The Slipspace Juncture

Chapter 8 - Heading Off

[Third Person POV]

Ace groggily climbs out of bed, the grating cry of her alarm clock slowly starting to piss her off. She reaches out and jams her forepaw into the 'snooze' button before shuffling the arm back to the warmth and comfort of her bed. She lays there for five minutes until the alarm once again starts blaring, where she repeats the process of reaching out, but this time she fumbles around the clock until she finds and rips the plug from the wall.

Letting out a sigh as her paw slides off the alarm, she turns around and just stares off at her room, being mostly barren except for her king-size memory foam bed, large wooden dresser, and a wooden end table on the right side holding only her alarm clock and her likely dead phone. She takes off her revolver holster, along with the revolver, and stuffs it within the drawer. Rubbing her face, she decides that her clothes from the previous night would serve just fine apart from needing a new shirt. She pockets her phone and quickly slaps on a bland, gray t-shirt as she steps into the hallway and over to her kitchen, taking a quick glance over at the couch to see the injured stranger dead asleep.

She steps up to her gas stove, turning it to low, causing flames to ignite and gently point upwards. She then grabs a pan from the side of the stove, taking care to scrub off the leftover egg flakes, and places it on the designated spot. Pulling out a glass bowl from the 'clean dishes' side of the sink, she places it on the counter before reaching over to her basket of eggs. She quickly cracks four eggs, but the thought occurs to her that she is not alone today so she adds an extra fifth. Stirring in seasoning, the bowl overfilling, she carefully whisks away, only sending a few strings of yellow pooling down the outside of the bowl.

Setting the bowl down, she steps towards the mini-fridge mounted in a small cutout in the row of cabinets. Swinging the door open, she reaches in and pulls out a plastic container, popping it open to reveal potato and chicken chunk leftovers. Examining it to make sure that there is a good enough amount to make a full meal with, she places it on the counter next to the stove before switching the heat on the stove to a lower-high, the flames under the pan quickly warming it up. Grabbing the egg bowl, she waits a minute for the pan to properly heat up before pouring the egg into said pan, quickly putting the bowl into the sink and grabbing a plastic spatula, still stained with dried egg flakes from the last time she made this meal, before mixing the egg into a fine yellow pulp.

She mixes it for two minutes until the eggs can be left unattended for a second, where she grabs the potato and chicken chunks before dumping it in the pan alongside the eggs, quickly going back to actively stirring around the food. She lets out a quiet hum, her snout twitching slightly as she takes in the smell of a pleasant meal. Her tail sways to and fro and her eyes, despite her groggy state, stare hungrily at the pan, her mind visualizing the food quickly disappearing into her now salivating muzzle.

Finishing up, she puts the heat on low and steps away to grab two plastic plates from their designated corner, the spot currently contains three other plastic plates, two plastic bowls, and four plastic cups of varying sizes. She then walks back to the stove and scoops half the food onto her plate and half onto the other, although she makes sure a few more chicken chunks are on her plate. She opens up a drawer next to her waist, filled with basic metal cutlery, and grabs two forks for the plates. She quickly stuffs her maw with the hot, fresh meal, not wanting to wait to sit down. Taking large gulps, she finishes her food in about a minute.

Her mouth feeling dry, she snatches a cup from the pile and, quickly filling it with tap water, she downs the entire cup in one quick motion before tossing it in the sink. She then puts her plate alongside the cup and walks out of the kitchen. Catching a glimpse of Ranger, she pauses and thinks. Recognizing it'll probably be painful for him to move, she goes back, grabs his plate and another cup of water, and proceeds to place it on the coffee table next to him. She debates whether or not it would be better to wake him so that he could eat a nice, hot meal or if he'd be better off resting. Looking him over and noticing his wounds, though, she deduces it's probably best he's up so that he could tend to himself.