Abathur, the evolution master, opened the door to his one-story house and slithered inside. The interior could only be described as… imperfect. He was greeted initially by the common area, the least efficient room of the abode. The furniture advocated an inactive lifestyle, the brown carpet inhibited effective movement, and the many wall decorations were a massive misuse of both monetary and physical resources. A television sat atop a small rectangular table on the left wall, across from the couches, further encouraging a slothful existence. The room on the opposite side of the entrance was a kitchen, decreasing the distance needed to deliver food to the house's inhabitants. Efficient, though the nutrients gained were ill-proportioned. A hallway just beyond the television led to the three bedrooms of the house, as well as the only bathroom. Abathur had adapted to ignore such gross imperfection, however; imperfection was highly prevalent in Terran society, and adaptation was necessary for survival.
That didn't mean that Abathur couldn't strive for perfection in other things.
Footsteps sounded on the far side of the building, and a small form came rushing out from the hallway. "Dadathur!" the being cried, approaching as quickly as its imperfect legs could carry it.
"Jonathan. You, home early. Did not expect this."
Abathur's son threw himself into an embrace, squeezing his father with all his might. "Yeah," Johnny said, still smiling. "I was sick today, so mom said I could stay home from school."
"Curious. Physical ability, seemingly unchanged. Appear similar to standard condition."
Johnny's smile evaporated as he began to slouch, backing away from the embrace. "W-Well, I guess I'm not that sick." Immediately, the child began coughing furiously, releasing a number of bacteria from his system into the surroundings. Abathur had to resist the urge to manipulate the bacteria's essence, creating a more perfect creature. Previous experimentation with Terran bacteria had proven unsuitable for his family.
"You, sufficiently healthy," Abathur hummed to his son. "Scholarly avoidance, leads to imperfection. Not advisable."
"Aw, c'mon dad! It was just one day!" Johnny protested, stomping his foot on the ground.
Abathur decided to be lenient on his son in this one instance. "One day, unlikely to create drastic academic change. Repeated occurrence will not be accepted." Johnny seemed to agree to this, as his face lightened somewhat. "Provided you restore bedroom to standard condition."
Johnny threw up his right arm, gesturing towards his room at the end of the hallway. "But I just cleaned it two days ago."
"Task accomplishment, insufficient. Can improve." With that, Abathur slithered past his son and into the kitchen, noting the scenery of the house as he proceeded. Several family portraits lined the walls, depicting his kin in several different situations. The evolution master found no need for such reminders of the past, as his memory was sufficiently perfected. Terrans, however, were known to have imperfect memories, and though he wished to improve this aspect greatly, it was not something he was permitted to do.
The scratchy brown carpet gave way to a smooth tile floor as Abathur progressed into the kitchen. A dining table was set up in the center of the room, with the various kitchen appliances centered around a raised platform on the left side. The father moved closer to the crockpot on the counter and removed the lid, revealing the gravy-soaked chicken breasts being cooked within. Leaning forward, Abathur began to spew a green high-viscosity liquid out of his central orifice into the container.
"Whatchya doin', dad?" Johnny asked, following closely behind his father.
"Simple question, Johnathon," he replied. "Mucus, inserted into broth. Contains microorganisms, specialized for specific task. Enhances flavor, minimizes unnecessary nutrients. Improves cooked poultry, better for family consumption."
"Oh," the child replied, likely unsure of the provided answer. "Dad, how come you never eat anything you cook?"
"Consumption, inefficient. Organic compounds, would interfere with complex modification system. Incapable of digestion, only evolution. Nutrient generation, too complex for discussion."
"Gee, dad, you sure talk a lot about improving. Can you improve me?"
"I recommend. Mother, disagrees. Believes imperfection is natural. Does not see potential like I do."
Johnny appeared somewhat crestfallen at the response, but the child turned from his father and left the room without complaint. Abathur turned back to the crockpot and continued to spew forth liquid, inserting enough microorganisms to create optimal conditions. Though they never explicitly stated it, Abathur knew that his family highly valued his improved cooking system. In general, his various improvements went without notice. Johnny, at the least, seemed intrigued by the capacity for perfection. His wife and daughter, however, did not seem to approve of his actions, though their lives were greatly benefited as a result.
The sound of a door opening made Abathur look towards the front of his house. Wearing an extremely short pair of denim shorts and a white tank top, Rosie stepped into the building. The high school student did not appear to be in a pleasant mood, judging by the force with which she closed the front door.
"Rosemary, clothing is inefficient. Creates unnecessary attention," Abathur said to his daughter, his throbbing voice projecting disappointment.
"God, dad, it's perfectly fine," she replied angrily. "Everyone at school wears stuff like this. And I told you, my name is Rosie."
Ignoring her complaints, Abathur continued. "Perhaps clothing responsible for current suitor situation. Inferior potential mates, attracted to scandalous apparel. If Rosemary allowed improvement of wardrobe, perhaps issue would… decrease."
Rosie's face began to grow red as blood flow increased. "The last time you 'improved' my clothes, everything I touched started to burn! And there's nothing wrong with my boyfriends. It's just that you keep scaring them away!"
"If suitors were efficient, would permit courting. Previously submitted persons, genetically inferior."
"I can't talk to you right now. I'll be in my room." Rosie then turned and stomped down the hallway. A distant thump could be heard as her door was shut.
Once again alone, Abathur turned to the still-cooking chicken. Need some way to improve mood, Abathur thought, staring at the mixing ingredients. With Rosie in a sour mood and unwilling to converse with her father, the evolution master would have to take an indirect role in improving her mood. A number of ideas passed through his mind, but none appeared to be particularly affective. Previous attempts at clothing improvement had proven… ineffective. Often, Rosie took offense to any gifts given to her. Abathur distinctly recalled the twelfth celebration of her hatching, at which she received her very own pet hydralisk. He had made sure to reduce its attack potential, though the reduction in efficiency hurt him dearly. She had responded with hysterical screams and would not cease until the hydralisk was terminated.
Inspiration struck, however, as Abathur recalled the chemical compound he had found in Rosie's backpack. With the label "Molly," the pills appeared to create some sense of euphoria when administered. Upon recalling its chemical composition, Abathur raised his hands to his frontal orifice, spewing out a small object coated in green liquid. A small, twisting larva sat in his hands; he had spun high concentrations of the compound into the internal structure of the organism. Holding the creature over the crockpot, Abathur snapped it in half, draining the creature's internals into the mixture.
Content with the knowledge that the meal had been vastly improved, Abathur slithered off into the living room, to await the return of his wife and the commencement of dinner.