We bowed to each other at the bottom of the stairs. A world of steel and fire behind us. He offers me his hand. I take it. He leads me into the center, unfurling his dexterous tentacles like the tendrils of a blooming flower.

He spins me out, pulls me back, dips me down, and spins me again toward the door. A grin on his wolven features. His massive fingers release mine and I’m out the door.

Fire and steel instantly come to life. I can hear their song booming in the background.

I unlocked the doors, seated the guests, took their orders, and returned to the heat of the roiling flames.

His tentacles are already working to prep numerous dishes. He already knows what I need. Our minds are as close to one as we can allow.

And so we dance.

I go one way, he goes another. I spin this way, he spins that. Tentacles part for me to pass without a word.

Steel clatters with steel. Scraping, clacking, whisking… music to my ears.

I slip through his weave, grabbing some finished plates as I go.

More satisfied customers. We get them in and out as quick as possible with full bellies and smiles on their faces. I couldn’t be happier.

Our speed, accuracy, and quality are unparalleled. We take pride in everything we make. A bit of ourselves going with every plate.

The second I come back with a dirty plate, it’s lifted from my hands and cleaned.

Every so often, he’d throw back a plate himself. I’d hear him munching, but he’d never miss a beat.

We moved with such fluidity and synchronicity. Yielding to each other as necessary.

Afer 12 hours in the hot, clanging chamber we’d make one last meal each. I for him and him for me. We’d drag ourselves into the dining room and eat, usually in silence.

We never really needed words, but we cherished each other’s voices. Still, after a long day, still silence can be appreciated.

The music is over and the dance is done. We rest only to do it again tomorrow.