Category Archive

The scene opens in the cage of Anton Savor, Captain Arcadia, and Mister Sunshine. Anton sits in the far corner, back to the bars, glaring at the others with visible disgust.  “Do you know what I hate, Sunshine? Captain? I … Read More

In haute cuisine, there’s a tradition of gilding—covering food in delicate sheets of gold. It’s dazzling, decadent, and entirely flavorless. The gold adds no richness, no substance, no life. It exists only to suggest importance—a performance of luxury meant to … Read More

El Mariachi Muerte. That’s what they called you. Death’s musician. The singer of endings. At one point, you were among the most feared, most enigmatic figures in Arcadia, never mind Old School Wrestling. But you let Caido take it all, … Read More

There’s a difference between a meal and a memory. A real egg, cracked open in the morning, fried on a pan, leaves behind a scent that lingers, a taste that stays with you. An imprint of life that feels earned. … Read More

You know, there’s an art to taking. Most people think it’s a blunt thing—snatching what doesn’t belong to you, clawing at scraps, desperate for something in your hands. But that’s theft, not taking. Taking is precise. It’s knowing the moment, … Read More

Jackson Cade, This is your jurisdiction, isn’t it? You may not wear the star anymore, but I know how these things work. You’re still the law in your eyes. Still the one who decides what’s right and what gets swept … Read More

You walk like you’re free, Ayame. Like every footstep toward the Temple came from your own desire. Like the mask was your voice. Like the blood on your claws marked rebellion, not obedience. But I’ve seen this dance before. The … Read More

Every great menu tells a story. Course by course, dish by dish, a symphony of flavor unfolds—each bite building upon the last, each element harmonized in service of the greater whole. It’s not just food. It’s composition. Balance. And yet, … Read More

They say it’s impossible to look at the sun and see its flaws. That to the naked eye, it’s just light—pure, blinding, untouchable. But point the right lens at it, and what you find are sunspots. Black pits in the … Read More

They say a chef is only as good as his tools. His knives. His pans. His vessels. You rely on them to carry the flame, contain the heat, and deliver something pure from chaos. But even the finest vessel, Reverend… … Read More