You here? Want a pie to snack on?
HP | 70,0 + (2,4*lvl) |
DEF |
Trigger | Dialogue |
---|---|
Identity Acquisition | You here? Want a pie to snack on? |
Morning Greeting | NOUN. I’m busy with the M.E.P. |
Afternoon Greeting | These are peak business hours. Hope we don’t run out of ingredients… |
Evening Greeting | Sorry, pies are sold out for today. …Well, I could make you another if you lend a hand. |
Chatter #1 | Stop. Don’t… enter further. I’m in the middle of the most important step. |
Chatter #2 | Though I can’t replicate the original flavor thanks to supplies being cut off from all my usual providers… I sure can try. |
Chatter #3 | Gregor… He keeps eyeing the spot of head chef… Ha, what a laugh. |
Post-Uptie Chat 1 | I strive to stand out from other farcical restaurants. That… is gastronomy. It’s an art. |
Post-Uptie Chat 2 | Damn it, stop milling about before me. Don’t wanna make a pie out of my regulars… …Tsk, why do you have to look this fresh? |
Idle | …If you’ve got nothing to say, I’ll be off. No time to waste if I want to be one of the ‘Eight Chefs’. |
Uptying | Finally, I’m joining the Eight— This isn’t about that? Tsk, not that interested then. |
Deployment | I’ll show you scratch cooking. |
Stage Entry | Looking forward to a treat. |
Viewed in Battle | Ordered for pick-up? |
Commencing Attack | How will you taste? |
Enemy Stagger | Gotta make sure to drain all the blood. |
Staggered | Tch… |
Enemy Killed | Now, you look useful. |
Death | I never thought… I’d be an ingredient… |
Check Passed | Mhm. That was a good recipe. |
Check Failed | Damn, it’s burnt. |
Victory Cry | A basketful of ingredients. |
Extra Conditions Fulfilled | With all these goods… I won’t have to worry about running out early. |
Defeat Wail | Tch… It’s fine. Can always find ingredients elsewhere. |
Rustle Up
After defeating an enemy, heal the ally with the least HP for 15 HP. (Once per turn.)
If this unit has an Appetite, spend it to boost the healing based on its Count.
Artistic Flavor
SCARLET x 5
When an enemy is defeated, the ally with the least HP heals 15 HP. (Once per turn.)
P.C.
P.C.
P.C.
P.C.
I.H.
I.H.
I.H.
I.H.
I Can Cook Anything
I Can Cook Anything
Oh, you’re up.
The child speaks plainly.
If it weren’t for the visceral scenery, it could easily be mistaken for a cordial greeting to someone who just woke up from sweet slumber.
Good thing you got up in time. If the work’s done while the heartbeat’s too slow, it impacts the taste.
The child watches someone laid on the floor with a light cackle.
The pitiful fellow writhes and struggles on the floor, unable to accept the situation.
Hey, don’t move too much. Tsk, I told that sous-chef to sap enough wind out of the meat.
Slap.
The child slapped the poor fellow’s cheek, her words heartless.
Can’t stand when the subject material tries to take the center of the art on its own. Keep still if you don’t want your L.B.
Even though there was no way for the victim to know that it stood for “limbs broken”…
They noticed quickly enough that remaining still was the only way to prolong their life.
Here’s your reward for being such an O.P.
Jab.
The child inserted a syringe she’d been fiddling with into the victim.
It’s an injection of anesthetics mixed with a variety of flavoring agents. A pricey concoction that will make you the greatest work in the Backstreets, a delicacy… and art.
The child’s constant rambling about art and such can be a bit confusing…
One thing to note is that the Backstreets of District 23 are known as the streets of flavor.
That’s right, the Backstreets located around the Nest where W Corp. is.
Its culture revolves around gastronomy; the people seek good eating and derive beauty from it.
Those closely related to culinary art—such as the Eight Chefs and the Dochelin Guides—also originate from this place.
This child wants to join the ranks of the prestigious Eight. She uses humans, often called one of the flowering pinnacles of artistic cuisine, as her main ingredient.
To that end, the child set up an establishment here and named it R.B. …Such acronyms must be the child’s adamant preference.
As one could guess, the child makes meat pies. They have been earning a certain kind of reputation among gourmets.
Now… You can feel your senses numbing, yes?
The child delightfully watched her victim as she examined her blade.
You’d better be good material. I’m starting to run out of patience with that dull, bungling, inexperienced assistant Gregor.
Clicking her tongue, the child began to grumble.
Going on about how she dislikes her assistant’s sluggish pace, his tendency to bring her bad ingredients, his dull cleaver damaging the goods, and so on…
Well, whatever. I’ll fire him the moment I rise as one of the Eight Chefs.
While the child complains, the victim’s eyelids begin to drift shut.
Why is she so annoyed, what will become of them… Their thoughts blur away, and their consciousness dims.
Hmph, back to work for now.
Now… Smile. You’re about to be at the center of an art piece.
Looking into the victim, the child raises her knife.
Was it a coincidence that the stains of blood on her knife resembled a grin?
…Seeing her face, it looks like there is no need to wonder after all.