╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗
We pay in pig blood.
╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝
The next day I'm sat in the Kitchens again with Chuck and Newt, who are both laughing about something so acutely bizarre that I don't have time to decipher what it means before they're laughing at something else. despite the airy and relaxed atmosphere in the Kitchens right now, a cloud hangs over me. I still hardly know anything about the Glade... why we're here and who the creators are.
What connects us?
And why am I the only girl?
Before I have any more time to think about this, Alby announces breakfast is over with a whistle. Plates clink and chairs screech against stone as each Glader rises to their feet, organised chaos lingering through the air as group by group, the Gladers leave the Kitchens, discarding their plates and bowls on the table while pushing each other to get to the exit.
"Might as well stay in here, Greenie," Newt says, waving his hand in front of my face with a bemused chuckle. I cock my brow.
"Yeah, Greenie! You're with me today," Frypan calls from the Kitchen area through the hole in the wall. Gally made it. He tells me that it's meant to be the equivalent of what he thinks a market stall would look like, though I argued he just ripped a hole in a perfectly good wall. He wasn't impressed.
"Maybe I can slip something into Billy's stew," I whisper excitedly to Chuck as I rise.
I reckon it's him just being a prick. Newt reckons if you're going to be a twat then the least you could be is good looking. I think I like Newt a lot more now that he called Billy ugly.
"Put some piss in Gally's drink!" Chuck says a little too loudly.
"I heard that, Chuck."
Gally scowls at him before leaving the Kitchen, bringing Billy along with him. The hilarious thing is that Gally always looks like he wants to punt Billy in the face whenever he opens his shuck mouth.
"Nevermind then."
The prospect of cooking is something I never paid any mind to, and try to ignore at all costs. I don't want to think about what life would be like in this hellhole as a cook, with nothing to comfort me other than the musty salt and pepper shakers and the leaky pot Frypan won't shut up about. Not to be dramatic, but I think I'd rather let a Griever have me for dinner than cook for anyone.
As I watch the Sloppers leave last, throughly upset about their job, I take back what I thought about being a cook. Being a housewife seems ten times better than cleaning someone's klunk, even though the thought makes me cringe.
I'll shave off my hair before I become a housewife. And no one touches my hair. Ever.
"What're we making?" I huff as I fling the Kitchen doors open, revealing two other people, not including Frypan. One stares blankly at me, while the other just grins and chucks an apron at me. His brown eyes glint at me cheekily, prompting me to smile back at the tanned boy.
"The cure to heterosexuality," he says simply, evoking a laugh from me.
"I was thinking more like the cure to misogyny but that works too."
The boy nods in approval before sticking his hand out for me to shake. "Tim," he introduces.
"Thea."
"I know."
A smirk slides onto my face before I turn to Frypan. "You know, Fry, being famous really is tiring. I think I need a well deserved break."
"Nice try," he chuckles before throwing a tea towel at me. Since everyone else has one slung over their shoulder, I dramatically copy them, hoping that I don't look as much of an incel as I feel right now.
"What are we actually making, then?"
"Ham sandwiches," the other boy who I haven't talked to yet says quietly. It's strange that he's not a talker — he's easily one of the tallest in the Glade. "I'm Doug."
The next half an hour is spend making ham sandwiches for lunch — and I realise I never appreciated just how much hard work and time goes into making them. I'd always taken the food here for granted. While Fry's sandwiches are neat and well-practised, mine look like one of the pigs in the Bloodhouse could have made it. But, instead of apologising... I do the exact opposite.
"I think even Chuck could do this," I say.
Fry laughs to himself and pats me on the shoulder, looking at me with as much sincerity as he can without laughing even more when he sees the shitshow of a sandwich I've made. "Just wait till its dinner time."
"If you mean the stew then try again. Still tastes like Chuck could have made it."
"Take it back."
"I have a no take back policy, I'm afraid."
"That's a shame," he sighs, taking his tea towel off his shoulder. "I didn't want to have to do this, Greenie."
My eyes widen as I realise what he's about to do. Almost in a millisecond, everyone jumps to action. I fly through the doors of the Kitchens and run round the tables, Frypan close behind, giggling furiously and raising his tea towel. I turn around and whip the tea towel at him, making him jump back, dodging it before trying to smack me with it again.
"I'm under attack!"
"Don't insult my stew!"
I let out a loud laugh as we battle to the death with tea towels, Doug and Tim's laughter and cheers encouraging us to win.
Thats before it all goes silent. Alby's standing in the doorway, looking at us in silence. I immediately straighten. "I don't even wanna know," he sighs before leaving promptly, earning more laughs from the four of us. Maybe today wouldn't be like the rest of them.
❀
It sounds a little dramatic to say that my time in the Kitchens was an absolute disaster, however I think it's a completely justified conclusion. I dropped my towel in the soup twice, tripped over three times and stubbed my toe on the counter more times than I spoke — which was a lot, as usual.
The Kitchens start to come alive and boys rush in the get their food. Frypan's handing it out while the three of us stand here and watch. It's a good thing too, although I pretend to be confident, I don't want to have to talk to more people than necessary today.
Despite the fun that fighting with Frypan brought me, the familiar cloud that plagued me this morning re-emerges, causing me to look at the wall again. What would it be like to escape. There has to be an exit to the Maze, right? Thats the whole point of a Maze. To find the exit.
I'm snapped back to reality when Newt leans over the counter and flicks me on the head. I scowl.
"I didn't get time to poison it, unfortunately," I sneer as Frypan hands Newt his lunch. Newt, as always, is covered in dirt, and the sight makes me smirk as he grabs his plate from Frypan and looks at me with an amused glint in his eye.
"Don't worry," he says. "I'm sure it'll still taste like ya did."
In mock outrage, I throw my tea towel at him, smacking him right in the face. He splutters, "Alright, alright!"
As Newt sits down, I watch him converse with Winston, Zart, Chuck and Minho. It's strange how almost a week ago I wanted to spit in their faces and sneer insults at them, but now, although I despise it, I sort of like them. I would've felt so much more uncomfortable here without them. However, I'd never tell any of them that.
"Hey Alby!" Chuck calls from the table closest to us. "Please don't make Thea a cook!"
And I'm back to hating them. I flip my middle finger up at Chuck, who just grins and returns the gesture, ignoring Newt who's scolding him lightly.
"I thought women were meant to be good at cooking," Billy comments from a table further away. My insides ignite with rage.
"Suck my dick," I grumble before picking up a wooden spoon and lobbing it at the back of his head, which whacks him hard. The room explodes with laughter as he just rubs his head and scans the room for whoever threw it, and I avert my gaze and pretend to talk to Frypan, who's beside himself laughing.
"You ruined my spoon," Frypan comments.
I cock my head as I stare at Billy. "His head looks similar to a spoon. You could always use Billy as a replacement."
"And get lice in the soup? I think not."
I laugh a little before I'm tasked with Jim to clean up after the cooks, and the task bores me to tears. The only thing that gets my mind whirring is just where the exit could be. I could start strategising, but until I've actually been in the Maze I'll never know what to expect or how to even begin planning an escape route. And I don't want to set one foot in that Maze.
I'm not entirely sure how the Runners do it.
"By the looks of things, I think they'd all rather down a klunk bucket than eat that," Tim whispers, his face lighting up at me failure. I nudge him harshly and frown.
"I agree," Newt calls, sending me an amused smile.
"You do it then if you're such a good cook."
"I am."
"He is," Frypan confirms from his place sitting on the counter.
"Of course he is," I grumble, resting my chin on top of my hands and watching the Gladers eat their food. Today was going to be long. But at least not as long as being a bagger would be. I dread an entire day with Billy.
"Come on, let's go and sit down."
I throw my plate down next to Newt, who tries desperately to hide the laugh escaping his lips at my face. I scowl at him and shove his elbow with mine. I'm starting to dislike these people more than I did this morning.
"This tastes like someone's died in it," Minho teases with such seriousness that if anyone didn't know better, they'd think he were being honest. But I refuse to believe I can't even make a sandwich right.
"You sure you didn't poison it?"
I glare at Newt when he says that.
"Tastes like bleach to me," Zart hums with a sly smile on his face as he eats his food.
Winston raises an eyebrow at his friend. "How'd you know what that tastes like?"
"It gets boring around here sometimes. Nothing like the thrill of death to lift my spirits."
I chuckle a little before the conversation lapses back into talking about how much I can't cook, which offends me more than it probably should have. "At least I tried," I argue.
"This is you trying?"
"I'd hate to see you when you aren't."
"Are you asking for a slap?" I snap at Minho, who just grins at me from across the table.
"As if ya could."
"I'd say she definitely could," Newt cuts in. "That's why she's not gonna be a Slicer."
"Seems like a good idea. Piss her off and bam!" Chuck animates with his hands as he speaks, and adds an explosion sound effect for good measure. "There's a knife in your neck."
"As I should."
"I would pay big money to see you kill someone," Winston says beside me, nodding towards Billy and grinning. I giggle.
"That's morbid," Newt says blankly.
"We don't have any money."
"We pay in pig blood," I say dramatically to Minho, correcting him. The entire table laughs.
"And klunk," Zart cuts in.
"Chuck would be rich."
"Enough with the klunk jokes," Chuck huffs, throwing his sandwich back on his plate. When he thinks no one's looking, he then starts eating it again. I chuckle at him.
"But it's okay when you make them?" Zart questions. "Makes sense."
At that moment, Alby's voice rings through the room, ripping through the loud voices and whittling them down to silence. "Right, come on ya shanks! Lunch is over. Off with ya."
—
Also please no one get offended by Tim's comment I love the straights :)
This chapter was entirely just cuteness because DAMNNIT I NEED SOME LIGHT IN MY LIFE! srsly tho this is now a comfort chapter. unfortunately, the happiness isn't staying for long.