Zasz sat there in silence for the the entirety of her tirade, eying her carefully behind a visor obscuring a rather amused grin. The slaver couldn't be upset at her outburst of movement and exclaimed disgust at the nutrient bar he'd offered. Of all the reactions he expected from her, this had not been one, and for some odd reason he found such a display better than any other might have been. Alex Winger, a captive aboard the Diem Vuong, a blacklisted vessel assuredly that pried information out of the tortured wails of it's victims. Now she would be a guest in the Greenhouse, Zasz Fenris's treasured garden that traveled the endless abyss. This was undoubtedly the better choice of travel to take part in, but when the secret of the captain's person cargo came to light. Well, then the real fun would begin.
Only when she finished and slumped into a defensive curl did he let out a monotone laugh through his filter, which would have sounded less dry than it actually was. What had to be to her surprise, he didn't move to beat her, or pull his shotgun off of his back to unload a rapid fire of shells in her crumpled form. Just that short few bursts of sound, then nothing for what would be a longer pause that was probably necessary. There would his sick sense of humor show for but a moment, his own means of torturing at one's psyche. Whether or not it was intentional he'd never let loose from his lips. It would be broken all the same with a raise of his hand, beginning of what was going to be one of many long winded expositions to come.
"Better. There doesn't appear to be any mental trauma that was keeping you from speaking properly, just a bit of dry mouth." Another chuckle at an awfully timed joke, but he continued without much more than a second of self delight. "The bar isn't meant to taste like much of anything. The point is to cram as many essentials into your malnourished body so you don't collapse under the lack of energy like you did earlier. It's efficient." With every sentence he spoke, Alex would be privy to a growing realization of just what she was dealing with. Not that she could tell yet, but under that disguise of wires and plates was indeed a living breathing man, never satisfied with his own limitations. Zasz strove to be the best he could possibly be, and that required ripping out all that would hamper progress.
Rising from his seat, the man removed the strap and shotgun he had wrapped around his torso and set it on the couch as he'd rise from his seat. At this point he did not think her so hostile as to attempt a coup. He'd take those slow and heavy steps away from where they were having a conversation. "I understand though, you've been crammed into a box of a room, fed through an IV and beaten within an inch of your life--repeatedly. Each and every luxury has been stripped from you, and all of your secrets were laid bare." Even with the new distance between them, which was only about a couple dozen feet, his voice reached where she'd presumably keep sitting. What would appear to be a kitchen was his destination, though it was a rather simple design like most of what made up the interior. Parallel to the wall was an island where all of the basics were, mainly the oven and stove as well as a grill along side it. Hanging from the low ceiling were cabinets to hold the various utensils. From behind was a series of containment units that slid out on command from a central console, a contained module that was open to the rest of the area around it. "I still suggest you try and get what I gave you down, but I'll cook you up something proper. I can't make any promises that it will be much better since I eat those bricks regularly." There would be no hint of amusement like there other terrible jokes he had given so far, but he did in fact take pleasure in it all the same.
Zasz Fenris was by no measure a chef. Like he said, he consumed those condensed organic meals on a daily basis. Cooking was like riding a bike, wasn't that an old saying? He sure hoped so. Even if he hadn't a clue, there was more than enough material he could retrieve from inside his helmet's database, at least a few basic recipes. If his taking up of horticulture had proven anything, it was that Zasz could read a book and follow instructions, and that is what primarily made up cooking in his mind. His attention turned to the screen embedded into the counter, tapping a handful of commands into it whirred mechanisms behind him to action. Several storage containers opened up to reveal a selection of various vacuum sealed ingredients. Bags of indistinct contents were pulled in a hurry to allow doors to seal shut, only he was left staring at them on the surface before him. A steak and a few sides, he could do that much at least.
Thick digits awkwardly brought pots and pans down from overhead, handling a knife with trouble to make delicate cutting motions. The preparation was done in concentrated thought, and only after everything was set in place to heat up did he turn his visage towards Alex in the background. He'd wave her over to sit at a stool behind the counter while he chimed in once more. "Not that I want to speak for you, but you probably want to wash up, or just soak for a while--after dinner that is. While you do that I'm sure I can scrounge together some clothes that fit you." Now what a man that spent the majority of his time encased inside a metal suit would be doing with even the slightest semblance of female attire was food for thought in its own. The answer came quite simply, if one knew his hobby though. Considering he couldn't very well have his collection wearing the same drab outfits day in and day out, every now and then Zasz needed to adventure out for awkward shopping ventures; that or take their wardrobe along for the ride. The latter a rather difficult and less probable venture more often than not. Though she wouldn't be able to tell, he had his gaze on her again, perhaps for the best as his obsessive stare was unnerving at the best of times. "You say you'd be able to fix my replicator? So I'm to assume you're good with a plasma torch? I'm not pushing anything on you, but this hunk of junk is always in need of a mechanical eye."
Never was Zasz to let an appraisal of an individual's worth to him pass by.
The slab of seasoned meat sizzled on top of the grill which had no flames to speak of, in the pot next to it were a mix of greens, and another filled with some kind of red fluff. What was done was done, and though he couldn't smell what he prepared, by the directions it should be complete. Zasz piled the collection onto a plate without finesse and placed it over to the open section of the island where there was room to sit as well as another container of fluid from his coat.
"This should be miles better."
This had to have been quite the sight; the massive, daunting figure that Zasz was, slaving away in the kitchen to feed a scrawny red head who had more enthusiasm than her feeble body should have been able to put out. Company rarely suited the the hunter, but he could live with this strange woman for a little while anyways.
Only when she finished and slumped into a defensive curl did he let out a monotone laugh through his filter, which would have sounded less dry than it actually was. What had to be to her surprise, he didn't move to beat her, or pull his shotgun off of his back to unload a rapid fire of shells in her crumpled form. Just that short few bursts of sound, then nothing for what would be a longer pause that was probably necessary. There would his sick sense of humor show for but a moment, his own means of torturing at one's psyche. Whether or not it was intentional he'd never let loose from his lips. It would be broken all the same with a raise of his hand, beginning of what was going to be one of many long winded expositions to come.
"Better. There doesn't appear to be any mental trauma that was keeping you from speaking properly, just a bit of dry mouth." Another chuckle at an awfully timed joke, but he continued without much more than a second of self delight. "The bar isn't meant to taste like much of anything. The point is to cram as many essentials into your malnourished body so you don't collapse under the lack of energy like you did earlier. It's efficient." With every sentence he spoke, Alex would be privy to a growing realization of just what she was dealing with. Not that she could tell yet, but under that disguise of wires and plates was indeed a living breathing man, never satisfied with his own limitations. Zasz strove to be the best he could possibly be, and that required ripping out all that would hamper progress.
Rising from his seat, the man removed the strap and shotgun he had wrapped around his torso and set it on the couch as he'd rise from his seat. At this point he did not think her so hostile as to attempt a coup. He'd take those slow and heavy steps away from where they were having a conversation. "I understand though, you've been crammed into a box of a room, fed through an IV and beaten within an inch of your life--repeatedly. Each and every luxury has been stripped from you, and all of your secrets were laid bare." Even with the new distance between them, which was only about a couple dozen feet, his voice reached where she'd presumably keep sitting. What would appear to be a kitchen was his destination, though it was a rather simple design like most of what made up the interior. Parallel to the wall was an island where all of the basics were, mainly the oven and stove as well as a grill along side it. Hanging from the low ceiling were cabinets to hold the various utensils. From behind was a series of containment units that slid out on command from a central console, a contained module that was open to the rest of the area around it. "I still suggest you try and get what I gave you down, but I'll cook you up something proper. I can't make any promises that it will be much better since I eat those bricks regularly." There would be no hint of amusement like there other terrible jokes he had given so far, but he did in fact take pleasure in it all the same.
Zasz Fenris was by no measure a chef. Like he said, he consumed those condensed organic meals on a daily basis. Cooking was like riding a bike, wasn't that an old saying? He sure hoped so. Even if he hadn't a clue, there was more than enough material he could retrieve from inside his helmet's database, at least a few basic recipes. If his taking up of horticulture had proven anything, it was that Zasz could read a book and follow instructions, and that is what primarily made up cooking in his mind. His attention turned to the screen embedded into the counter, tapping a handful of commands into it whirred mechanisms behind him to action. Several storage containers opened up to reveal a selection of various vacuum sealed ingredients. Bags of indistinct contents were pulled in a hurry to allow doors to seal shut, only he was left staring at them on the surface before him. A steak and a few sides, he could do that much at least.
Thick digits awkwardly brought pots and pans down from overhead, handling a knife with trouble to make delicate cutting motions. The preparation was done in concentrated thought, and only after everything was set in place to heat up did he turn his visage towards Alex in the background. He'd wave her over to sit at a stool behind the counter while he chimed in once more. "Not that I want to speak for you, but you probably want to wash up, or just soak for a while--after dinner that is. While you do that I'm sure I can scrounge together some clothes that fit you." Now what a man that spent the majority of his time encased inside a metal suit would be doing with even the slightest semblance of female attire was food for thought in its own. The answer came quite simply, if one knew his hobby though. Considering he couldn't very well have his collection wearing the same drab outfits day in and day out, every now and then Zasz needed to adventure out for awkward shopping ventures; that or take their wardrobe along for the ride. The latter a rather difficult and less probable venture more often than not. Though she wouldn't be able to tell, he had his gaze on her again, perhaps for the best as his obsessive stare was unnerving at the best of times. "You say you'd be able to fix my replicator? So I'm to assume you're good with a plasma torch? I'm not pushing anything on you, but this hunk of junk is always in need of a mechanical eye."
Never was Zasz to let an appraisal of an individual's worth to him pass by.
The slab of seasoned meat sizzled on top of the grill which had no flames to speak of, in the pot next to it were a mix of greens, and another filled with some kind of red fluff. What was done was done, and though he couldn't smell what he prepared, by the directions it should be complete. Zasz piled the collection onto a plate without finesse and placed it over to the open section of the island where there was room to sit as well as another container of fluid from his coat.
"This should be miles better."
This had to have been quite the sight; the massive, daunting figure that Zasz was, slaving away in the kitchen to feed a scrawny red head who had more enthusiasm than her feeble body should have been able to put out. Company rarely suited the the hunter, but he could live with this strange woman for a little while anyways.
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Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 04-30-2015, 10:27 PM
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