A Kitchen?

She cursed her luck. She'd asked the monks to give her a room out of the ordinary, a place where she could test her skill in a new way. She'd heard of battles on top of giant moving dice, or fights held inside glass bottles. So when the monks led her to a corridor, and told her it was the corridor reserved for strange and different arenas, she expected to be in for a treat.

But the door she had picked had led her into, of all places, a kitchen. What was interesting about a kitchen? She was in the refrigerator section right now, with large gleaming metal doors looming on both sides of her. She was in the mood now to find her opponent, shove him into one of the freezing cold compartments, and have done with it.

"There's nothing unique about this place. It's a kitchen! If I'd wanted to fight in a kitchen I would have stayed at my mother's house!" She was speaking rapidly to herself, giving no heed to the idea that her opponent might be waiting for her. At this point, she might not mind an arrow to the head. She'd wake up in one of the infirmary beds, and then maybe she could try for a real arena.

Rounding the corner, the kitchen widened to two long aisles, divided by a couple of tables covered in meats and cheeses, along with various jars filled to the brim with exotic spices and poultry seasonings. Along one wall was a massive, commercial-sized oven. Even with the door closed and her several feet away, she could feel the heat issuing from that monster.

On the far end of the aisles was another table, set perpendicular to the others. At it, a man worked quickly and carefully, chopping vegetables and cracking eggs into a bowl. His back was to her, and all she could see in the dim industrial light was that he appeared bald. And my, what a small neck! Maybe he could use some food after all. It might put some meat on his bones!

Walking forward, she called out, "Sir? Sir! I'm afraid I may be in the wrong place...I was looking for a battle, not a banquet. Sir?"