Night 56: Kitchen
[From here.]The kitchen, unsurprisingly, was just as he remembered it to be. White and remarkably clean, with the usual and disappointingly normal array of cooking supplies scattered about. Unconsciously, Edward hesitated in actually entering the room. As sharp as his memory was about the room itself, the events that had occurred seemed even
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Venom did not like being in this room.
It was strange. He never thought much of his own death--well, that wasn't entirely true: he thought of dying, or at least not living, a ridiculously good deal. He didn't think much of having actually died, however--until being back in the area where it happened. Emotions were easy for an assassin to put aside, but memories always flooded back so quickly. He remembered being controlled by that parasite. He remembered his body screaming in agony as exhaustion and dehydration set in faster than it should have ever done, but there was no way to stop his muscles from moving without his say. He remembered his mind crumbling into insanity and the feeling of choking on his own blood. He vaguely remembered teeth ripping apart the arteries in his neck ( ... )
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"The door in the middle, there." Her night vision was still recovering from afterimages of ki and whatever Rita called her magic, but the dark shapes of three doors were visible along the far wall ( ... )
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She was sort of surprised Bharaputra hadn't tweaked them out, or built only male clone-sibs in the first (and only) batch. Then again, given that the majority of lab products had at least twice as much breast tissue, from a proportional sense, even counting those that most people would call male, that was perhaps unsurprising. At least they hadn't given her more than two. She'd run into that assumption before, though most people didn't say ( ... )
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The Kitchen. That was definitely a step in the right direction. Warmer, at least. But there didn't seem to be any food holding containers around. Mostly just equipment. Gant scavenged through one or two of the drawers, hoping to find something, but only appliances and tools for food prep were found.
Strangely enough, no knives seemed to be present. Well, save for a small paring knife or two, but Gant figured his scalpels were still just as good if not better. Best to keep from showing Meekins a side of himself that horded away weapons, as well as keep his scalpels away from the man at all costs. Gant was already pretty easy to trigger into stabbing a comrade. He'd rather not add another body to the count, even if it was just flaily Mike Meekins.
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On cue, Meekins assisted Gant in rummaging through the drawers, meaning that he spent more time sifting through the utensils and "reorganizing" them in a creative fashion, than actually looking for anything edible. It was just as well that there was nothing sharper than a butter knife, although for quite a different reason in Meekins' case than for Gant.
In the midst of his concentration on this activity, Meekins had a flash of inspiration. Having already forgotten about sorting the forks and spoons, he looked up at Gant to share his new theory:
"Maybe the reason they feed us that pink blob stuff is because there's no other food around, Sir. What kind of kitchen doesn't have at least a jar of cookies on the counter, Sir?"
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Gant had to keep from sighing aloud when Meekins made the cookie jar comment. Not that the chief wouldn't appreciate a cookie so readily available, but the kid's thoughts just moved way beyond silly. "I think cookie jars are more for mothers' kitchens, if you get what I mean. And I know they have food around here. Trust me." Well, maybe that was asking a bit much but ( ... )
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