Lost in Technicolor

You Know How to Cook?

The journey home hadn't proven too difficult, Erik thought. Yes, there had been a lot of stares, but what were people going to do in broad daylight in such a crowd? However, Petra seemed to think that anyone even little children were going to jump out at her and she clutched onto Erik's arm the entire way home, despite his crutches and leaving terrible claw marks on his arms, even though he was wearing a thick coat. She was completely on edge until she was safe, locked in his apartment, sitting on his dusty couch.

Now Erik was sitting at the table, drinking a glass of water as he watched the door expectantly.

"He probably won't show up until nighttime," Petra muttered softly from the couch.

"He hates reporters and cameras that much?" Erik smiled, glad that he wouldn't have to see Damien for at least six hours. He leaned into his chair, relaxed.

"No, that was all a lie," Petra laughed, "he's probably sulking somewhere embarrassed for showing us that he has a heart!"

"What makes you so sure?" Erik yawned. It had been quite the day, but he was glad that Petra seemed to be slowly returning to her normal self.

"I know him like the back of my hand," Petra growled, "besides he isn't the type to-"

However, a sudden banging on the door interrupted her. Both turned their heads towards the door, shocked. Biting his lip Erik, grabbed his crutches and made his way to the door. He opened it and Damien walked in, nearly shoving him over in the process. Erik frowned angrily. How had Damien found where he lived? He hadn't exactly told him.

"Like the back of her hand she says," he growled under his breath as he stormed past Erik.

Petra stared at him still in shock. "But-"

"But nothing, darling," Damien snapped, "did you honestly think that someone wouldn't change over a year, yet alone two?"

"Why are you so angry at her?" Erik hissed, slamming the door and locking it.

Damien turned around to look at Erik with a grin. However, he soon fell into a fit of sneezes, which ended with multiple coughs, "God!" He hissed at Erik frustratedly, "Have you never heard of a duster before?"

Erik rolled his eyes in response and sat down on the couch beside Petra, sending up another cloud of dust which caused them all to go into a series of coughs and sneezes.

After recovering, Damien strolled over to the window, wearing a deep frown and turning to Erik as he made his point, he swiped one finger through the inch thick dust covering the window sill. Erik watched as the thick trail of powdery dust showered onto the floor.

"Do you think I have time to care about stuff like that?" Erik snapped at him. "I can barely walk around this damn apartment thanks to you! I can't work and I can't get to school, I-"

"Boo-hoo," Damien smiled cruelly as he simpered, "is the little baby going to cry?"

"Damien, stop it," Petra frowned, glancing between the two. Then she fell into another coughing fit and smiling as her eyes watered, she said to Erik, "It is pretty bad in here, though."

He wasn't amused. However, if Damien hadn't been there, he probably would have smiled, but just the sight of the man boiled his anger. "I'm harboring a criminal," he muttered to himself with a laugh. "Although, I suppose that there's nothing I can really do now," he sighed and then commented to Damien, "if the dust is that bad Damien clean it up yourself."

Damien tilted his head back and sighed, "No, it'll do. I'll make dinner, since you'd take forever in your sorry state."

Erik looked up at him shocked, "You know how to cook?"

Damien laughed a bit as he took the one step required to reach the kitchen and pulled out a battered up, old pot from the nearest cabinet and dropped it carelessly onto the stove with a loud clatter, "And why wouldn't I?"

"You're filthy rich," he muttered, looking hard at his mutated reflection in the pot so as to avoid meeting Damien's demonic stare, "you were born wealthy and you always will be."

Petra glanced at Damien and the two of them immediately burst into laughter, doubling over from it. "Y-You think that I have always been wealthy?" Damien managed through a snicker.

"Honestly, Erik," Petra laughed along, "really and who did you presume was his father?"

"I dunno," Erik muttered, embarrassed, "tell me how does one become the king's chief advisor at age twelve without wealth and political ties?"

The laughter died out like a blown out flame. Damien spoke softly to conceal his spiteful anger, "Why do you think?"

"I really don't-" Erik began.

However, Petra butted in saying, "Erik, the king wants Damien to exploit him for his power."

Erik glanced at Damien uneasily, "Oh."

With a nod Damien turned his back to Erik and began to search through his kitchen for food.

"Uh, no wait!" Erik snapped, scrambling to grab his crutches and stand up.

"What?" Damien sighed as he stooped down to the floor to rummage through the bottom drawers.

"Well, for one you can't just go ferreting through my house," he growled, once he was standing on his crutches towering above him, "and for another I don't have any food in the house."

Giving a small cough, Damien stood up and looking down on Erik muttered, "Well, then what are we going to eat for dinner, dear?"

With a grin Erik said, "Come on, we can get some food from where I work."

Petra watched Damien's eyes follow Erik to the door and then turn on her with a questioning look. She shrugged and then hurried over to him and, after grabbing the coat that had been next to his, followed him out the narrow door.