Who: Nasir and OPEN Where: Maple Ave When: 8/6, afternoon What: A quest for food Status: Incomplete Warnings: Swearing and mentions of blood and enslavement; otherwise TBA
He needed food.
It had taken him several hours of exploring the strange place he'd woken up in before he realized that the things in that bizarre cabinet that was always cold could be eaten. Even longer before the ones in the even colder cabinet were food as well. And there were some things in the normal, non-cold cabinets as well - a few loaves of what claimed to be bread, but was too soft to truly be and which he did not trust, packages of dried fruit (including figs, which were quickly eaten, the closest thing he’d found to familiarity in this fucking place). He’d found a few packets of something called “ramen” which he’d almost thrown out on sight, the word too close to Roman for his liking. But hunger made desperate men even more desperate and, unsure what to do with the things in the mysterious cold boxes, he ate the ramen.
It was crunchy. Not pleasantly crunchy, either. And the small metallic square contained a powder so salty in nearly burned his tongue. (That was when he figured out that the basins in two of the rooms could produce water, which seemed like witchcraft but soothed his tongue until the water magically became too hot and just burned it again.) Unsatisfied, he ventured to the cold boxes again and pulled out a “Lean Cuisine” from the colder one. He had to stab the container to open it, as well as the dish that it was served in (coated in a bizarre clear covering - not glass, too flexible, but nothing that Nasir could identify), but finally freed the food, only to find it completely frozen and too hard to bite. Not that he didn’t try, and almost chipped a tooth for his efforts.
“What fucking magics do people use to eat this,” he snapped at the food (noodles in cheese! he was promised on the container; it was also supposed to be healthy for him, apparently, though Nasir cared very little for that). This strange world became stranger with each passing second.
...an idea, suddenly, sprang into his brain. He went to the basin in the smaller of the rooms (the more open one made him feel vulnerable; he was so unused to having so much space, so much room, and all to himself, no overlarge Germans crowding into him with large hands leaving large bruises on his skin) and, after several moments of finicking with the handles, managed to make the water hot. He held the noodles and cheese! underneath the heated water until it melted, at which point it promptly fell apart, much of it going down the very inconvenient hole in the basin. Nasir growled and bent to find it on the floor - it would not be the most debasing thing he’d done, he’d been made to eat from the floor before, and this time there were no fucking Roman eyes to watch and Roman mouths to laugh - but the noodles in cheese! was not there. He growled again and swore as violently as he knew how, then scooped the rest of his noodles in cheese! from the basin and ate it with his hands. It was cold, and slimy, and left a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, but it was food.
(The sick feeling made itself known again a few hours later, in a most unpleasant way. Thankfully he’d already figured out that there was some sort of self-cleaning chamber pot in the smaller room with the basin. There was also a tub, with more of those handles which made water appear, so it seemed to be some sort of bath-room; he made use of the tub and discovered that it could also rain indoors. Nasir had to laugh at the thought that there was more than one Bringer of Rain.)
He continued in this way for the next few days, avoiding anymore of the frozen food. He ate through the fruits and vegetables that he found in the cold box, though he did not touch the meat. He knew that it must be cooked, and that he’d never heard of some of it (such as hamburger, which seemed to be made of brains or worms and which made him feel sick to hold, too many memories of the battlefield), and it was easier to just skirt around it. But even after only a few days he realized that his supplies would dwindle soon. He considered rationing, but he had starved once and he never would again. So that was that. He would have to find food.
Going outside was a terrifying prospect. He spent the rest of the next day peering out of his window through a gap in the curtains, watching the people pass by. Their clothes were so strange - tight fitting and impractical, for the most part. They covered more of themselves than Nasir was used to seeing on any but those of higher status. Did all of these people stand as Roman? He hissed under his breath. But he had worn a disguise before, and if he could play the part of Spartacus convincingly enough for the Romans to believe, he could play the part of these strange and bizarre people. He pulled on one of the roughly woven shirts that Frida had gifted to him after the first fingers of chill had crept into the lands east of the Rhine. It was nothing like the clingy shirts that the people outside wore, but it would do. He also did not don his armor, as no one here seemed to wear it, though he felt vulnerable without it, nor did he bring his sword. He contented himself with tucking a large knife he found near the cold boxes into his belt, beneath the hem of his shirt.
There. He was as ready to leave the house, which despite its strangeness was quite safe, and go out into the world. The first few steps outside were more terrifying than the sight of the Roman legions, but he had faced them, and he would face this. But when those first few cautious steps did not bring forth the hordes or cause death to rain from above, he found himself with a new conundrum.