Maggie leaned back from the computer and stretched. Another day, another nine to five over with. She picked up her staff from where it was resting against her desk and gave it a decisive flick. The books she had been laboriously scanning wafted back into their shelves, settling in with neat little thumps. Maggie got up off of the yoga ball she’d been sitting on, one hand on her lower back. Ugh. Wizards weren’t made for the daily grind. She should be out giving people quests and making cursed amulets and shit. But there weren’t a lot of full-time wizarding positions eager to take on a wizard-grad-school-dropout like herself. Stupid Ancient Wizardly Unseen University and its stupid adherence to Wizard Council spell bans. The closest she could get to studying ancient magical tomes was an archivist position at the local non-wizard university. Which, to be fair, was a good job that she liked doing. But she was in a pissy mood, her back hurt, and earlier she had almost lost all her progress to a brief CPU hiccup, so she felt like she was entitled to a little griping. She grumbled her way out of the archive’s basement and up the stairs to the ground floor of the library.
November was a busy time for the library. The academic year was picking up enough to motivate even the trustfundiest of legacy students, so a lot of kids were in there hitting the books as best they could. Maggie shouldered her way through the crowd, fully intending to get home as fast as she could and hit the bong so hard that she fell in, but near the entrance, the bulletin board caught her attention. There was a massive glossy poster that had been tacked on over all the flyers for student orgs and bands needing percussionists. The thing had clearly been professionally printed, and it took up most of the school activities board. It advertised a “CHILI FOR CHARITY” cook-off in a script best described as “Live Laugh Lovecore.” The poster was filled with all the best graphics that Canva could offer. There was information about where and when, but it was the who that raised the hairs on the back of Maggie’s neck. She should have guessed from the font. The Alpha Beta Omega sorority was, unfortunately, a very well-known organization on campus. And even more unfortunately, it was constantly doing charitable work for very reputable funds. And, in the final indignity, its nonprofit organizer was an alumnus of the university and someone who Maggie knew very well.
Maggie’s lips curled back from her teeth. “Sylvie,” she hissed, fangs bared at a poster that absolutely could not hear her. She briefly considered ripping the poster off the board and crumpling it in her fist like a real badass, but she knew how much the students probably needed that free chili. Instead, she raised her shoulders, tightened her grip on her wizard’s staff, and stomped out of the library towards the quad.
Maggie swept her eyes over the quad. It had been taken over by folding tables and pristine white tents bearing the Greek letters of the nefarious sorority. Chefs were stirring pots of chili set on solar-powered portable stoves. Students were thronging to the sampling table. The aroma of the chili hit her nose in a cartoon wave that threatened to pick her up off her feet and make her float on over. She resisted temptation and kept her shoulders squared. She had a plan, formulated on the short walk over. She would walk right up to Sylvie Grace, say something extremely cutting, and absolutely reduce her to tears. She hadn’t figured out what she would say yet, but she was sure she’d come up with something. Then she’d walk away with her head held high and with another tally mark in her win column. Foolproof.
“Maggie! Hey!” One of the chefs waved her over, and Maggie blinked in surprise when she saw it was Ruth. The dragon was wearing a bedazzled apron bearing the slogan “BIT CHILI INNIT”. Maggie looked closer and saw that the graphic underneath the slogan was a bowler hat that was also a bowl of chili, and a moustache made of two ladles. Ruth was apparently wearing it without a shred of irony. Incredible. She walked over to the plastic table where Ruth was apparently using every spice known to furrykind in her concoction.
“What are you doing here?” Maggie asked, leaning on her staff.
Ruth grinned proudly and gestured with a friendly hand at the pot in front of her. “You know I can’t resist a cook-off. Want some? It’s vegetarian!”
Maggie took a spoonful of chili and tasted it tentatively. She had a good spice tolerance, but between Ruth and her roommate she’d learned to be cautious. Surprisingly, it showed no sign of taking the roof off of her mouth. “Damn, it’s really good. I can’t believe you compromised your principles enough to make this edible for the spice-fearing public.”
“What can I say, when a beautiful woman asks me for a favor I’ll do anything. Plus, this is just the sampler chili, not the one that’s getting judged.” Ruth started ladling chili into a bowl. “Here, get some more, I’ve got plenty!”
“Wait,” Maggie said, freezing with the spoon halfway to her face. “By ‘beautiful woman,’ do you mean-”
“Fancy seeing you here!” Maggie’s blood turned to ice and she nearly choked on her chili. She turned to see a silver-furred rabbit smirking at her. “And calling me beautiful to boot? I never thought I’d see the day!” Sylvie Grace’s voice had a smooth Southern twang and an undercurrent of pure malice. Her arms were folded over her ample chest and she stood with one hip jutting out like she was auditioning for the role of Evil Head Cheerleader in a godawful teen movie.
“Save the Daisy Duke act for your cult members, witch,” Maggie hissed, sparks crackling from her eyes. “What’s your plan, putting mind control drugs in the chili to make everyone who eats it buy Vineyard Vines apparel?”
Sylvie Grace laughed, covering her mouth with one dainty paw. “You make me sound like such a rascal, sweetheart. Can’t I just be doing a good thing for a good cause?”
Maggie scoffed. “Not fucking likely. You’ve always got something up your sleeve.”
“Tank top, dipshit!” The rabbit gestured at herself and batted her eyelashes. “No sleeves to speak of. Now, was there anything I could help you with? Any mystical tomes you just can’t unravel, curses you just can’t break, and you need my vast knowledge to help you out of a jam?”
“Absolutely fucking not. Maggie, great to see you, but-” She turned to the dragon, who was watching the two of them interact with an open grin. “What? What could you possibly be grinning about?”
“Y’all are just so cute together!” Ruth winked at them, and both of them immediately started sputtering denials. “Kidding, kidding. I know your rivalry is as true and eternal as the ancient seas.” She pointed a ladle at Maggie. “Actually, Mags, I was just about to ask you a favor! The judging’s gonna start soon, and I need a sous chef. Wanna help out?”
Maggie started to form an excuse, but before she could, Sylvie Grace clapped her paws in a parody of delight. “What a good idea, Ruthie! I’m sure Maggie could be put to some menial task, like chopping onions, or maybe scrubbing pots. Something that suits her temperament.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you sound like a Fairville community theater version of Cinderella’s evil stepmother?” Maggie snarled. Sylvie Grace flashed a glare at her.
Ruth ignored both of them. “C’mon, I’d really appreciate it if you helped. I’ll rub your back later if you do it!”
Maggie weighed her options. On the one hand, Ruth had hands like a trained masseuse and the upper body strength of a professional wrestler. On the other hand, if she was exposed to Sylvie Grace’s aura of nepotism for much longer, she’d break out in terrible hives. But on the third, secret hand, she’d had Ruth’s Nine-Alarm Dragonfire Chili before. After she’d gulped down three glasses of cold milk, the tastebuds that remained were begging for more. Hunger won, as it usually did, and Maggie nodded. Ruth’s face split into a fanged grin. “You’re the best, babe!”
“Well, good luck, then,” Sylvie Grace said, leaning over the table to give Ruth a quick peck on her scaly cheek. “I’ll be at the judge’s table! Have fun, you two!” With a wave, Sylvie Grace flounced over to a booth draped with her former sorority’s banner.
“She’s judging?” Maggie whispered, joining Ruth behind the portable stove and casting a spell to wash her hands.
“Yeah, it’s her event!” Ruth replied, handing Maggie a folded apron. Maggie shook it out to reveal the slogan “BOSS OF THE SAUCE.” She took off her robe and wizard hat and tied it on. “All proceeds go directly to a local shelter,” Ruth continued, setting onions on a cutting board. She gestured with a knife towards the judges’ booth. “They’ve already raised like 10k.”
Sure enough, Sylvie was standing in front of a huge donation thermometer and filling the last bit of it in with red. A pangolin woman with a clipboard came up to her and spoke briefly, and the rabbit grinned. “Can y’all bring out the backup thermometer, please?” A gaggle of sorority girls wearing the ABO colors started industriously setting up an even larger poster. Sylvie Grace picked up a hot pink bullhorn from her table, and Maggie rolled her eyes. “Hey everybody! Can I get your attention?” The chatter of the crowd died down, and even the obligatory quad guy playing an acoustic guitar paused for her. “Thank you! Thank you, everybody!”
“Ugh,” Maggie grunted, and started dicing onions with a vengeance. Obnoxiously, Ruth only grinned at her.
“We’ve been having a great time here, haven’t we? Let’s get a round of applause for our volunteer chefs!” Ruth and the other cooks took their bows as the quad cheered, waving chili spoons and empty bowls. “But most importantly, let’s get a round of applause for everyone who’s donated so far!” She gestured to the filled donate-o-meter. “But I know we can raise even more, because this event is just gettin’ started! Our chefs have been cooking some great chili for charity, but now it’s time for them to show us what they’re really made of!” The crowd cheered again as Sylvie Grace did Vanna White hands at the new, unfilled thermometer. “Ten chefs, ten chilis, and for every ten dollars YOU donate-” she winked at the crowd, and Maggie rolled her eyes viciously- “-you’ll get a raffle ticket in your name for our fabulous prize at the end! And, most importantly, every dollar you donate goes DIRECTLY to our local shelter! Mary’s here to say a few words about that, everyone give her a hand!” The pangolin woman waved at the crowd, who clapped for her as she took the bullhorn from Sylvie and began speaking.
Ruth tapped Maggie on the shoulder. “Hey, champ, I think those are done.” Maggie looked down at the cutting board and saw that she had minced the onions nearly beyond recognition. She sheepishly tilted the cutting board into Ruth’s chili pot. The dragon raised an eyebrow at her. “Come on, you can’t possibly be mad at Sylv for this. She’s raising money for a homeless shelter! With delicious chili!”
“She’s just so fake!” Maggie complained, putting tofu into a bowl and crumbling it with a spoon. “I mean, you can’t convince me that Little Miss Trust Fund gives a single shit about the homeless. Look at her. She’s-” Maggie gestured at Sylvie Grace, who had left the judges’ booth and was serving chili to the people in line. “Okay, she’s helping people right now. But she’s got ulterior motives.”
“Does she?” Ruth replied. She pulled a spice bottle hand-labeled “DO NOT USE- RUTH’S CHILI ONLY” out of her bag and started shaking it into the pot. “She works full-time for a non-profit and doesn’t even take a salary. Plus, how much do intentions matter when you’re doing good deeds?”
“She’s only doing good things so she can feel superior to everyone around her,” Maggie said, still glaring at Sylvie Grace. “And also she’s an awful bitch, and I hate her.”
Ruth’s eye-roll was all but audible. “You literally had sex with her less than a week ago.”
“I can have sex with awful bitches!” Maggie waved the spoon around to emphasize her point and accidentally launched a tofu glob into the grass. “An important part of wizardry is endurance and fearlessness in the face of trials and temptation. It’s all for the pursuit of esoteric knowledge. I don’t expect you to understand.”
Ruth hummed, unconvinced, as she tasted her brew. “Yeah-huh, sure. If it makes you feel any better, she talks the exact same way about you.”
Maggie’s ears perked up. “She was talking about me?”
“Ha! You’re cute.” Ruth grinned at her, and Maggie blushed. “Not gonna tell you what she said, in case you were thinking about asking.” She had been, but she wasn’t going to say that now. “Like I said, you two are adorable together."
"We aren't like that," Maggie said, wiping her hands on her apron. "I would rather have every blood vessel in my body ripped out by demons and devils than date Sylvie Grace."
"Who said anything about dating?" Ruth stirred the chili pot and took out the wooden spoon to taste it. The spoon was smoking slightly. "Y'all for sure have something else going on. Something a little more like-"
"If you're gonna bring up that Homestuck thing, trust me, KP has already explained it at length."
"Haha, fair!" Ruth reduced the heat down to a slight simmer and dipped a spoon into her bubbling concoction. "Wanna taste?"
Maggie looked over at Sylvie Grace, who was talking to the pangolin woman and adding more ink to the thermometer. Knowing that it was probably a bad idea in the long run, she took the spoon eagerly.
Author's Notes:
This was the first sfw furfic that I finished, 11/17/22.