thought nothing in particular about it. “Oh. Go-man-nay-sigh.” He pronounced with supreme accuracy, almost as if Japanese was in fact his native tongue, “Okay, so, the thing about my knife is that it’s a special knife.” Morality-wise, he wondered what it meant exactly: how very easy it was becoming for him to simply lie and lie and lie again to suit his own needs. Perhaps he earned a free pass for simply lying in a virtual world, or perhaps it was a hint towards his true malevolent nature. Nonetheless, he arranged his right hand in the standard ASL-symbol of ‘karate chop’, his hand shaped into a knife-edge. Wait. A special knife-edge. “The thing about knives is that if you want to learn how to fight with knives,” Hanzo said confidently as he eyed the slime that had enraptured Leopold, “... you gotta learn how to stab with your hands first. Generico Technique Series #1: Kusanagi Chop!” With blistering mediocre speed, the shinobi’s hand stabbed into the slime, with predictable results. There was a slight give as the hand dug in, and then the amorphous substance turned tight and rigid around the intruding limb. Which was just as well; it seemed that, for whatever reason, Hanzo was just as unfazed when it came to his trapped hand, quickly boiling over and… melting. He looked to Leopold, eyebrow raised, “Neat, huh?”
Leopold's eyes nearly popped out of his head when he heard the incredible comparison between cooking and battle. That's right, if he wanted to learn to cut proficiently in the kitchen, he needed to treat his training like a battle with his life on the line. Conflict brought change, often for the better, so if he wanted to better himself, this needed to feel real. He nodded his head vigorously as he watched the master 'shinobi' chef perform his chop. He accidentally blinked when it happened, but the next thing he knew, the man's hand was already deep into the jello, with no indication of a cut, as if it had merely wrapped around his hand by itself. Leopold was a touch bewildered. How fast had the man swung his 'special knife' hand in order to penetrate through the jello with such precision, that it closed up seamlessly after his hand passed through? It was incredulous to say the least. Leopold had to assume it was some game mechanic that made actions beyond human comprehension possible in the virtual world. Leopold jolted his hand up and out of the jello he had previously pressed his hand into. He didn't catch sight of the damage it had already caused because he was too wrapped up in mimicking his master. Hand flattened like a 'special blade,' Leopold plunged down his limb into the juicy blob below, trying to slice it. His hand hit the surface with a splashing noise, before slowly sinking in. "Perhaps I should have held my hand vertical like you, instead of horizontal." Leopold had accidentally slapped straight down with an open palm. It was clearly ineffectual, though, there was a spatter of the slime in the area as Leopold had manage to splatter some of its composition.
Hanzo Generico couldn’t lie (well, he could): this really, really hurt. His entire forearm felt as if it had been dipped in some peculiar blend of lye, sriracha-mayo, wasabi and literal battery acid, although only after the skin had been peeled off, crisped and re-attached, ala peking duck. The thought process had made him even the slightest bit hungry, although the agonizing pain was far more prevalent. His gaze, squinted from the pain, switched to Leopold’s hand, which was now in a different position than it had been initially. This guy… he pulled it out just to go back in? Hanzo was in a conundrum. He still fully expected to be paid for his efforts here, and thus needed to maintain the illusion that they were qualified. The shinobi dared not pull his hand from the slime’s innards, for fear that Leopold would call him out on his cowardice, lack of pain tolerance, inexperience, or any combination of the above. Yet this was not a sustainable ruse, at some point he would have to extricate himself from this situation. He decided, perhaps, that the acceptable compromise was to simply have his hand embedded longer than Leopold. “... hey, hey… you, uh, feeling ready to give up yet?” Hanzo attempted to adopt a tone of cavalier nonchalance, yet found it difficult to do so when speaking through gritted teeth.
Ready to give up? Why would his master say that? Leopold was at a loss for words upon hearing the question. It just didn't make sense. They were here to train. Leopold wanted to learn. Why in gods name would he just give up on a whim? Was this a test? Leopold gritted his teeth, and focused, staring hearnestly at his teacher. "Never. I will learn this at all costs." His expression was stoic and determined as he seemed woefully unconcerned with his hand. He was actually aware of a dull aching sensation, and the fact that his hand felt heavy and weak, but he was not aware this was supposed to be pain. After his previous encounter, he had listened to the advice of other players and switched from the realistic setting to the simulated pain setting. This being the first time getting hurt since switching, he figured he had just bumped his hand on the ground after splattering the 'jello'. Leopold prepared to lift his hand and give it another go, this time matching his master's hand motion. He wasn't certain he'd be able to cut it, but he couldn't sit around without trying... Unless that's what he was supposed to do? His master had asked him that question. Was it indeed a test? Or something even more thought provoking? Leopold's analytical mind raced and he reached a new conclusion. Maybe he was supposed to give up in order to move to the next lesson. This was beginning to seem like one of those 'rise from the ashes' scenarios where he had to truly fail in order to truly succeed. Smiling to himself, Leopold bowed his head to his master and lifted his hand free from the slime. "I understand now. I am ready for the next cutting lesson." Leopold was so confident that he had understood Hanzo's message. It just seemed like the most obvious and most likely solution. What else could he have even meant by it?
What it was that Leopold understood, exactly, was beyond Hanzo Generico. But praise the Ninja Lord. “You… catch on quickly,” Hanzo mused, absorbed in the thought of what the next cutting lesson was meant to be. It occurred to him that in his past life he had taken all his various teachers and personal instructors more or less for granted. Never before had he realized the difficulty involved in taking a lifetime’s worth of knowledge and craftsmanship and disseminating it into palatable morsels for student consumption. (Harder still, then, was taking knowledge you didn’t have and doing much the same). “Yes, great job, let’s move to the next ‘cutting lesson’,” he made to give his hand blissful reprieve from the slime’s torturous caress. His visage, for brief moments, flickered and betrayed his true emotions. First, relief that bordered on ecstacy. Secondly, a moment of frustrated horror as he realized he could not remove his hand. The slime’s amorphous form had tightened, like a sphincter in rigor mortis. “... your next cutting lesson is to get me out of this slime, without also falling victim to its trap-like body. You will, uh, need to use all your cunning and creativity for this one.”
