A Hard Place Meets A Rock (or pasta)

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Note: This is a short meant for Serendi[Pity], which is a W.I.P as of right now.

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"Stop that-"

The giant, armored beast sitting in his kitchen stopped in its tracks, an unopened box of spaghetti hovering between two rows of very sharp teeth. A pair of yellow eyes were trained on him.

"S-T-O-P," he said slower, making sure to put extra oomph into each part of the word.

It just stared at him.

"Why am I trying to talk to you? You don't understand. Fuck, I'm an idiot..." He ran a hand through his hair, stressed out by the sudden turn of events.

That's when he had an idea.

"Wait. Hand motions. You'd understand those, wouldn't you?"

The only response he got were the soft huffing breaths the creature released and a slight tilt of the head.

"I keep forgetting... Ah, nevermind. Put that-" He pointed at the pasta box it still held. "Down." His finger trailed downwards.

It blinked dumbly. He repeated the motions a few times, trying to get his message across to the giant, confused idiot that was about to eat raw pasta, box included.

Apparently it worked, too.

Low vibrations worked their way through the inhuman creature, making Shane fight back a flinch. It was growling at him, which meant he could die at any moment now.

Great.

He pissed off the only thing stronger than a silver back gorilla on steroids.

Well... He made his bed, may as well sleep in it.

"Don't you growl at me. Unlike you, I can't eat just about anything I see! I need to earn money to buy shit, then cook shit in order to live happily. Right now, I am not living happily. I am hungry, I am tired, and I am not doing this tonight. So put the motherfucking pasta down, you brute."

His chest heaved, and his mind was reeling from the sudden burst of fury that had caused him to snap in such a way. Oh, he was so dead. So, so utterly dead. No one would even know he was deceased.

Just as he started planning a mini-funeral for himself in his head, the creature moved. But not to kill him as he'd thought.

The pasta box was aggressively slapped on the kitchen floor, and it averted its eyes grumpily.

"..." He stared at it, then the box. With slow movements, he reached forwards and snatched up the box. "...Thank you," he rasped.

It didn't understand his words, and he knew that.

<><>A Few Minutes Later<><>

Shane was now watching the creature with amusement as he tended to the pasta that was in the process of softening.

It had sat there, watching him work silently, until he put the pasta in the water. Then it wasn't so silent. Low grumbling came from it as it muttered in its foreign language, and growled irately. Yellow eyes deepened to strawberry red, focused on the pot on the stove with an intensity that would have been terrifying, had it been staring at him instead.

Its horns bumped the ceiling the few times it leaned back on its haunches, and its tail was curled uncomfortably around its body, the tip twitching from its aggravation.

"...I'm going to have to start using my vacation days. This has got to stop happening," he was mumbling to himself.

He was going to have to start teaching his new roommate how to communicate. If not with words, then at least through hands, maybe even gestures or body language. He was also going to have to give it a rundown on what is, and isn't, edible.

At least, in this household.

He's already replaced his couch pillows well over a few dozen times.

The intense glaring of those sharp, murderous eyes that spoke of untold horrors never wavered. It watched the pot, even as Shane drained the pasta a few minutes later.

He offered it a floppy, stringy noodle that swayed from where it was pinched between his forefinger and thumb, but it violently decided it didn't want anything to do with the apparent disgrace that was cooked noodles. It made its way out into the living room, where it laid down right in front of the couch, and stared at him as though he'd just insulted it.

Shane couldn't help it.

He snickered the whole way to the couch, a bowl of steaming, buttered noodles in hand.

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