InsaneJournal

Mastering the Art of French Cooking [Leto, Threadmas]
Oswin had become something of a fixture in Leto's apartment. With the exception of conversation the dalek shell never moved, staying motionless in the living room. Despite housing a supposedly human consciousness it lacked the need to move or even fidget. And in the dead of night, the dalek was an uneasy presence with only dim ambient light to outline its existence.

It was easy to wonder what Oswin did all day, and it was easy to forget that the classical music that frequently played in the apartment wasn't the radio being left idly on, but her own broadcast. It wasn't constant and it was hard to say if she realized she was even doing it.

To Oswin, there was plenty to do inside her imagined shuttle. She cooked. She cleaned. She decorated. She reinforced the door almost daily. There was ritual to keep her sane, or insane depending upon your perspective, and it was sometimes very time consuming. Every so often she would peer over at her view screen, particularly when Leto was in view. But given their circumstances they were less roommates and more long distance video pen pals.

She never followed him into his room or around the apartment. Oswin was just simply there. Some day, she realized, that wasn't going to be enough.

It was mid-afternoon and completing much of her daily ritual, Oswin started to prepare her kitchenette for another souffle attempt.

"EGG... STIR..."

That was strange to hear the cold, robotic voice of the dalek. Whenever possible Oswin preferred to broadcast her own human voice through the appliances in Leto's apartment.

“Sorry," she called out. "I must have pressed the wrong button.”