RC -- CH1:SCN2

[rokkettodan]

Word count: 2064
Goal: 0221 has to get used to the house
Conflict: housework
Outcome: he sucks at it and hates his life
Summary: 0221 arrives at the Zahhak Manor and is given three days to learn everything he'll need. He's given a grand tour and fails to figure out highblood cooking, ending the day with a session in front of the mirror where he looks over his scars, and hates his life and everything he's done to get here.

To say that 0221 was not fond of his new caretaker was a gross understatement. The troll was egotistical, proud, acted as if her were all out better in every way than everyone else in the room, and 0221 wanted nothing more than to throw the pompous asshat into a wall. A quick shock to his central nervous system quelled that notion and paralyzed him for a good minute or so, giving the Collasalite ample time to explain exactly what he was supposed to do. He was too focused on his nervous system vaguely going numb to do much more than blink in the most unimpressed fashion he could muster.

He summoned a green blood who was dressed as a maid, and 0221 wondered briefly if he could expect some sort of payment for his services. He highly doubted this would be the case, but he could dream. They talked to each other about something he didn't really care for, and he glanced about the room, trying not to tug at his sleeves too much. They'd dressed him in thin cotton layers, a much softer cotton than than the scratchy stuff he'd worn as a wriggler, but way too stiff and tight for any kind of mobile comfort. It was like they'd fit it to his skin to make sure he didn't try and hide any assortment of weapons-- which was dumb, because he didn't need a weapon to take someone down.

At least, he hadn't needed one. Not until recently.

He watched as the Collasalite left, the same unwavering look of boredom stuck to his face. It was probably going to be there for the rest of his life, if the past five minutes were any indication on how he was going to be living. He wondered if he should go sit out in the sun now and save himself the torment. The maid caught his attention before he could process anymore horrific details.

"This must to be hard for you," she murmured, her voice was almost as soft on his ears as her hands were to his. They were small too, both palms barely able to cover his bony digits. "You're used to working with technology, am I right?" She looked up at him with green sympathy that only flashed jade in his mind and made him homesick and lonely. He didn't know anything about this type of life, didn't know anything about how not to piss anybody off to keep himself alive. He didn't have any way of defending himself for Signless' sakes. He nodded. She gave him a soft smile. "My name is Catari, and I'm the head maid of Master Zahhak's household Staff. Should you have any questions, do not hesitate on asking,"

He snorted; fat chance of that happening, but he nodded anyway. He'd need all the help he could get and then some. She smiled and squeezed his hands comfortingly with her own before letting them fall and motioning for him to follow. "We have three days to familiarize you with the house and it's ins and outs," she said to herself, but loud enough for him to hear before ticking items off on her fingers. "Cooking, cleaning, laundry, protocol, etiquette... " he eyebrows worried in the middle of her forehead. It reminded him of lip biting, and rebellion plans, and his fingers twitched with the urge to smooth it out. "You wouldn't know how how to cook, would you?"

He started to nod, but stopped mid way and shook his head. His cooking was decent, but his forte was in making tasteless canned goods a little more flavorful and living off frozen or dried preserves; fresh food was not a thing he'd seen much of. "Hmm, well, Master Zahhak is a lord of habit, so you'll only need to learn how to prepare four or five dishes, nothing too complicated,"

She turned a corner, tugging him into a room filled with what he was going to assume was a couple hydrasiccation modules-- they were much more intricate than the tiburian machines they had down at the communal vestment ablution compound-- several trolls rushing about, and what seem to be a literal mountain of towels. A smaller pile of what looked to be actual clothes was being gathered and placed into one of the machines before one thing was added, and then another, while a couple more trolls were off to the side, folding stack after stack of towels.

"This is the Utility Room," Catari said. "Most of the time it's cleaner than this, but occasionally it can get a bit hectic; we can be forgetful on the occasion," she introduced him to the staff, and they nodded, or waved, and one even smiled. "We deal with the laundry for the most part, so you won't even need to be in here unless rather specific circumstances are met. The instructions are tacked to the wall over there, just in case you're on your own."

He nodded and she had them duck out, leading him past a large dining room, and a couple of smaller sitting rooms. "This is the kitchen," she said as they entered the tiled cooking space. It was much larger than any nutritionblock he'd ever been in, and he was sure there was more than one thermal hub, which was ridiculous. No one person needed that much food, and he doubted anyone but the lord himself ever ate from them. He supposed he would now, seeing as he lived there. He'd have to remember the few recipes his fellow hive stem mates had taught him.

He watched Catari as she bustled about the nutritionblock, washing her hands and grabbing up vegetables, seasonings, some sort of raw meat, and set them down on a work table. "Go go, wash your hands," she told him with a shooing wave of her digits, and while surprised, he went over to the tap basin, rolled up his hands, and washed his them thoroughly. When he returned, she had a knife out and was cutting the meat. "Have you ever held a knife before?"

He had, but not since the desert, and even then it was only on the occasion, not nearly enough to call himself proficient. His look of wary distrust must have given his position on the question away, and she tugged him over with a comforting smile. "Don't worry," she chuckled. "It's not as hard as it looks,"

Three hours and several horribly burnt dishes later, the two retreated from the kitchen with an air of defeat. "No worries," Catari murmured, trying to cheer him up, but it was no use, he'd fallen into one of his self-depreciative states again. Not only had he managed to get captured and sold off to possibly one of the most pompous assholes he'd ever had the displeasure of meeting, he also couldn't make soup without something disastrous catching on fire.

"Really, 0221, I shouldn't have started you on more than one part of the meal at a time," Catari said, leading him by the hand. "The others will handle the mess, and we can work on something much more simple tomorrow, how's that?"

He was trying not to be a downer, he really was, but his head sagged and he let out a defeated sigh. There was no use fighting it, he needed his pick-me-ups, or his pills, or something if he was going to get out of this drag before sunrise.

Which probably wouldn't be that long, if his internal sleep schedule was telling him anything. He tried ot hide the yawn, but it was no use, the maid caught it, and changed direction at the next corner. "It's late," she said. "you should turn in for now. It's a bit early, but you were here a bit early, and you'll need your sleep for your start tomorrow." She opened his door and ushered him in. "Don't worry about missing your hours, I'll make sure you get you up in time to wake Master Zahhak."

0221 rolled his eyes because there was really nothing he'd hate to do more at this point, but nodded his agreement before she bid him goodnight. The second the entryhandle clicked, he was stripping off his clothes with renewed fervor. They were all together to tight, and too neat, too pressed, and he hated how they stuck to his skin, rubbing it the wrong way every time he so much as twitched awkwardly-- the story of his life, really-- and he thought that they suited the floor much better then any part of his person. There was too much blue, not enough red, and he sat there, breathing heavily as he glared at the offending clothing. He kicked it angrily, before he took a step toward the cleansingblock attached to his new respiteblock. It was clean, and tiled, and was at least twice the size of the one he'd had in his section of the communal hive stem back when he was a wiggler. There was a tap basin, and an ablution trap he could probably sink into if he allowed himself to.

He stepped in front of the looking glass and stared hard. He was thinner, pale, had a couple of new scars etched into his skin. He supposed it'd look pretty bad ass if he was ever in a situation to show it off to complete strangers, but at home... he'd probably just get coddled and have his hipbone molested by his concerned moirails, friends, whatever they were calling themselves these days. His chest ached sharply, because weren't they technically in mourning now? He'd done the right thing, no doubt about that, but the thought of them even hurting just a little bit because of him... it had never been a thought that sat well in his head.

Guess you fucked up again.

But then, when don't you?

Christ, can't even do the right thing without being a selfish bastard, can you?

Can you imagine it? He's no doubt crying, and it's all your fault.

But then, it's always your fault, isn't it.

His hands shook as he wandered over to the ablution trap, turning the faucet and letting the water scald his hand. He flinched, but kept it steady under the downpour, watching as blood rushed to just under his burning skin, focused on the faint yellow hue, the pain, everything that wasn't chiding laughter and self-depreciative half-truths. He'd tried so hard to grow out of his adolescent mental problems, but with his medication so far away, he could only fight them off for so long.

He let his hand fall down by his side, returning to the tap basin to run it under some cold water. It wouldn't burn, exactly, but the intense, almost icy cold was able to distract him from his problems for a bit more-- at least until it started to go numb, and he had to find something else to keep his mind occupied before they returned.

His eyes were yellow. Sort of a deep, gold amber with yellowish flicks if he really went into detail, and he knew from inspection that they looked real enough to fool the sharpest of eyes. They were almost full proof; almost, because he hadn't been able to get a scent test before they'd left for the raid. It had been months now, however, and there had been little trouble with the prototype. He just hoped they'd hold out long enough for him to escape. Blindness and fiberfusion were of little consequence to him right now.

He stopped looking when the glass fogged up to much for him to reliably see anything, and returned to the ablution trap to shut off the faucet. The water burned his skin, but he hated himself so much right now, he really had no viable reason to escape it. Instead he sank into the basin until the water was level with the top. Any fuller and it would all spill out and onto the floor.

I'm such a masochistic fuck up. He sighed, trying to ignore his astern-etna and the terrible laughter and insults that muddled around back there. It didn't matter if he had to get up in the evening or face death or whatever, there was no way he was getting to sleep anytime soon.