Bliss was taken back by how assertive Emily was. She hadn't expected to be ordered around by someone who just showed up. It was refreshing to see, if a bit annoying. Bliss had hoped to learn more about Emily, but she was quick to task herself with bringing everyone to the dining area. It wasn't like she really needed help cooking bacon, but it would have been a good opportunity to talk a little bit.
Fortunately, Daimyon arrived to offer his help. Even though the poet had also mostly wanted to get to know the new Infinite, he believed that gentlemen did not go back on offers they had just made. He had, as he had confessed mere minutes ago, little to show for himself in terms of cooking skill—still! Stepping out of his comfort zone might be exactly what he needed after his self-exile, he told himself.
“Oh, that would be wonderful!“ Bliss started to hover around the kitchen. She was giving everything she walked past a prod with her finger.
“I think we have enough pancakes for the moment, but I have the batter all prepared if we need more. We're also good on scrambled eggs, there's plenty sitting in that food warmer.“ “The kitchen is your domain indeed, madam,” Daimyon remarked, taking a few steps inside this thoroughly-equipped kingdom of delicious potential.
Bliss lifted a finger to her cheek.
“We just need to cook up some more bacon. Bacon makes everything better!“ she looked out the window of the kitchen to see who had arrived. A few people were already eating. She could see Noel and Ice talking at one end of the table. But Thomas seemed like he was all by himself. A child, by themselves? This was unacceptable!
“Daimyon!“ Bliss turned to face the poet.
“We have a situation! Keep cooking!“ “Right away, chef!” As Bliss hurried out of the kitchen, Daimyon reached for a white apron that was hanging around with a childlike grin on his face and tied it around himself. There were no mirrors, but he was absolutely sure he looked fabulous. It got him swiftly into the cooking spirit as well as he took stock to figure out what to do. Bacon, he had to make bacon. The raw strips had already been prepared, though unfortunately the nanny left no instructions on how to proceed with them. He had a feeling that bacon was one of the simpler things one could cook, so if he wanted to prove himself, this was the place to start. But how?
After some deliberation, Daimyon realised that poets and chefs actually had much in common. Though their mediums of choice differed, they both created art, and art could only be truly great if one put their heart and soul into it. So that was exactly what he was going to do. He gravitated towards the large stove—his quill for today's masterpiece. He felt the temptation to simply put the whole batch into the oven and be done with it, but he reminded himself that it was not the artist's way. He grabbed a skillet—a small one, for even the greatest geniuses started humbly. He laid down the bacon strips into it, arranging them delicately like words in a flowery sentence. Then he placed the skillet on the burner, his attention wandering to the knobs that controlled the heat. He started turning up the main one very slowly, like a painter painting a detailed landscape. All along he kept his eyes on the bacon as it began to cook. The strong smell was a sensation up there with the sweetest pleasures of life, the crunching sound and the crispy texture of the meat together made for a heavenly image.
Ah, art!
Bliss couldn't really run with the way her clothes fit around her legs, but she walked very quickly over to the breakfast table and sat across from the boy. They were not so far away that Daimyon couldn't hear the conversation.
“Good morning!“ She said with a warm smile.
“ I'm Bliss Buckly, but you can call me Bliss or Ms Buckly. Whichever you prefer.“ She placed her hands on top of the table.
“You're Thomas right?“ She extended her gloved hand across the table to shake his.
Talents are a fickle thing, and they never seem to tell the whole story. There’s always a person behind the talent, someone who may not always be what they seem. Behind some infinite’s were feats worthy of epics — or epics worthy of their feats in Daimyon’s case — but even then that doesn’t paint the whole picture. Infinites are a conglomeration of interesting aspects and personalities and quirks that lay the canvas for their infinite talents.
For one such as Thomas however, his talent seemed very indicative of who he was as a person. Reserved, quiet, logical; a scientist through and through. More so than that though, Thomas was a bystander. He was just a footnote in a story, a side character in the grand story of a greater killing game. He watched, thought, and repeated until he couldn’t anymore. Fitting, for someone with such an inconsequential talent.
And then there was his senior, Bliss Buckly. Covered in Victorian garments, warm and smiling, someone who’s talkative and personable. If Thomas was just a side character, Bliss Buckly could be the protagonist. For the second time in less than twenty four hours, Thomas found himself opposite someone who was nearly entirely a contrast to him.
Thomas himself however was entirely unaware of this development. At the moment Bliss approached him he was in the middle of a losing battle with his orange and it’s peel. He was so absorbed in this battle that he entirely missed Bliss’s shuffle across the dining hall and it took her greeting to catch his attention.
He froze for a moment and his eyes darted to Bliss. Thomas’s characteristic physiognomy didn’t change, but he surely must’ve of felt a little sheepish at the moment. He had briefly saw Bliss’s card in the handbook, and knew that she was the Infinite Nanny; that was the entirety of his knowledge though. Furthermore, he had trouble telling anything about her by looking at her, the dress obstructed much of her physical features. Thomas was flustered by his oblivion in regards to Bliss.
Once Bliss finished speaking, Thomas reacted by slowly raising his hand up to meet hers.
“I’m Tho-” he stopped himself. She knew he was Thomas! She just said his name. Why was he telling her that?
“That’s right. Nice to meet you.” he mumbled, grasping her hand meekly.
Bliss's eyes immediately darted for the orange.
“Oh, you like oranges too?” The nanny adjusted her seat so that she was sitting on the same side of the table as Thomas.
“The spot where the stem meets the orange is usually very thick. If you can dig your fingers into that, you can peel the skin back with the stem easily.” Bliss watched Thomas, presumably to see if he was going to take her advice.
“Biomechanic, that's an impressive talent. I can barely pronounce it!” She leaned on the table with her elbow.
“What made you choose to pursue something like that?” As the nanny queried the biomechanic, the poet-turned-culinary artist was making magic happen in the kitchen. And just like most magic, his work was a series of narrowly-avoided disasters. He had a lot of fun with the heat knobs, so much that he spotted the spots of charred black appearing on the wonderful brown texture of the bacon bits almost too late. In a panicked scouring of the kitchen, he found a pair of tongs with which he could save most of that delicious potential. Once he had deemed both sides worthy of presentation and—hopefully—consumption, he turned off the stove, grabbed the skillet and headed out to the break room.
...or he would have, had he not stopped himself at the kitchen entrance. Looking at the greasy, sizzling bacon, he could feel something was missing. He turned back, his determination unshaken: there were still some finishing touches need applying.
“Oh.” Thomas said, a little less quiet. There were many reasons he became the infinite he was, but there
was a single objective meaning to his talent. As he thought about this, he idly started to fumble with the orange in his hand. He kept trying to drive his thumb past the peel, and for a moment it looked like he was making progress on peeling the orange.
“A few years ago, when I was just a boy-” Thomas paused for a moment, mulling over his next words.
“Have you ever heard of someone with my name? Besides myself, I mean.”.
“I can't say that I have.” She lifted a finger to her chin and tapped as she thought.
“Hmm...” She wasn't smiling anymore. It felt like she was actually trying to search her memory for something. Then her eyebrows raised under her hat.
“Is that your father, or grandfather?” “Father.” Thomas said slowly, now back to his typical lack of volume. His eyes were now settled on Bliss’s face. He felt a little bit at ease around her, surely a consequence of her talent.
“He wasn't a celebrity, but he carried a small degree of fame with him as a runner. A lot of infinites I've met have even known him personally, although he wasn't one himself.” Thomas remarked. His thumb was nearly through the orange peel
“When I was younger, he'd bring me to his training facility and I would watch the athletes. When he didn't concern himself with me, I would draw pictures of them. Eventually, pictures became diagrams. Then diagrams became theories, and those theories became experiments. One experiment was all it took to have the initiative knock on my door.” Bliss's eyes lit up.
“That's actually very impressive!” She turned her seat so that she was facing Thomas and no longer leaning on the table. Then the Nanny folded her hands and placed them on her lap.
“And what did this experiment entail? It must have had good results or been on a fairly large scale to get the initiative's attention.” Turning back, Daimyon realised quickly enough that he had foregone a crucial step: actually taking the bacon
out of the skillet. Worried that any further hesitation would ruin the whole thing, he hastily tore off a sheet of paper towel and laid the strips on it. And there it was: the epitome of creation! The smell invited him for a taste right away and he would have happily obliged, only to get rudely rebuffed by the heat when he tried to pick one up.
“Art is pain...” he hissed, shaking his hurt hand. He decided to let it cool some before going anywhere near it again.
Thomas’s eyes narrowed for a second, and then widened. Why was he telling Bliss all of this? He had just met her. Foolish. That's what he was. Hadn't he learned to keep his mouth shut yet? His only advantage in this game was his talent. The scope of which he couldn't reveal to anyone who didn't already know. Not yet, at least. Sure it was only a search on the internet away on the outside, but here information here was an asset that could be used against you at any moment. And also, part of him didn’t want to tell her.
Thomas’s thumb slid off the orange, sliding to the side of the yet to be peeled citrus. The round fruit slipped out of his hand and rolled into the table. Instead of grabbing it though, Thomas placed his two hands together and crossed his fingers, as if he were about to crack his knuckles.
”I won a competition actually, it must've impressed them.” He said, his eyes returning to their typical shape. He settled his hands, and reached for the orange slowly. Something seemed to have changed though.
”It's a pleasure to speak about myself, but you haven't said a thing about yourself yet. I'd hate to talk your ear off, so, Infinite Nanny, please tell me about yourself.” Before Bliss could have answered, though, Daimyon emerged, wearing his apron and a proud smile, holding a plate. He ambled up to the table the two Infinites were sitting at and presented the fruits—or rather,
meats—of his labour.
“And here it is! I must admit this is my first foray into this genre, but let not that discount the love that went into these pieces of heaven!” he said to the nanny, letting out a relieved sigh. Only with that and the food finally off his mind did he notice that there was someone sitting opposite to the woman: a young man.
“Oh! Good morning! You must be...” He raised a finger to his temple, racking his brain. He had done his homework this morning diligently and read up on every new Infinite from yesterday, yet the identity of this particular blue-haired boy escaped him. Or wait!
“...Thomas!” A momentary pause and bated breath: hoping he did not screw up horribly.
The nanny nodded at Daimyon.
“Yes he is! And he was just telling me about what made him pursue his talent.” She looked back at the boy.
“I don't mind sharing the story of my talent with you. I just thought it would be rude to start talking about myself. But now that you asked...” The smile ran from her face.
“I wish the story of how I discovered my talent was as innocent as yours. But it wasn't admiration for anyone that made me interested in children. It was actually hate, if you can believe it.” She started to smile, but it looked forced.
“At the orphanage, I never really liked how the adults would treat us. I'm not talking about the adoptive parents, but everyone involved with managing the orphanage turned me off. Nobody acted like they wanted to be around us. We were always treated like a hindrance. It wasn't until I grew older that I understood how difficult it was to keep an orphanage running.” Bliss sighed, but continued. Daimyon listened intently and sat down at the table himself.
“So as I grew into a teenager, I became the bridge between the children and the adults. I could understand what the adults were trying to do, and relay it to the children in a way they would understand.” Her smile broadened, it looked more natural now.
“I probably could have been adopted a few times, but I always tried to send someone else out in my place. But when Infinity initiative showed up, there was no way around it.” She shook her head.
“I still visit the orphanage, I've done a lot of donation drives for children. As it turns out, I can help them better by watching other people's children.” Bliss sat up a little straighter and turned to Daimyon.
“You must have an interesting story if you can write poetry like that.” “Yours is an inspiring story, Bliss.” The poet leaned back in his chair, a wistful smile on his face.
“The world is full of inspiration like this—my talent is the ability to harness it and turn it into a form of art. Mind you, it's not something unique. The world's writers, singers, painters, sculptors...every artist does the same thing as I do, only through different mediums. I was given a particular way with words and...that is all. I am honoured to be an Infinite, but even among us there are those who can really change the world, and be the heroes the people need. Me, I...I'll be happy to tell their tales when it comes that.” His tone by the end was almost glum, which he noticed and quickly perked back up.
“Anyway! This bacon will end up cold if we do not grace our bellies with it soon enough!” The poet. While a spider could spin webs of silk, the poet could spin words into stories. The spider is often feared, even though they created such things of beauty. Thomas couldn’t help but wonder what was behind this Infinite Poet who crafted such beautiful stories. Perhaps he was a man like Thomas, whose talent spoke volumes when volumes was all there was. Perhaps he was someone like Bliss, whose story could inspire. Perhaps a person like Davis, who spins his own web of lies and despair throughout these killing games. Thomas couldn’t be certain about anything yet, rarely could he be about anything in this new world of chaos.
His right hand landed on the orange, and he rolled it towards himself with his palm. The orange tumbled, wobbling on the dent where his thumb had tried to pry it open, and then settled right in front of Thomas. His eyes followed the orange while Bliss and Daimyon spoke, but he was listening intently to both of them. For a second he felt a pang of guilt, but only for a second.
Following Daimyon’s cue, he noticed the bacon that he brought to the table. Thomas furrowed his brow, and twisted his head slightly away from it. He looked to the orange, and then to the bacon on the table. He didn’t want to eat anything heavy for breakfast initially, but both his orange and his hunger seemed to have bested him. Still, something looked to be troubling Thomas. He brought his gaze up to the infinite poet, but it was his voice that finally betrayed his uncertainty.
”What are they made of?” Thomas inquired, his voice suddenly filled with skepticism.
The young man's question caught Daimyon somewhat off-guard. He took a second to process it, see if there was some deeper meaning behind it, but he could find none.
“...all bacon is made of pork, isn't it?” He turned to Bliss, suddenly unsure of himself.
“Admittedly, I just cooked it, but our chef may know where the ingredients are from…” “Oh, um.” Bliss looked around sheepishly.
“I mean, it's not like I acquired the meat at a supermarket. I just took it out of the fridge and started cooking it. But I'm sure it's pork.” She picked up a slice of bacon and took a bite.
“It certainly tastes like the meat I've come to know and love. Daimyon, you did an excellent job!” The trio enjoyed the food Daimyon brought out without speaking. Conversation was good, but every once in a while it was nice to just spend time together doing something as simple as eating. Even if Thomas couldn't observe how his companions moved, he could most certainly watch their eating habits. It wasn't until everyone had a few slices before someone else showed up at the table.
”Ugh!” Geina shook her head.
”Whatever, I just came here to drop off some shit.” The carnage sister placed an E-handbook on the table in front of Daimyon.
”So we kind of lifted some stuff out of Marianne's room.” She then placed some crinkled notes on top of the device.
”There's more shit in there, but you can look at that yourself with the E-handbook.” The robot folded her arms and walked away without saying anything else.
“Marianne's...room?” Daimyon looked back at the Carnage Sister who graced him with no answer.
“There must be some misunderstanding, then, for I'm not her!” “Oh, when the first case was over, Mary got Mondatta's handbook. They must know you spent a lot of time with Marianne.” Bliss leaned across the table.
“It's probably not my place to ask, but what does it say?” “Is that so?” In all honesty, the poet forgot about there being precedent for this sort of thing. He did spend time with Marianne, more than with any other Infinite these last few days, but they were all minute meetings with little substance... His curiosity quickly getting the better of him, he finished the piece of bacon he was holding, wiped his hand with a paper towel and carefully picked up one of the papers ahead of him. His eyes scanned the lines with commendable speed, finding general observations about the hospital, the killing game and the Infinites, some more specific than the others.
Then...one sentence caught his attention. It concerned him, and it made his heart skip a beat.
“What? It can't be...” he muttered, eyes growing wide with terror. He rushed ahead a few more lines but quickly stopped, slamming the paper back onto the pile. He did not believe what he was reading.
“My apologies, I...I have to go.” Leaving Bliss' question unanswered, he stood up, almost pushing the chair out from under himself, gathered everything the robot gave him in his arms and hurried out of the break room.
Bliss watched the poet run off.
“Is everything alright?” Bliss called, but Daimyon was already out the door.
“Oh, there’s actually some people I need to check on. If anyone asks, there’s still plenty of breakfast out back.” the nanny excused herself from the table and left the dining room.
