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Serena returned only to drop a note she had scribbled down on some paper quickly. She left it on the counter top, with 'Master Chief' facing forward on the folded paper. Should he open it it would read as follows:
Just as quickly as she came in, she slipped out to the Mess Hall to keep her appointment with Ravyn.

The whine, the slamming of the door -- there was only one person that could pull both off well enough to startle the large Chef well enough to prevent the sudden impact of a sharp cooking knife. He flinched, surely; the hand holding the knife that was snatched up relaxed, letting the metal blade slip free and clatter onto the table. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, looking at the walls and suddenly wishing that the budget would allow a clock. But that would make his meals on time, wouldn't it? Hmph. Better to be without, then.

He stretched, then shrugged. "I hear ya, man. But some campers need ta learn not ta mess with the cameras, y'know? If we caught it on film sooner..."

Oh [FOGHORN]. This wasn't good when the Chris-man threw a tantrum. Could he make cookies? No, too late. Brownies? Same. Pancakes? He needed more eggs. So what could he do?

He ignored Chris and walked over to his high cabinet, opening it then opening another cabinet inside. There was yet another cabinet before his way was blocked by a safe. This was opened (followed by a final cabinet) in order to retrieve a bottle of whiskey, which was quietly placed on the counter before two shot glasses joined it. Chef poured the rosy liquid into each glass, offering the host one. "Then start talkin' man, an' ah don't mean no whinin' neither."

Chef flicked his ears back. He didn't like his whiskey?! C'mon man, it took him so effing long to brew it and to make it off-camera and -- oh. Yeah. That.

"Look man," Chef growled, "Ah don't like it either. We had to do it. Not only due to lawsuits -- hell, the producers didn't like it either man. We barely got by, y'know? All yew can do is just hope that the lawyers didn't read the fine print too closely when they were lookin' for another reason to try an' shut this whole thing down." He mimicked the host and downed his glass, then refilled both of them.

"Riiight, yew just have to stand there in front of the camera and torment campers," Chef replied. Was he being sarcastic or soothing? Either way, he sipped his glass and refilled Chris' glass. He liked his whiskey, even though it was pretty hard to brew it. The interns tended to swarm his brewing place in case there were any drops behind, and heck -- the dirt he'd throw into the basin he did his mixing in didn't seem to stop them either.

He sighed and rubbed the back of his head. "Look man, we need to come up with another challenge despite what happened."

Chef kept silent, watching. If the host was acting like this... s**t, since when did Chris willingly leave his back unguarded? The host was -always- aware of the closest camera and anyone who was between himself and the lense. This... This was rather worrying.

He sighed and shrugged again. "Can't be as bad as th'campers that found a so-called picnic basket here," he replied, smirking. "Ah bet their bowels aren't thanking them for that particular stunt, heh heh. Too bad the interns didn't get it like ah wanted to. Ah well."

Chef beamed and nodded. "Yep! Campers an' interns alike should know better than ta think that there was actually good food layin' around. Heh heh, suckers."

The large Audio shifted slightly as Chris leaned against him, turning into a steady pillar to lean against. "Mmm," he murmured in agreement, refilling both of their glasses. He didn't know what to say -- if he tried to whisper back, it was all too easy to be overheard. He would be suspect: something was going on, and the host wasn't sharing.

"Well man... what now?"