Feeding Aphrodisiac-Laced Sandwiches
I make a damn good sandwich.
Not that "I'm pretty good for a bachelor" bullshit. I've got actual cooking experience under my belt.
Back when I was twenty, I slung hot dogs and stuff like that on the streets of Myeongdong to make some cash.
Of course, I had to quit when I got drafted into the army.
Those memories are still fresh as hell.
Looks like the food in this world is subtly different.
Different races have different tastes and diets, so stuff that's common back home is pretty much nowhere to be found here. The ingredients are similar enough, though. Probably because there's barely any exchange between species, so culinary progress is stunted.
10 million dignity upkeep funds have been deposited.
Business capital seems solid enough. First things first: pick a food werewolves would love.
Something easy to make with a strong, stimulating smell would be ideal.
Hot dogs and burgers are out. Super easy to whip up, sure, but sadly, no buns in this world. There might be something similar if I dig around, but the local marts don't stock 'em. Same deal with hot dog buns.
Sandwiches it is.
There are similar foods here, so bread's available. But plain sandwiches won't cut it.
That one sandwich from the food truck was killer.
What was it called? Something South American, for sure.
Cuba Sandwich
[Recipe details follow...]
...Talk about helpful. I'll have to substitute a few ingredients, but the key ones are all here.
Let's do this.
This body's lack of food costs is a godsend. Saving on basics is always smart business.
Werewolves are infamous for their foul tempers.
Their homeland's like the Middle East on Earth—endless deserts, scarce water. Constant resource shortages forced a culture of shunning and robbing other races.
"What the hell? Who's that little runt?"
One such weirdo showed up in werewolf territory. Short as hell, with a long black tail swaying from his ass and wings on his back that didn't look built for flying.
"It's an imp. Imp. Can't you tell?" "Oh! Imp... those greedy merchant fucks? Yeah, I know 'em."
Incubi were rarer than diamonds thanks to all the policies against us. So the werewolves mistook Asmodeus for one of those imp lookalikes.
"Hey, you imp! The fuck you doing here? Wallet too heavy? I can carry it for ya."
"Selling food!"
The fearless response left the werewolf gang baffled.
"Food? You know who we are and you're still peddling shit?" "My stuff's insanely good! Free samples right now—wanna try one?"
Slum werewolves would chug drain cleaner if it was free. They shuffled over like zombies.
"Sniff sniff... What's this?" "Sandwich. Loaded with cheese and meat."
"Ingredients that can't taste like shit."
The werewolf was stunned. The foil wrapper unleashed a nose-assaulting aroma. With senses like a dog's, their noses were killer. The cheese and pork shoulder smells yanked their souls right out.
"Uh... this really free?" "Yep! Free today! Spread the word if it's good."
"Sweet. Sample time."
He crunched into the butter-toasted bread. Crispy crust shattered, spilling fillings into his mouth. Saliva? Nah—meat juices, flooding like soda down his throat.
"Whoa..."
Then the cheese hit. Before he knew it, the sandwich was gone. He wiped grease from his mouth and muttered,
"This shit's fuckin' delicious."
"Thanks!" "Don't go nowhere. Stay put."
Like wolves, werewolves run in family packs. Word of free grub spread like wildfire.
"This is insane... How the hell do you make this?" "Trade secret!" "I'd eat this every damn day."
Asmodeus grinned at the growing crowd. This is gonna go viral. And then, naturally...
"What're you punks doing?"
The boss had to show.
"Boss! Free killer sandwiches here!" "What? They poisoned or some shit?!" "Nah! On my third and fine! Try it, boss!"
Rasca Slovenia, boss of the werewolf gang, had a nose that sniffed out microscopic traces. She confirmed no poison first, then spoke.
"What do you want?"
Sharp as a true boss. Unlike the grunts, she clocked how insane it was for a lone "imp" to street-vend in the slums.
"Just wanted you werewolves to spread the word. Help my business boom."
"Bullshit. You think we've got time for that?"
Rasca sneered, bending down to eye him. Pale, androgynous face. That swishing black tail...
Huh?
Looks familiar. And for some reason, her chest itched—especially the tips...
"...Selling sandwiches?"
She snatched the one Asmodeus offered without a word, unwrapped it, and bit in.
"...Good."
Unlike the others, her bite hit different. The incubus king's handmade aphrodisiac added mild addiction and thirst. By the end...
She felt regret.
"Good, right?" "Yeah. Real good... More?" "Aw~ That was the last one."
Last one? Still hungry... She smacked her lips.
"Fine. You can sell here."
"Thanks!" "How many'd you hand out? I'll pay for 'em all."
No plans to charge, though? Asmodeus aimed to hook 'em on his laced sandwiches for dependency. Break-even profit was fine...
"5,000 won each should do."
He crunched costs quick. Ingredients, labor, misc—3,000 won markup. Food's cheap here unlike Earth, and assembly's easy despite prep hassle.
"Yeah! That's plenty."
"...Be here tomorrow. No excuses."
The fat stack of bills cowed him a bit. This much already...?
Why's business popping off like this?
Expected it'd sell, but day one this hot? No clue.
Whatever. No food costs, and cash is king.
As he thought that, a subordinate slunk up to Rasca.
"Boss! You just handing over all that cash? Want us to jump him and take it?" "You dumb fuck... Touch my money and I'll skin you for a rug!"
Rasca saw the big picture.
Werewolf turf had zero shops. They hated commerce. Had to hit vampire-owned marts for basics—pure humiliation.
"How long we gonna eat their oranges and bread? They could starve us out anytime."
"True..." "Right now it's just this sandwich guy. But word gets out that selling here's safe and profitable? What happens?"
Money-hungry imps would swarm. Werewolves would ditch violence for business, escape the slums eventually.
"No idea what you're on about, boss! But sounds badass."
"That's all I need. Anyone fucks with him, handle it yourself. Got it?" "Yeah!"
Shooing her minion, Rasca savored the lingering taste, smacking her lips.
...Can't stop thinking about it.
Not just the sandwich. That imp's face popped up unbidden too. But she didn't realize it was wrong.