"We've arrived!" I whisper-shouted, my hands high up in the air. Not because I was just that excited to be out (though I was pretty excited for that too), but because I was trying to stretch out my bruised bones now that I had the space to do so. And boy did I have some bruised bones! My back was so sore, I was worrying whether I'd have to go to the apothecary's to check out my spine. Maybe I could ask Idel?

Anyways, for now I inhaled deeply. Fresh air! How marvelously delicious!

Rosa was stretching next to me, doing some side-bends and lunges at the same time, which made her look very strange. She also breathed in deeply. "Man, what a nice sea breeze! As expected of Durova's harbor town, Plantar! Also, did you know that plantar basically means sole of the foot?"

"Hmm?" I responded, reaching for my toes and half-listening. "Really?"

"Yeah, isn't that cool? We're at the foot of Durova, essentially. Fitting for a seaside town, don't you think?"

Standing up, Rosa suddenly spun around and beamed at me, and someone behind me cried out weakly. "Ha!" Rosa barked, not at all caring. "I sound like a typical village NPC, welcoming you to a new town!"

"Don't know what that means, but good for you," I grunted, trying to make sure all my ribs were arranged correctly. I looked around-- where did the bald guy with the mustache go? I wanted to thank him for his help, but he was nowhere in sight.

Instead of the bald guy, Cook emerged out of nowhere and stood behind Rosa, arms crossed. "This way," he said, and Rosa flailed forward.

Twisting around, she gave him a baleful look. "Don't sneak up on me like that! I could've stabbed you!"

Cook merely twitched an eyebrow at her before facing forward again grimly. "Follow me," he said, and nudged past me roughly.

I stumbled backwards a bit myself. "Kinda rude, but okay," I murmured, trailing after him.

From what Rosa had managed to tell me before we got on the cart, the gambling ring apparently took place every Saturday at the harbors of this very city, Plantar. I'd never been there since I was, like, eight, and even then it had been a passing glance. If I hadn't heard this at three in the morning, about to ride a stuffy, overcrowded cart for two hours on a rough ride to be spies in a gambling ring, I might have been excited for the trip.

But alas, it had been three in the morning followed by a two-hour ride in a stuffy, overcrowded cart, and we were heading there to be spies in a gambling ring, so there wasn't much excitement here.

The streets were already pretty bustling despite it being probably like 5 AM by now, and nobody even threw us a second glance. Huh, maybe that was because this was a seaside town-- I'd heard before from some of the aunties that their cousins or friends or brother-in-laws that lived by the sea followed a different schedule, thanks to all the fishing that took place at dawn. I shuddered-- nope, I definitely wouldn't be able to live here with my love of sleeping.

We were still on the outskirts of town when we reached an area with an entire row of warehouses, which...? Who built a row of warehouses at the outskirts of town? What for?

Anyway, Cook headed directly to the warehouse nearest to us, and I blinked at it a bit suspiciously. 

"Wait a minute," I said, slowing down and narrowing my eyes. "Why does this seem so..."

"Of course it's a warehouse," Rosa snorted as she moved past me. "All nefarious ongoings must take place in warehouses."

Ohh, so that's why! I snapped and pointed at the warehouse. "The Society of sadness, or whatever!"

"The SAD Society of Death, yeah."

As we reached the backdoor, Cook abruptly stopped and turned to give us a look. “You two!” he barked.

I stood to attention, and poked Rosa roughly to do the same. "Hey!" she said, but she straightened up all the same.

“Better not say anything unnecessary,” he warned, looking very grim.

Rosa nodded, just as seriously. "I promise I won't," she said, but Cook looked at me, and I looked at him, and I shook my head slightly.

Trusting Rosa's promise not to say anything unnecessary would be like trusting Roly Poly's promise not to fight: very, very useless. 

I stepped forward a bit and gave Cook my best reassuring smile. “I’ll take care of her,” I promised instead, and Cook finally nodded before turning around.

"No fair, how come he trusts you?" she grumbled after he went.

"Gee! I wonder why!" I gave her a wry smile. "Who was it that threatened to dunk his bag in the barrel of pickle juice last time?"

Rosa opened her mouth to retort, considered it, then nodded. "Yeah, you right."

And with that, we followed him in.

---

“Whoa,” I breathed, my eyes wide. “That’s a lot of people.”

And there were-- the warehouse we’d stepped into had looked normal on the outside, but apparently the floor had been dug into, so it looked like a shallow arena, with two stages: one on ground-level for people (like us) to stand on, probably for the sake of observing, and the deeper one surrounded by a fence, which I couldn’t really see through all these people.

Rosa leaned towards me and whispered, “This is not what I was expecting. I was thinking, like, a small casino filled with the smoke of cigarettes and a bunch of mean-eyed grumps like Cook, holding cards in their hands and eyeing us as they spit on the ground.”

"Uhhh.... okay? Very, um, specific." Where did she even get that image from? No wait-- I'd been thinking recently that maybe all the weird things Rosa talked about might have been normal where she was originally, um, from. What if everything I considered strange about her was actually considered to be the norm there? Then this very specific description just might have been super common to her. That would make a lot of sense.

“What are they gambling on?” Rosa asked in the meantime, already over that conversation. She was trying to peer at what was happening below. “Gladiator fights?” 

"Gladiator fights?" I echoed incredulously, before I knew it. My mind whirred in chaos. Did she have gladiator fights back there, too??!

“You mean, like horse racing?" Rosa glowered. "Animal abuse!”

“No, not animals," frowned Cook. He folded his arms and nodded towards the inside area (uselessly, because I still couldn’t see), and said, seriously, “Cooks.”

Alarmed, I gasped and looked up at Cook. Racing Cooks?! Then I frowned. Racing Cooks??!

“What do you mean, cooks?” Rosa asked, looking just as thrown off as I felt. Good to know this wasn't considered normal anywhere I knew of, then. "Cooks running fast tracks, or what?"

He shook his head. “Cook-off races. Speed cook-offs. We bet on who’ll win.”

I reeled backwards, completely flabbergasted. Cook-offs. They bet on cook-offs. Um. That was surprisingly... wholesome, I guess.

I was just turning to Rosa and mouthing Cook-offs! to her when a man shoved past me and put a hand on Cook’s shoulder.

"Ow," I complained. What was this, Shove Past Filian Day?

“Hey man, how’ve you been!” said the rude shover.

Cook turned around, jerking his chin in greeting. “Good to see you. How’re the rates?”

In the back, Rosa was throwing up her hands dramatically. "C'mon. I know this game was PG-13, but c’mon. Gambling ring. Who has a gambling ring for cooking competitions?"

"Yeah," I agreed, then paused. Peejee thirteen?

The new guy side-eyed us a bit snidely. “What. You got a problem with that?”

“Yes, when you’re calling it Private Affair Dicin’ and Cashin’, it is! Why not just call it Dinin’ and Dashin’, nice and simple, huh?!”

“Dicin’ is a side competition, I’ll have you know,” snapped the new guy. He was a tall man, with orange-ish hair, and when he loomed over us threateningly, his orange hair gained a shadow that made it look brown. “I’ll ask again,” he growled. “You got a problem with that?”

Rosa stepped up to him, completely undaunted. “You bet I--"

“Don’t!” I interrupted, smiling at him as brightly as I could, my hand muffling Rosa’s resounding do. "Don't," I repeated for good measure.  "We totally don't have a problem here. Yes."

The man harrumphed and turned to Cook again, and I turned to glare at Rosa, who hadn't stopped glaring at the guy.

(Meanwhile, Cook, unbeknownst to anyone else, raised a finger into the air and murmured, only loud enough for himself to hear, "'Dinin' and Dashin', that's not a bad name. Not a bad name at all.")

"Anyhow," the man said loudly, completely ignoring us, "what were we-- oh!"

We all turned to see what the man had been surprised by. "Oh!" he said again, raising a hand in greeting. "Pig Eater, over here!"

I frowned. "Pig Eater?"

Rosa frowned too, removing my hand from her mouth. "What is this, a slur against omnivores?" she demanded.

"What? No!" The man turned to us again. "Don't you even know the rules?! Nobody uses their real name here, so we all use fake names."

"Why would you--" She stopped, then tapped her chin. "Actually, that's pretty cool."

The man blinked, looking surprised at Rosa's fast acknowledgement. "Hehe," he kind of laughed, relaxing. "It is, isn't it?"

The Pig Eater (or so I assumed) neared us, squeezing between people. "Hey! Friendly Man!"

I gasped. "Friendly Man!" I repeated in a hush. Friendly Man? This guy? This snappy, threatening, shoved-past-me-rudely dude was Friendly Man? 

Rosa had gasped along with me when I'd gasped, too, but now she was hanging her head and looked like she was trying not to laugh. I elbowed her softly. "Rosa," I warned.

"I know," she warbled back in a whisper.

Meanwhile, the two men were shaking hands. "Pig Eater," greeted supposedly Friendly Man. He turned to Cook and said, "Let me introduce the two of you. This here is Pig Eater, and this here--" he gestured to Cook, facing Pig Eater again, "--is the very man I was telling you about."

"Ah!" Pig Eater said, smiling broadly at Cook. "Then you must be Cook-y Monster!"

I turned to Rosa then, wide-eyed. "Cookie Monster?" I whispered, barely keeping my voice down.

Alas, it proved to be too much for poor Rosa-- she sort of sank to the ground and began laughing so hard, she was snorting. I stared down at her and her shaking shoulders, very conflicted.

Now, what to do-- hide these sparkles with my skirt, or give up on retaining any semblance of a 'secret mission' from the get-go?