[Virgil Marks]

Wiping his face on a towel, Virgil huffed a breath out. Who knew it would take this much work just to make enough fried cakes for one little holiday? He didn’t scoff at the effort it took, it was the only way they could really afford to feed an entire festival of people. So what if he sweated a little? It was for a good cause it his mind.
Snatching up a spare spoon, he speared himself a bit of cake dough. It needed a tad more spice and a little more kneading, but otherwise it was ready to go. “Seb," he called, "can you grab a few of those cake pans? This lot will be ready to go shortly.”

The bushy-haired youth responded energetically and bounded off to retrieve the baking wares. It really was the only thing the kid could do. Virgil trusted him, sure, but this wasn’t his shop -- it was a kitchen. That, and he was pretty sure Les’ would have his head mounted on her wall if anything happened to Sebestian.