Being the Former Archon's Live-in Cook

Act 1

You've always been a part of Fontaine ever since you can remember. Eighteen years of your life guaranteed you an in-depth familiarity over your surroundings, the people, and the hobbies that you holstered in your arsenal. Being the son of two very different people has influenced how you drew breath and abided by your own unique way of settlement. 

Your dad was a former well-renowned mercenary who had previously worked for the Adventurer's Guild. Due to his incredible array of connections all around the nation that highlighted justice as its main priority, you were presented multiple options about what career would most benefit you in the long-term. It was just one referral from your dad and you would be working as an assistant that could be promoted higher. An auspicious future awaited you, no matter how many days pass, you'd reap all the benefits if you so desired but unfortunately for you, nothing screamed love like being a mother's favorite.

Your mom was a lawyer. Naturally, with her being the most logical one in the family, you leaned more onto her and she was more than happy to know that. In terms of characteristics, traits, or qualities, you were just like your mom. Always on the side of truth. Ethical responsibility instilled in you the values of honesty and integrity in dealing with whomever you interact with. And those who were stubborn and sidestepped their ways around that would be met with the consequences. 

With that being mentioned, the people your dad know are double-edged. Individuals who have a lofty reputation but a greater amount of misused power lurked beneath those facades. Ones that don't sit right with you. With a funny pair of justice and injustice, you temporarily thought your parents wouldn't get along well but you weren't always correct. There's a reason the two married so the fact they're still together spoke volumes of their relationship, regardless of their backgrounds.

But of course, being born from a family of two, you'd also inherit some rather prominent qualities and features from your pops. 

You're still young. A young goose that was waddling around in an influx of stronger birds. You're blessed with a strong body, flexible, and bursting with energy in the tasks that you're assigned to do. That didn't directly translate to a life of following your dad's footsteps.

How the courts operated in their proceedings, a prophecy entailing a most recent massive gargantuan flood that threatened to submerge all of Fontaine and surviving it, speaking to people you know who you can trust to an extent. That was what interested you more, though it wasn't something you're serious about. Life was all about trying new things so you did everything in balance. You are a freedom-loving freelancer. 

News flew around here in a flash but that was because the Steambird was highly competent in sharing information. They didn't just dilly-dally around. Charlotte, one of The Steambird's well-esteemed journalists probably would have been more updated on anything else faster than a Treasure Hoarder can be updated on the latest locations of new treasure scattered in ruins. Thus, you made efforts in befriending her so you could get scoops about this and that if something crossed your mind. 

Those were the things you enjoyed. Graduating from being a teenager, you have finally taken a job at Café Lutece as one of its cooks. Suffice to say, your cooking abilities were far from the line of adulteration. If anything, your skills beatified the environment with a silent fist, making sure your foods are delightful to the visiting populace whenever they arrived for a bite. You work without praise and that was how you liked it. When a customer coveted how you prepared the custard sauce, beat the egg whites, and added your own personal garnish, Café Lutece had gotten an additional few of heads taking a look into the establishment. Sooner than later, the manager inquired about your knowledge and utilized it to expand the menu. You made him promise to keep your name a secret. Attracting attention was the last thing you wanted, especially since your dad wouldn't shut up about it when you did something either small or big.