![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
esp_dragonFandom: Noblesse
Summary: Other than clothes, the thing that M-21 spent most of his first paycheck on was food.
Notes: Another musing tumblr post that turned into a fic.
Rating: G
Genre: General
Word count: 257
Status: Complete
Other than clothes, the thing that M-21 spent most of his first paycheck on was food. He’d been moving from mission to mission for three years, getting whatever money the Union allowed him, and that usually covered travel since they’re enhanced humans, they don’t need to buy that much food anyway. He and M-24 steal some money from their given targets so they can eat for the next couple of days. Take a couple of dives in the garbage for what’s been thrown away.
So going from that to multiple meals every day is weird. He thought it was the grief that was making him sick, but after a while he makes the connection that it’s the food. The food’s too rich. It’s not what he’s used to. What his stomach is used to.
So he buys food instead. It’s pre-packaged from some big chain so he doesn’t have to worry about it being laced with drugs specifically made to see how he reacts. He goes to a different store every time just in case.
Soon one of his drawers is overflowing with food and sometimes he’ll just reach over and look. He’s never had this. Never been able to just have and keep, that there’s something that he can call his.
He doesn’t need to store food as much later, not when his stomach starts to settle with the food Frankenstein cooks, when Frankenstein starts making meals specialised around his blander tastes.
When he realises that he’s always going to have food here, whenever he wants.
Summary: Other than clothes, the thing that M-21 spent most of his first paycheck on was food.
Notes: Another musing tumblr post that turned into a fic.
Rating: G
Genre: General
Word count: 257
Status: Complete
Other than clothes, the thing that M-21 spent most of his first paycheck on was food. He’d been moving from mission to mission for three years, getting whatever money the Union allowed him, and that usually covered travel since they’re enhanced humans, they don’t need to buy that much food anyway. He and M-24 steal some money from their given targets so they can eat for the next couple of days. Take a couple of dives in the garbage for what’s been thrown away.
So going from that to multiple meals every day is weird. He thought it was the grief that was making him sick, but after a while he makes the connection that it’s the food. The food’s too rich. It’s not what he’s used to. What his stomach is used to.
So he buys food instead. It’s pre-packaged from some big chain so he doesn’t have to worry about it being laced with drugs specifically made to see how he reacts. He goes to a different store every time just in case.
Soon one of his drawers is overflowing with food and sometimes he’ll just reach over and look. He’s never had this. Never been able to just have and keep, that there’s something that he can call his.
He doesn’t need to store food as much later, not when his stomach starts to settle with the food Frankenstein cooks, when Frankenstein starts making meals specialised around his blander tastes.
When he realises that he’s always going to have food here, whenever he wants.