Quynh Thi Luong

"Nah, honey, you're not missing out on a damn thing." Quynh leans back in her chair, crosses her boots on the table, reaches for the pipe the halfling next to her is offering.

"Yeah okay, the decor's nice; I always did like that wall tapestry with the silver chimera. And sometimes you get to see the Turay family in all their fancy regalia, or Lady Udoka at her private table with whoever she's seeing this month... But the actual food, tho? It's awful! Overpriced, pretentious garbage! Seriously, he lets us eat there for free and I'm always makin up some excuse not to."

"Here, take a look at this---" She digs around in her pack, haphazardly unfolds a sheet of fine parchment, jabs at it with her finger.

[It's some kind of prix-fixe menu, dated three weeks ago. In exquisite calligraphy:]

. steamed basilisk tail dumplings . cockatrice saliva reduction .

. curried mandrake soup .

. firebolt-seared illithid tentacle calamari . organic wild fresian greens . melf's lemon vinaigrette .

. coconut black-pudding pudding . gelatinous cube tapioca .

. 1499 north tranquil coast goodberry wine .

[There's no price listed anywhere on the page -- it's the kind of establishment where, if you even have to ask, you're definitely too poor.]

"Can you believe they pay for the privilege of eating this shit? I swear, Gustavo must have some sort of enchantment over the whole place, otherwise I've no clue why these gullible fucks keep coming back! For real, we keep antitoxin vials in our pockets on delivery days, cuz he keeps pulling us into the kitchen to taste his latest culinary abomination."

"Like, why's everything gotta be exotic and potentially-lethal with these people? Whatever happened to simple food done right? Ughh, gimme some pork belly and eggs in fish sauce, rice porridge with chicken, mushrooms and morning glory -- that's the stuff I miss from back home."

Quynh looks wistful for a moment, takes a swig from a bottle of dwarven stout.

"Anyway, the pay's right, at least; I can tell you that much. See, Gustavo can't just hire any band of mercs to supply .beastiary. The weekly menu's always a secret, and he's paranoid about tipping off competitors. He only trusts his own people. He and my uncle were childhood buddies; pretty sure that's only reason I got the job, to be honest with you. It's a good arrangement. Every week he hands us a grocery list and half the gold upfront. We acquire the ingredients, he pays the other half on delivery. He don't ever ask how we got it, we don't ever ask what the fuck he needs it for..."