Markom

7: A glimpse into your heart | C

For the ruling class, placement mornings were always a bore -- or rather -- a chore. With all the help nestled in their own beds, surrounded by their own groupings -- how dare they, as if they had lives -- Ones were left to fend for themselves.

"Eggs, dear?" M asked, though more a question to herself than to Cadmus. She had peaked through the bedroom door to find her tossing and turning son. "Don't tell Father but the stove requires a quick prayer before it will turn on." How conspiratorial...

In his silence, the woman's nervous pontificating only grew. "Actually, I think Cook left us a Quiche Lorraine. Thank Science! Only why does the microwave have so many buttons?"

Cadmus kicked off his duvet, chest still heaving from his... well, whatever you might call a dream turned nightmare. The brooding young man wanted nothing more than to return to his dreamland, to find her and figure out how the hell she was haunting him.

Up until now, Cadmus was certain that she was a figure of his imagination. Sure, dreams might inexplicitly unravel to give the dreamer what they needed most; but, dreams couldn't devolve like that, not unless the dreamer willed them to!

"They're only buttons, M." Cadmus mumbled grudgingly, holding his mother's attention as his body roused from sleep. He left his room and led them from the private quarters of the penthouse and to the rest of their estate. Down the imperial staircase they went, hands on the balustrade. Their front room, or foyer, featured an luxurious pool with plants in the center. The room was flanked by colorful miniature storefronts, almost like their own metropolis in the sky. The picturesque buildings -- a cocktail lounge, spa, game center, and others -- had colorful displays with manicured set pieces that might be swapped out according to any One's whims.

Wandering through another corridor, Cadmus finally passed through the two French doors that led to the kitchen. White marble countertops and copper appliances surrounded the enormous room, sterile without the usual team of cooks.

"I hate it here." Evelyn scowled, "It's just so... provincial." Cadmus smirked. He only ever found M in the kitchen during Festival when she had no other options. Not even take-out.

"It's a kitchen, M, not an impressionist painting."

"And now you've made me think of Renoir. It's too... early for this" Evelyn hovered a lazy palm over the refrigerator door which opened instantly. She reached for a glass container, helpfully labeled Quiche, and placed it on the counter.

"I know. Worst artist to ever live and die."

"The squiggles..."

"Squiggles?"

"The way he paints trees, darling. They're squiggles."

Cadmus nodded as if in full agreement. He stepped in to code instructions into the microwave -- not wanting his mother to burn their breakfast to a crisp -- and helped her find three plates. Come Festival, Evelyn always conveniently forgot where everything belonged -- as if she had blacked out from the trauma related to helping herself. No wonder Ones tipped their Help so generously the day after Placement. Gratitude could make miracles.

Cadmus's Father, Lucius found them, keeping to the shadows as to avoid becoming useful. His head of dark waves was slicked back into a small pompadour. "We -- er -- we will eat today, won't we?"

"Working on it!" Evelyn snapped as the first plate of Quiche began to cook. She watched through the glass, exclaiming: "Oh! Well, that's fun. It kind of spins around like on a carousel." Lucius rolled his eyes as Cadmus grinned. Science, Cadmus vowed to never become so clueless in his mid-age.