Famine (DRAMAtical Murder fanfic)

Chapter 6

His home was located on the fifth floor in a large apartment building in the part of town most people avoided. It was the kind of place you'd expect to see lots of prostitution and drugs, but his apartment was clean.

Whatever, it's not really my place to judge. Who knows what kind of job he had before the disease. Hairdressing will be impossible now, as I highly doubt the infected really care about how they look.

The door was unlocked, which seemed odd for someone with the disease. The apartment was dark, besides a little nightlight above the door so you could see enough to take of your shoes and maybe cook in the little kitchen if you didn't need to use a knife. Also, the apartment was freezing cold. As if it were packed with ice or something. Tolka closed the door behind me before starting to empty out his bag onto the counter. I'd been around him long enough to know that he's the kind of person who really couldn't give two shits about being helped or whatever I decided to do, so I explored the apartment.

The tiny kitchen opened up into a small living room, which really wasn't that impressive in and of itself. A small table in the middle with two cushions, a tiny desk over by the corner, a pile of blankets over by the large window that looked out over the red-light district. It was certainly a pretty view already, as the darkness made the usual lights stand out. I turned to the right, seeing as there wasn't much else to see, and I couldn't make out the smallest it of color in the whole place anyways. A flimsy wall separated the bedroom from the living room. If you could even call it a bedroom. There was another window in here, barely spanning one end of the tiny room. His bed, or what seemed like one, was situated beneath it. It mostly just seemed to be a few pillows and a chaotic mess of blankets. A door to my right, opposite the bed, led to a fairly decent bathroom. Big enough for two people to maneuver around one another if need be, at least. What surprised me the most about the entire place was the amount of books. The place looked like a library had thrown up into any available space. Even with two large bookshelves by the desk in the living room, the books still managed to cover most of the surfaces.

"Can you cook?"

I turn from the large window in the living room to see Tolka stepping over a pile of books on his way to the bedroom. Oddly, he doesn't seem at all irritated by it, just muttering to himself under his breath for a few seconds.

"I can, though not much."

"Great. Go make yourself a dinner, then. I need to pee."

I resist the urge to laugh as he trips over a few books on his way into the bathroom, this time being followed by a short snap of swearing. I move to the kitchen, which was more illuminated now that the living room window wasn't hidden by curtains. He'd put the fruit into two large bowls that didn't match, the rest laid out on the counter. I was surprised by the amount of vegetables, only now understanding what the odd man had meant when he'd referred to needing knowledge. There's no way I would've known the different between a wild daikon and some poisonous death weed. Besides vegetables, there were some plants mixed in that I vaguely recognized, and even a tiny bowl of two peaches. Peaches certainly seemed like a very lucky find this time of the year. They must've been the last crop of a late-blooming tree.

I guess I could make some kind of stew or something out of this. I might even be able to make it last a few days if I tried. The sound of Tolka returning drew my attention briefly, only to see him crouching by the tiny refrigerator. One glance inside made me instantly raise an eyebrow. There were some non-perishable things, like broth and lemon juice, but what stunned me was the amount of milk. The fridge was practically full of it.

Come to think of it, the doctor back at the tanker had mentioned something about random deficiencies occurring in Stage 4. My guess was that Tolka's was likely calcium or something. That would explain the milk, at least. I refocused on my task, grabbing a cutting board and a somewhat sharp knife before trying not to cut a finger off while I cut up a few things. Tolka had moved to the pile of blankets by the living room window, one of the cartons of milk in his hand as he looked over the city. I decided the only way to settle my nerves of everything was to make idle conversation. Though I somewhat expect for him to just brush me off with an irritated expression.