coconut-milk-cheese quesadilla with bananas

Bex was just looking for a normal lunch, with normal food. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be particularly likely now. She stands outside her current office, looking at the various repulsive food trucks that line the streets and parking spaces. Buns and dolls alike flood the area, and she’s sure the scene is similar in many other parking spaces across Burrowgatory.

The ‘food cravings’ trend had gotten far too large for Bex’s liking. What was wrong with fulfilling those cravings in the privacy of one’s own home, and not making a whole food truck and affair about it? She’s fairly certain she only sees one or two actually pregnant dams in the food truck lines, the buns buying food much more likely to take a few bites and spit it out for some social media video. Or to a small crowd of snickering friends. It boggles the mind, really.

And since she typically grabbed a cheap lunch from the normal food trucks outside, this was even more inconvenient to her than just a full parking lot. She’d have to shell out some actual cash to buy lunch, unless she bought from these barely food-safe trailers. Ugh.

As an unconscious bit of self-soothing, Bex pulls Memmy out of the side holster/pocket he lives in nowadays. The phloof is barely awake, as he almost always lives, but lets out a silent yawn and nuzzles into Bex’s hand as she pets him. Well, if there’s anything she doesn’t eat, she could always just feed it to Memmy. Holding her imp, she approaches some of the various food trucks, trying to gauge just how bad this was. Maybe there would be something reasonable here.

The first one is just some sort of dough ball covered in nut milk. All the posters surrounding the food truck don’t make it look anymore appetizing than it sounds, just some wet soggy ball. They’re not even deep-frying the dough or anything, and the milk is sopping off of it as they serve it on trays to idiot customers. It sloshes off the plate and onto the few hands that purchase it from the truck.

“That can’t be serious, can it?” Bex murmurs as she shakes her head and moves past it. No, she’s not very interested in that being her lunch. Memmy seems a bit intrigued by it, but she’s sure it’s only because of the vague resemblance to a dango ball.

She swivels Memmy away from the truck as she looks at the next one. Some sort of… hot chili and mustard cake? Absolutely not. She doesn’t even give that one second glance. Not only is she not interested in that flavor profile, that wouldn’t even be a good lunch. She wants something that’s at least pretending to be a meal, and cake doesn’t cut it.

The next one is… interesting. Coconut-milk-cheese quesadillas with bananas? Again, strange combination. But Bex peers closer and catches a glimpse of the people walking away from the counter. They look pretty satisfied, to her eye. She then tries to sneak a glance at their plates. Could she see the banana in the quesadillas? It wasn’t obvious, and the quesadilla lay flat on the plates of the passerby. Maybe they sliced it thinly enough that it didn’t disturb the integrity of the meal, or maybe they grilled it in a way that complimented the flavor.

Either way, this seemed the most promising so far. She glances over to the food-truck one over, and the sight of deep-fried chocolate covered tofu-burgers solidifies her place in this line. She waits for longer than she’d like to wait, entertaining herself by petting Memmy as she advances through the line.

Eventually, she gets up to the front and pays a cheap price for the quesadilla, without much issue. If this was good, it would actually be filling enough for a lunch. And then she could go on back to work. She had a paperwork heavy day today, seeing as she was hired to make some funds untraceable to a very specific group of people. Those sorts of days were more relaxing to Bex, as she didn’t really have to get out on the town and make deals and round up money from people who didn’t want to pay it, but they still were tiring. And tiring days meant she needed an actually decent lunch.

She takes her paper plate into her office, sliding into the chair and placing both Memmy and the quesadilla on the desk.

“Alright,” she says to her imp. “You probably want to hope this is bad, because that means you’ll get to eat it. And you don’t care about when things taste bad, because you’ll eat literal garbage.”

Memmy the phloof simply squeaks happily, unaware he’s being insulted.

“Exactly, baby.” Bex says, petting him. “Enough putting it off. Here we go.”

She lifts the coconut-milk cheese quesadilla with bananas to her mouth, and takes a large bite. She chews slowly, considering all of the possible flavors and textures rolling around there. Memmy walks in a small circle, as if he’s already preparing for a nap on the office desk.

“Y’kno…” Bex says, speaking with her mouth full. It’s an empty office anyway, no one should care. “It could be worse. Not great, but it absolutely could be worse. No treats for you, baby.”

Memmy, oblivious to the timeline where he could have gotten a treat (as he’s oblivious to most things), begins to snore on her office desk.

Bex finishes the rest of the quesadilla and continues her money laundering.