Stars, Secrets, and Lies

Breakfast, Snapchat, and Chills

                  

Who else looooooves when their computer restarts twice for no reason, and they lose all their writing twice? No one! Fuck you, Windows.

As usual, please review, and thanks for reading! Last chapter was all light and fun, so time to get serious....

I woke up to a burning smell. My first thought was that the Institute was burning down. Luckily, the smell wasn't like burning wood, but rather burning meat. Bacon, I realized. There was a loud metallic scraping, and then clanging as if someone was raiding the kitchen. I jerked up, the noise grating my ear drums. Had someone gotten up to cook? Or was someone trying to rob us... and cook? Knowing our group, the second option was more likely. No one would be nice enough to cook for anyone else, except for Sylynn, but I was guessing she was horribly hungover after last night.

I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, willing the blurriness from makeup residue out of my eyes. I pushed myself off the couch and into a standing position, wincing as I heard a resounding crack from all my joints. I suppose I deserved that from sleeping on such a tiny couch. The shuffling and clanging in the kitchen stopped, and I realized by stretching I gave myself away. It was too early for me to feel panicked, though I knew I had to arm myself against a potential threat. I surveyed the room, looking for something. My eyes landed on the silver cutlery set out perfectly on the immense mahogany table occupying the room. I went for a knife, and my vision blurred over.

Oh fuck, I thought as sudden dizziness clouded my head. Head rush Tara, you're fine. I fumbled around blindly for the knife, finally clutching it in my hand as I regained my balance. My stumbling was just more clues for the intruder, but I was too dazed for the threat to truly sink in. In my half-asleep state, the only motivation I could muster to investigate was thinking this motherfucker woke me up, he's gonna get a knife in the back for breaking in and wrecking my sleep.

I dragged myself to the door of the kitchen, an area just off the antique-decorated dining room. I peered around the doorframe. I held the knife behind me, how I remembered I was forcefully taught in the nightmare training sessions when I was younger. I peered around the corner. There was a dark figure, standing between one of the many prep tables of the kitchen (the kitchen was also designed to accommodate masses). It was a dark figure, hoodies and sweats hiding its form. A sword dangled lazily from its one hand.

The wretched aging floorboards gave me away. The figure whipped its head around, and I jumped into an attempted defensive position, blade at the ready.

"Oh my fucking God put that down!" Seth yelled at me, his eyes going wide. "I do NOT trust you with that!"

Oh. Not an intruder. I slowly lowered the knife. "To be fair, I don't trust you in the kitchen."

"Yeah, well it's noon, and no one's cooked for me yet." He shrugged, lifting the sword as if it weighed as much of a badminton racket.

"And you have your sword why...?" I asked, taking note that his weapon that he held as casually as a pen was etched with the design of his family ring, and a large "A" forged out of metal at the hilt.

"I couldn't find the knives to cut bacon," he explained. I'm surprised his answer wasn't for the hell of it.

"Right. Love having the residue of ichor on my breakfast, the way it burns your throat form the inside out; mmm." I snapped back sarcastically.

He raised his hands in surrender. "Well, SORRY. Just don't eat it the- Shit!" he yelled, dropping his sword as a pot of water across the room stated to boil over. I did not want to know what he was attempting to cook in that.