To have your challenge entry recorded, please write your piece as a reply to this thread.
As a central theme of Consistency is the existence of time — ensuring that you are writing on a timely and daily basis — the theme of this month’s prompts will also be about time.
Today's prompt: [Mealtime]
Definition: the time at which a meal is eaten.
╰┈➤ Write a piece inspired by this concept.
Word Count: Minimum 200 words, no maximum.
I catch my brother sliding the dog a piece of ham at my side. He looks at me, a familiar pleading in his eyes, 'Don't rat me out.'
Our toy poodle wags her tail as she chews out the rough texture in her mouth, I take one from my own plate and eat it. My piece is soft and bite-sized, hers must be the opposite.
She drops the ham onto the floor and nudges it with her nose, my brother's glances are quick and sharp as it plays with the food.
"What are you looking at?"
Our heads turn to the one of the table, "Is something wrong?"
"No!" My brother exclaims, hovering his slippers over the ham as Dad examines the floor. "Nothing's wrong at all."
Dad leaves his gaze on him, a moment passes before he lowers his head to eat again.
"How was school?" Mom says, taking a bite of the ham.
"It's been good," I reply, "Nothing out of the normal."
"Good to hear." She nods. Her jaw works itself as she tries to bite into was must be a hard one, "Dear, I think some of these pieces aren't easy to eat."
"It's okay," He says, "Just keep it on the side of the plate, we'll give it to Mars afterward."
Upon hearing her name, the dog yips and runs to the other side of the table, sitting down on command. I find my brother's eyes twice as wide.
Mars has the piece he gave in her mouth.
Quickly, he calls for her, a combination of desperate whistles and fast repetitions of her name. Mars runs back to him, and he takes the piece away.
"Wow, she must've eaten something that fell," He laughs, trying to reign in humor that utterly remains stubborn, "I'll go throw it now."
He notices that his plate is, indeed, empty, and with haste, brings it to the sink. I hold in a snicker, guess the evidence has been taken away from the crime scene.
I quickened my step as I looked at my watch. I could feel my heartbeat at this point. My poor friend tried to keep up with me, but his legs were a little shorter than mine. He kept shouting my name as the distance between us grew.
“I have to be home at mealtime!” I shouted, finally answering his call.
“My mum will kill me otherwise.”
I slowed my pace to hear what he had to say. “Yea, I get that, but how in the world are you almost too late. It’s only 4 pm.”
I stopped dead in my tracks, looking my friend straight in the eyes as he approached me. “Mealtime is at a quarter past 4”
Now it was him who looked surprised. “Dude, for most dinnertime isn’t until 6.”
I studied him carefully, “are you lying?”
He threw his hands in the air. “Why would I?”
“Are you telling me that you guys don’t start cooking and stuff until 6?”
My friend took a step back. “Whoa, cooking and stuff?? We eat at 6. So wait, your mum tricks you into helping her cook by saying that mealtime is at 4.15?”
“No way dude, I thought everyone had to help with the cooking. I never knew that mealtime for most means time at which a meal is actually eaten.” I looked at my watch, “Shit, I really have to go now!”
He waved as I bolted towards home…
Trying to treat Daniel to a meal turned out to be much more difficult than Evan first thought. He was in the cubicle behind Daniel, and Evan began going through all the times he had tried to talk to Daniel without success. That the boss wants to see him, that he has to go out to eat with clients, that he left early, that he already had plans... If it weren't for the surreptitious glances that are thrown from time to time when working, Evan would think he was imagining all. Or is he? Maybe it's just Evan who thinks he was in an 'almost' relationship with the hottie from the sales department and all these indirect rejections were also a rejection of Evan's feelings.
Thinking in increasingly depressing, realistic ways, the air around Evan turned gloomy, catching glances from several of his classmates. Daniel's gaze was also on Evan, and unnoticed by Evan, a small smile, the corner of Daniel's lips lifted slightly.
Lunchtime came once more, and at the sound of the clock many began to rise from their places. One of Evan's secret admirers strode over to invite him to lunch, approaching Evan's cubicle where he lay with his head in his arms. He wasn't ready for another rejection from Daniel, so he'd better not eat. He didn't witness the admirer of him, nor the way Daniel got in his way and with a single glance pushed him away. He didn't witness the questioning glances from his classmates, Daniel's amused eyes at seeing Evan so dejected in his cubicle.
“Do you want to go out to eat with me?” A deep and seductive voice was heard close to Evan's ear. Cheeks flushed, Evan jumped to his feet, as if he'd been electrocuted. He looked at Daniel's mischievous look, the flirtatious eyes he so much thought he had imagined. Not paying much attention to the obvious relief in Evan's eyes, Daniel turned as he motioned for Evan to follow. Evan smiled in love, turned in his chair to take his lunch and see Daniel on the roof. He walked quickly through the halls to catch up with Daniel, while he stroked his fangs with his tongue. They hurt quite a bit, since he had been a long time since the last time he had bitten Daniel.
PD: Not edited at all, will drop by another day.
Ältere may not be good at expressing his affection -- or, well, anything -- through words, but he has other things that can get the message across to his friends. Two ways in particular were definitely of his favorites: spending time with someone and getting to know their interests, and cooking. Fortunately, Ältere was able to blend these two activities into one and actively help out in the kitchen, despite being a god awful cook the second he strayed from a recipe. Unfortunately, there was no recipe. And Flora is what Ältere would call insane. “How do I know when it's done ...?” “Oh, that's easy!” Flora smiles with a light in his eyes that Ältere hadn't seen for a long, long time. “The whole thing takes, like, thirty minutes if you do it right! Something around that, at least ...” Ältere clears his throat. “Any, uh .. exact measurements?” His eyebrows raise a bit with concern, but it's impossible to tell with that ridiculous hat he has on. It stretches so far forward and drapes over his forehead for absolutely no reason. Why, Ältere. Why. You don't even need to have that on! You're in the kitchen!! “Nope! I just eyeball it!” “You do?” Flora nods with an air of confidence that Ältere rarely sees in him. If only it wasn't in this context ... “Always have!” *“Why?”* “Because it'll turn out fine either way!” He waves his hand off, as if to literally brush the worry aside. “It's just soup.” A. Ah. Ältere, being a very “exact measurements” kind of guy in every aspect of life, felt anxiety start to rise up just by being a part of this exchange. Surely, there's so much that could go wrong if Flora isn't careful! What if you add too much of one thing, or leave something else out entirely, or just forget altogether where you're at? “It's, uh- quite easy to mess up at any point in the culinary process, Flora-” “And?” ... the response takes him aback. This kind of nonchalant behavior was so ... out of character. Or at least. So he thought. Perhaps Ältere doesn't know him nearly as well as he thought he did. “.. wh ... what do you mean, *and?”* Flora laughs, a genuine, not forced, free of strain and nervousness kind of laugh, and in that moment it's as if all of Ältere's concerns are dissolved at once and all is right with the world. “Of course there'll be imperfections, even if you followed something by the book, to the letter! But that's what makes it fun, right? Every experience is unique.” “... Huh.” He never ... thought of it that way. “How ... oddly insightful of you.” “Plus!” He goes back to stirring. Flora should probably leave it be, but he apparently *greatly* enjoys stirring. Ältere can't really blame him, either; it is kind of fun. “You get to do this, and there's all of this hard work that goes into an end result and it's good! And then you're not as cold if you make it in the winter! It's a real hit during the solstice.” Ältere just watches as Flora does his thing with a sense of amazement. In all these weeks, he'd never seen Flora so calm. So ... full of life. He was in his element, and they were connecting the only way they knew how, and they were happy. They were ... happy. “... I suppose you're right.” If only it could stay like this.
Really not my usual type but I kinda enjoy it sooo- some more sassy AI
I relaxed onto my chair, starting my skim through the documents HQ sent my way. It was tedious work for sure, but someone had to do it. That someone specifically needed to be the Captain. And the Captain? Well, she’s me.
My heart seeks adventure, it’s the reason why I embarked on this journey to begin with. I crave chaos, violence; adrenaline coursing through my veins! But here I am, going through paperwork and technicalities; nerd stuff. Other people’s work at that too… I didn’t even write this.
Which, come to think of it, is probably for the best.
I took a bite of my delicious blueberry muffin as I continued my reading, mostly focused on it when I was rudely interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Oh, hi Cove–” I glanced over at nothing at all before remembering I was in fact, talking to an A.I. “gonna keep my company?” I quickly added, turning back to my work.
“Aren’t I always?”
I smiled with a nod. “Fair point”
“It’s ten past seven, Captain” He said, as if I was supposed to know what that time meant? Did I miss a meeting or something?
“It’s mealtime. Captain.” his voice became slightly threatening and maybe I would have cared if he actually posed a threat– oh wait, he can totally just shut down our oxygen huh…
Note to self, don’t anger the sassy AI.
I arched an eyebrow, taking another bite of my muffin before speaking, mouth full. “So?”
“...You should be having dinner at dinnertime, Captain- I–” I could immediately tell the frustration in his voice and it took everything in me to hold back on laughing. “Captain, how did you ever survive for over thirty years–?”
“Fast food and alcohol” I replied carelessly. It might’ve been a slight exaggeration, but I wasn’t wrong either. I’ve only recently picked up the ‘healthy-lifestyle’ crap. Mostly because ‘I need to be a good example’ or whatever. As if these bunch of kids would ever listen to me of all people.
He sighed. The A.I. sighed. Honestly, that in and of itself is an achievement worthy of my father’s pride.
While indulging in the amusement of my accomplishment the screen before me shut off abruptly, the very interesting piece I was very much enjoy, gone. I bolted up, looking around myself to find every screen in the cabin turned off one by one. “Cove! What did you do!?”
“Oh, I just activated a little something called ‘Parental Block’. Your sister programmed it for, and I quote ‘when Hal decides to be a workaholic idiotic brat and not take care of herself’ end quote.” An overwhelming amount of sass lined his voice.
My god, I can’t escape the sass of my family even all the way out here in space. DARN YOU MEGAN!
I narrowed my eyes, curling my free hand into a fist while the other gently held onto the half-eaten muffin. “Cove, I’ll fucking kill you”
“I am not alive, therefore I am unable to die, Captain.” he replied dryly. “You on the other hand…”
That little shit!
If he’d been standing in front of me– I… I wouldn’t do anything. But, I’d think about it for sure! Letting out an outraged huff, I walked off, taking an angry bite of my muffin. “Fine! I guess I’ll go have dinner then” I called out after me.
“Good idea, Captain” the little shit replied from the speaker I just passed.
That little shit and his little shit makers– little shits, the whole lot of them. But my god do I love them.
WC: 600 (yeah, idk either)
Mealtimes were never the same anymore.
Sitting there alone at the kitchen counter, the lights off, his plate covered with dust, all he could hear was the clock going tick tock tick tock at an abysmally slow pace in the background. It seemed that an eternity would pass before he could remember to take another bite, and the he barely gave any effort to chew and swallow. It was all tasteless, everything was, and he wasn’t sure if he ate the same thing every day; he never paid attention when making it.
Eating… Why did people eat? Such a waste of time, although he wouldn’t be doing much else with the rest of his day. Perhaps stare out of the window at the dreary scenery for a bit, or watch TV while his eyes glazed over. Maybe sleep, to try and dream himself out of this mess. Sometimes people came knocking but he ignored them, unless it was the mailman or his neighbor. Then he opened the door, and chatted for a while, to alleviate their fear that he was dead, or pick up a package that he didn’t remember ordering.
Life went so slow, yet the days blurred together, and before he knew it the seasons passed and so did Christmas and springtime and the hotness of summer and he was still sitting at the kitchen counter, eating his plate of tasteless food. Some days he tried to imagine what it might be, but still it remained colorless in his eyes. He glanced over at the dining room, its doors having been closed for what seemed to be years. Was it worth living in this large house, all by himself? It wasn’t like he was tending to it either.
God, where had all those people gone? He was now ever so lonely, even more so than before. He thought that they could all sit down together and share a nice meal, like a family, but now they were gone and there was blood on his hands.
He hadn’t meant it, he swore. Things had just turned out this way.
How this life was different from being dead, he didn’t know. But the sunset tonight, it was colorful, it was beautiful, all lit up in the sky. So he sat, and so he ate.
TW: Very, very brief mention of Death. Also slight mentions of Poison The scene settles on a table draped with a cream-colored cloth. Set neatly apart on top of it are two wine glasses filled to the brim with crimson liquid. She’s sat on one side, tie hanging loose and wondering when her companion will arrive. He had claimed he would be here at six o’clock sharp, but now the clock is ticking over to a quarter past six. Pulling the tie the rest of the way off, she folds it neatly and rests it on the table as he rushes up to the table. “Decided to join me, then?” “Unfortunately.” His eyes narrowed, ever so slightly, as he took in the pair of wine glasses. “What’s the occasion?” “Irrelevant now. Maybe it’s the fact you decided to grace me with your presence finally.” “Oh fuck off.” “Never.” The pair fell into an uneasy silence as they tried to gain a mental advantage over their respective companion. The woman rolled her sleeves up carefully, showcasing a myriad of colorful tattoos decorating each arm as she did so. Her companion leaned forward to get a better view, only for a waiter to appear out of nowhere as he did. “May I take your orders?” “Steaks, for the both of us. Medium rare. Thank you.” The waiter nodded and offered a quick smile before disappearing as fast as he appeared. Her companion stared in confusion. “And if I didn’t want that?” “Not really my problem, now is it?” “Fuck you.” “Manners, darling. Don’t ruin the meal now. We haven’t even received our food. You should really try the wine, I hear it’s the best they offer.” She lifts her glass and spins the liquid idly, looking to him for what she assumed would be another rude response. “Well?” “And how do I know there’s not something in it? I wouldn’t put it past you, to have poisoned mine to get rid of me once and for all.” He leaned forward, snatching her glass from her hand and swapping the two. “Or maybe you’re just… trying to trick me. And yours was poisoned.” The glasses swap places again to return to their original locations. She just offers a half smile as he adjusts the glasses repeatedly. “Actually, no, I think..” Swapping them one more time, he lifts what was her glass to his lips and pauses. “A toast to the dinner we shall have? Cheers, dear.” Tapping the glasses together, they both drink and his eyes go wide as a coughing fit overtakes him. “Problem?” “You did poison it! But, this was yours…” “Actually, I poisoned both. Isn’t it funny how easy it was to get you to believe a drink was safe?” “You poisoned them both?!” Forcing himself to his full height, he leans against the table as he towers over her still sitting form. “You filthy wh—” “Ah, ah, ah, mind the guidelines, darling. Wouldn’t want Yue-Bot getting upset, now would we?” “Guidelines?” Another coughing fit sends him collapsing back into his chair. His skin is ghostly pale as the poison moves through his bloodstream with ease, and she chuckles at the look of shock on his face. “What— What guidelines?” “Irrelevant. Farewell, darling.” Offering him a quick wave, she lets her eyes follow his body as he slumps out of his chair and onto the floor, unmoving. The waiter returns and doesn’t acknowledge the body now at his feet as he places the food before her. “Thank you, sir.” “Of course, ma’am. Enjoy your meal.”
Word Count: 553 words
Breakfast is an optional meal for New, since he’s made it a habit to always manipulate “satiated” as the effect of his rising from bed. Dinner is easily negligible, depending on his mood. If there were more people than usual trying to trespass the boundaries of his forest, or if Sakura and the rascal Guardians had decided to ransack his history tomes again, or Otherworlders had somehow, again, wound up in his forest—then he’ll need something to eat and drink to stave off the headache.
Lunch is a different matter; he never neglects lunch. And each time, he prepares his meal according to what’s available. Today, he has fresh produce, harvested from the garden at daybreak. Bread from the other day is still fresh—of course, he made it so—perfect for a quick sandwich.
He had somehow found himself in a good mood, stirring his bowl of thinroot and tomato soup. Now, if only things remained like that.
Except, this brat has popped up on his doorstep today. Again.
“I like it here. Your food is great,” the brat mumbles between bites, bread crumbs occasionally falling from his lips.
Sat across from him, New scoffs, taking a small bite from his sandwich. He won’t exactly call it “great” when he could easily alter the results every time. Did the crops turn bad, maybe because of pests, rain, or faulty soil? With a wave of his hand and a minuscule amount of energy, the crops will be fresh or the soil fertile and none of those factors ever happened.
“Mr. New, what do you put in your soup?” the brat asks, already done with his sandwich and moved on to his soup. New scowls at the red lining the kid’s lips and the breadcrumbs that dot his table.
“Nothing unusual,” New says, face back to impassiveness. "Brat, clean up after you're done and leave."
"My name is Lucas." The brat has the audacity to whine.
Sometimes, he wonders why the brat keeps coming here—a small cottage hidden within Crystal Glade, away from the town, an object of myths and tales the mothers use to scare their children.
He can easily wave his hands and the factor of "Lucas entered the glade" would never have happened. Still, he knows, the kid would keep coming, forcing his way through the trees until he found his way by his door again.
He can also make it so "Lucas never left the town", but there are too many factors that he may accidentally touch, forgo, or cause.
And so here he is again: letting a brat eat at his table in a cramped wooden cottage by a vegetable garden.
Scattered clouds pass over the glaring sun. The light from his window softens to a faint caress of marigold, dancing with specks of dust. He lets silence rest at the table; he prefers that after all. The rustling of forest leaves, wind batting at his window, a chorus of birds singing on tree branches and pecking at his plants—
"Oh right, Mr. New, there are really cool visitors in town again!" The brat pushes apart the thin silence, grin crooked. New can see a missing tooth. "They're from another world."
As New pauses in his bite and welcomes the tendrils of a forming headache, he plans his dinner for tonight.
(CW: chicken dies) The Kirityan Clan of the Gerabbinad Planet were very advanced, technologically. They had holograms and jetpacks and cars that could turn into a plane, or if the need arose, a boat. Their people also developed spacecraft.
Members of the clan travelled far and wide throughout the galaxies, but were saddened to find no other living organisms—intelligent ones, that is. But the multiverse was infinite, and thus, somewhere out there would be a similar planet with similar organisms.
The Kirityan Clan Space Division was always going on missions. The current one was called Intelligence-Scoper III, as it was the third attempt and the spacecraft on the job was called the Intelligence Scoper.
Only five Space-Division agents were on the mission: a yellow woman with slimy antennae and flipper-like feet who was but five inches tall (whose major differences in appearance being because she was from a different clan); a purple slug, whose existence, or sentience rather, and abilities to talk were a special thing indeed (he was surely to be studied in a laboratory soon); a tall, pink robot; Jerry, the deformed house-cat who once hacked into the Space Division; and the only normal one, a prime example of what a Kirityan Clan member looked like—three feet tall, with strong legs and long toes, and a squarish head on his shoulders that was so heavy his spine was bent in a wacky shape.
After they’d all buckled up and been thrown into outer space, they started to talk to each other.
“Do you think we’ll find it, this time?” asked the slug in its posh accent. “Other intelligent species?”
Jerry’s claws had dug deep into his chair’s armrests, and he hadn’t yet let go since they’d launched. His voice was strangely deep for a cat’s, probably due to radioactive exposure, when he said, “I don’t know that any will be as smart as me…or any of you even…but all I hope is to find a species that’s smart enough to draw, even…and pretty….”
“Oh, yes, hopefully they’re pretty,” agreed the snail.
The yellow woman crossed her arms. “Well, all I want is someone who’s smart enough to play Gigelly”—a Terrucattne Clan board game—“with me, hot or not.”
The coral-coloured rectangle, who’d introduced themself as Robot-Chan, had a few buttons and a screen displaying an anime girl who supposedly was Robot-Chan. She was blonde and dressed like an astronaut, just without the helmet, and her mouth moved in sync with her words. “Um…For my data, I’d like to know whether being attractive is as important as being smart. You all seem to have conflicting answers, so I’ll go with majority rule, if that’s okay.”
The individual with the bent spine replied, in a hoarse, uneven voice, “It depends on who, ahem, who you ask. Most people would say yes, it’s just as important.”
The yellow woman screamed. It was astonishingly loud for a squeaky-voiced, five-inch tall woman.
Jerry’s claws ripped the armrests a little more, scared. “What’re you…screaming about?”
The snail explained with much excitement: “A sun! Ha-ha! This means there’s an entire solar system here, like ours, and with any luck, with intelligent lifeforms like ours.”
Robot-Chan squealed. “This is great!”
“I count eight planets,” said the bent-spine guy. “Which do we land on?”
“I like the look of that one,” the yellow woman said, pointing to a green-and-blue planet.
“Me too,” the dog said. “It seems to have aquatic life…probably. The blue part’s water…I think….”
So they landed on the green-and-blue sphere, somewhere forested.
The shrubbery wasn’t too impressive, since they also had it on their planet, but it gave them hope.
And then they saw it—someone. A living organism, dark brown and built well. They had toes, not long ones, and strong legs and a head, but it was sort of spherical, and it wasn’t heavy enough that it bent their spine. No, their spine was in great condition, rendering them strong enough to carry that.
A white-feathered, yellow-sticks-for-legs, bundle of BAGAWK! ing, in the strong organism’s hands. Those hands curled around the white bundle just before its head and bent until the squawking stopped.
They were glad the strong organism didn’t see them.
“The organism appears to be intelligent!” Robot-Chan remarked. “It’s killed that thing, that shows intelligence, doesn’t it? We kill worms and beetles all the time to eat! Do you think it’ll eat the white mammal?”
“Shhh,” the bent man rasped the warning.
It was mutually understood, then, that this organism could kill them like it killed the feathery bundle. It was definitely stronger than all of them.
The yellow woman broke the frightened silence. “I’m going to spy on it. It won’t see me. I’ll report back soon.” And before anyone could object, she bounded away, following the alien who carried the feathery corpse.
It was a long time before the tiny woman came back.
Enthusiastically, she reported as planned: “It did eat it! It’s eating it right now! It took off the feathers and then he put it on a stick above a fire! It’s intelligent!”
They all cried out in joy.
“Let’s go join it…,” the dog suggested. “I’m hungry….”
“It’s so much stronger, I don’t know,” said the man with the bent back.
“Oh, come on, we could take it if we worked together.”
So they joined it. It grunted at the sight of them, raised its spear.
“We come in peace!” the yellow woman said.
It grunted in response.
“I don’t think it speaks our language…,” the dog said, digging its claws into the dirt as he often did in fear.
Maybe bringing attention to the claws was intimidating, because then the organism ripped a strip of meat off the chicken. It threw the meat far away, hoping they’d go for the meat and not it.
Well, it worked. They were hungry, after all.
Did that count as having dinner with the new species? If so, hopefully that meant they were on good terms now.
Before taking any further action, they ought to report back to find out what their next move was.
“Time to go home,” the man with the bent-spine croaked.
And they hopped back in the spacecraft and did just that.
Dinnertime has been a little awkward these past few days. Ever since my brother left us, it’s just been me and my mom sitting alone at the dinner table every night, with Cally watching eagerly from the other side of the sliding door. There’d always be some rice and beans left over at the end of the day, since Mom still hasn’t gotten used to cooking for just two people. I’m not sure whether I should feel bad for myself, being the older sibling who works from home, or for her, since she’s clearly been having a hard time adjusting to the new dynamic.
“Are you finished, son?” she’d ask. She no longer calls me by my name, because the mere possibility of her mistaking my name for his would be too much to handle for her.
“I’m done, Mom,” I’d answer.
“There’s more in the pot if you want seconds.”
“You’ll help me wash the dishes in a bit, right?”
“Of course. I just need to use the bathroom.”
“Make sure to knock, just in case.”
“There’s no one else here, Mom. If there’s someone in the bathroom, I’m calling the police.”
I was joking, of course, but I’ll never forget the tense silence we shared between us that evening.
Merllivan was sat on his desk, writing again, as he always is. But not long before he heard the sound of his alarm clock. He always forgets to keep himself fed, especially because he can't feel hunger easily. He sighed, setting down his glass pen and placing the lid on the ink once more, as he closed the book he was writing in. Before walking to the stove he brought along his mug, now empty. His days are silent like this, only always in his mind, barely speaking at all. "Oh, it's empty." He sounded shocked to hear his own voice, especially because he thought he said it in his mind. "Hm." He hummed in confusion, feeling a mix of several emotions, including some mild distress, confusion, frustration, and some shock as well. He shook his head. "Argh. It's so hard to talk in my mind when I feel so...unpleasant?" He groaned, followed by several slurred words. A deep breath followed as he just decided to go get himself some food, which was his initial intention. He set down the mug on the counter and opened his fridge, rechecking the magic stone that helped power it without the need of electricity. He got himself two eggs, he'll cook himself a better meal later. He closed it and walked towards the stove, which he placed his hand on, and lit on fire. He shook his hand rapidly after to get rid of the flames. He placed the pan, poured in some oil, and cracked the eggs in after. He watched it sizzle, some of it getting to his skin and prickling him with heat he barely felt. He took a spatula which hung from a rack on the wall, as well as a plate. After a minute or two, it was cooked just the way he liked it, with the yolk intact. He used the spatula to get it from the pan and placed it on the plate, walking back to his refrigerator. He found his container which had some cold rice, and took it, closing the ref. He let the fire go on as he placed the pan in the sink, and grabbed his small steamer from the utensil rack, just beside the counter. He placed some water in the first layer of the steamer, placed the second layer on top, and then the rice into it. He put the lid on and placed the steamer on the stove, which was burning weakly. He placed his hand near it and helped it burn a bit stronger so that he can steam the rice faster. After some time, it was finished. As he took off the lid a sea of steam greeted him with a small pecks on his face before he moved out of the way, wiping it off. He placed his hand on the stove once more again, and the fire went out. He took his spoon and scooped himself some warm rice onto his plate. Once he was ready to dig in, he walked back to his desk, but felt like something was missing. "Oh, that." He looked at the bottle of soy sauce on the counter. "The...what's it called again?" He didn't bother to try and remember, but he did always have it with his eggs. He first had it when one of the tourists, Tristan, introduced it to him. He let out a soft groan as he stood up, set aside his writing materials on a smaller table beside his seat, and quickly rushed to grab the bottle, he poured in some small taps of the sauce, and placed it back in the counter. "Finally, mealtime." His mind was still in a bit of a mess considering how he's always silent, and the overall confusion and mix of emotions he continued to feel, but that won't stop him from enjoying his food. He smiled a bit, remembering the first time he got to eat 'eggs and rice with soy sauce'. Tristan came barging into his place, where they would exchange information about places, and Tristan would update him about the things he's visited before, perhaps a hundred or so years ago. He offered to make him food for his troubles, and he couldn't deny anyways, he did enjoy it a lot in the end. "No regret." He muttered to himself as he began to dig into the rice, a much wider, happier smile warming up in his face as he remembered more happy, joyful memories he