DIR Return Create A Forum - Home
       ---------------------------------------------------------
       The United Roleplayer's Guild
  HTML https://unitedroleplayers.createaforum.com
       ---------------------------------------------------------
       *****************************************************
   DIR Return to: Multiverse/Elseworlds Stories
       *****************************************************
       #Post#: 20445--------------------------------------------------
       Multiversal Story: Bargg’s Bayou Bistro – Chapter 2: Blood and B
       éarnaise
       By: Raven Tepes Date: October 19, 2025, 6:35 pm
       ---------------------------------------------------------
       The fog rolled in from the Mississippi that night, thick and
       heavy as roux. Streetlamps turned to smudges of amber, and the
       port district pulsed with slow jazz and the smell of roasted
       garlic. Bargg wiped down the last table of the evening, humming
       to himself.
       Business was booming — but something had shifted. A few of his
       regulars had started drifting elsewhere. Dockhands whispered
       about a new restaurant just a few blocks over. A place called
       Crimson & Clove.
       Bargg had passed by it once: black marble façade, silver
       lettering, and velvet curtains that never seemed to move. The
       maître d’ was pale as candle wax, and the smell from inside…
       well, it was strange. Rich. Iron-sweet.
       He hadn’t thought much of it until Captain Duval — loyal as an
       old dog — skipped dinner at the bistro two nights in a row.
       “Crystal,” Bargg muttered, glancing at the soft glow beneath his
       apron. “You ever hear of a vampire who can cook?”
       The gem thrummed with faint amusement. Vampires can cook. They
       just don’t eat.
       That was unsettling enough.
       So, Bargg went to investigate.
       Crimson & Clove was all candlelight and shadows. Patrons
       whispered like they were afraid to disturb the air. The walls
       were covered in crimson drapes, and at the far end of the room
       stood a tall, lean man with eyes like garnets and skin smooth as
       bone china.
       “Welcome,” the man said as Bargg ducked through the door, nearly
       scraping his horns on the frame. “You must be Chef Bargg.”
       “Depends who’s askin’,” Bargg replied.
       “I am Lucien Devereaux. Proprietor. Chef. Sommelier. And…
       connoisseur.” His smile revealed the barest hint of fangs. “I
       have heard whispers of your little establishment.”
       “Bayou Bistro’s doin’ fine,” Bargg said, voice steady. “Don’t
       see why that concerns you.”
       Lucien chuckled softly. “Competition, my dear troll, is the
       spice of life — or… unlife, as it were. But lately, I’ve noticed
       my shipments of prime blood reduction going missing. And some of
       my more delicate patrons have complained of… garlic on the
       wind.”
       Bargg’s jaw tightened. “Ain’t my style to steal ingredients. And
       if your folk can’t handle a little garlic, maybe they shouldn’t
       be dining in Louisiana.”
       Lucien’s red eyes gleamed. “Oh, I admire your boldness. Truly.
       But understand — I do not share my clientele. Nor my city.”
       The crystal pulsed hot against Bargg’s chest. He’s using
       enchantments. Beware.
       Bargg smiled — the kind of grin that had once scared off
       mountain bandits. “Tell ya what, blood-boy. Let’s settle this
       like chefs, not monsters. Cook-off. Tomorrow night. Winner gets
       braggin’ rights — and the loser closes up shop.”
       Lucien raised an elegant brow. “A cook-off? How quaint. Very
       well. But know this — my menu has been centuries in the making.”
       “Then you better hope it’s aged well,” Bargg said, stomping out
       into the mist.
       The next night, the whole port district turned out for it.
       Dockhands, jazz musicians, voodoo queens, even a few curious
       vampires in lace gloves and wide hats. The rules were simple:
       one dish each, judged by a panel of mortals and spirits alike.
       Lucien went first. He crafted a dish of seared duck with
       blood-orange glaze — elegant, decadent, aromatic enough to make
       even Bargg’s mouth water.
       Then it was the troll’s turn.
       He didn’t go fancy. Just pulled out his battered cast-iron
       cauldron and made gumbo. Crawfish, okra, smoked sausage, shrimp,
       and a dash of magic. The aroma rose like a hymn, thick and rich
       and alive.
       When the judges tasted both, they whispered among themselves —
       then smiled.
       Lucien’s dish was exquisite, but cold. Beautiful, but lifeless.
       Bargg’s gumbo, though… it sang.
       When the final verdict came, Lucien’s smile didn’t falter — but
       his eyes burned.
       “Well played, mountain troll,” he said, bowing slightly. “You’ve
       won this round. But remember — in New Orleans, the night never
       ends. And neither do I.”
       Bargg grinned. “Good. Then come by for dinner sometime. I’ll
       make ya somethin’ with heart.”
       Lucien’s laugh was soft and wicked. “Oh, I never doubt that.”
       He vanished into the fog, and the crystal at Bargg’s chest
       dimmed to a warm, satisfied glow.
       That night, as Bargg scrubbed pots and hummed to himself, he
       couldn’t shake the feeling this wasn’t over. Vampires were proud
       — and patient.
       But that was fine. He had his crystal, his gumbo, and his city.
       And if Lucien Devereaux ever wanted a rematch…
       Well, Bargg had plenty more spice where that came from.
       *****************************************************