I wondered how Nicolas grew up in a mercenary group, so here we go... I imagine with the dehumanizing, objectified way Gaston looked at Nic, he would have raised him like a soldier would raise a puppy for war.

Rules were not foreign to Nicolas. The word itself became known to him almost a year after the concept.

While he could not understand everything the men around him said, he learned by their actions.

All Nicolas would recognize was the pain at first. On the first lesson he could recall about not climbing onto furniture of any sort, he did not comprehend the rule. He was five years old and, small as he was, had managed to get by with sleeping beside his father- his captain -until this point. The rented room had been small and cold. A low bed was pushed against the gray wall. Moonlight shone through the window, dimly lighting the room. Blearily, Nicolas remembered trying to curl up against his father's leg one moment, and being shoved clear off the bed the next. Concrete and blood met his tongue. Thinking it was one of the frequent rough handlings he received daily, he quietly climbed back onto the bed. Now his father turned over and planted the heel of his boot on Nic's head. Confused, Nicolas sat and stared. With a look of annoyance, Gaston reached over the bedside and practically tossed Nic by the back of his shirt. Nicolas tumbled into the corner of the room. What he knew by now was to stay put when the captain moved him in any way. Obediently, he pulled his legs to his chest and watched the captain for the rest of the night. Anxiety over this separation kept him awake. Soon he did not have the energy to sustain such a state, and slept every night thereafter alone in a corner.

Still, he had not learned this extended to all furniture. Shortly after his exile from the bed and, by extension, sleeping beside his father, he met Lesson Two. Common household objects such as chairs and sofas were not things he encountered often as a member of a mercenary group. When he found himself indoors once more, he naturally regarded his surroundings with curiosity. Through glassy eyes he watched his captain and the other adults help themselves to food at a wide table. He knew, instinctively rather than from any reprimand, that everyone else must eat before he did. So he waited. They were all happy about something, talking fast and slurred toward one another. Normally, Nicolas would stay rooted to a spot away and take what he was given when it was given. His captain had started to show more irritation over Nic's infantile dependency lately. Today they had briefly forgotten him as well. A full minute went by and they had not even noticed him perch on a chair at the far end of the table. Abruptly, the black-haired man nearest him took notice. Through a mouthful of food, he seemed to have said "Off," before grabbing Nic by the shoulder and throwing him.

Nic's mind was young. The sluggishness worsened with famishment and poor health between the minimum Celebre doses. He mechanically picked himself up, not hearing the words around him:

"Hold on," said Gaston, "he needs to learn."

The man who had thrown Nic smiled and leaned back. "Oh, this oughta be good. Teaching that dumb stray anything..."

"Pay attention." Gaston moved the chair back into place. Gesturing welcomingly to the seat, he said to Nic, "Sit."

Meekly, Nicolas advanced. He had to push himself onto the chair, hiking a leg up to do so with effort. As soon as he was on the chair, his captain knocked him off with a fist to his face. Nicolas landed on his back, looking up at his captain blankly. He could feel his shrunken stomach grinding itself hungrily though now his appetite diminished. Beyond his hearing, the men laughed.

Without emotion, Gaston repeated, "Sit."

Nicolas believed he must have followed the command wrongly before. Of course, that must be it. He tried again, and ended up on the floor with blood escaping out his nose now. The command was given: sit. Nicolas gazed back at Gaston, registering both the pain that said do not and the command that said sit. In response to his hesitation, Gaston took a pill bottle from his pocket and shook it enticingly. A reward was rare; good things came when the captain decided, not from anything Nicolas did in particular. Slightly more interested, Nicolas attempted to climb onto the chair quickly. In one second he was standing three feet away, the next he was on the chair. The men gave impressed expressions at this show of speed. Nic's eyes widened a bit with surprise when Gaston hauled him off the chair again, this time with the addition of a sharp kick. On his feet, Nic sorely racked his brain for an answer as the command came again. In his mental fog, he had a small change of thought. He sank to the ground and sat there, like he had after his father tossed him from the bed. Now he saw the association. Gaston placed a bowl of noodles in front of the chair and set the pills beside it. Burying his chin in his knees, Nicolas remained. He almost thought to try the chair again when he realized Gaston had not spoken the command again. The men smiled and shook their heads. Looking satisfied, Gaston picked up the bowl and plunked it down beside Nic. He popped a pill out of the container before returning it to his pocket. For a moment it seemed he would pat Nic's head approvingly. His fingers rifted through Nic's hair, causing an unexpected spark of happiness in Nic. Directly after, the fingers took hold, pulling Nic's head back. Gaston shoved the round pill to the back of Nic's throat with the thumb of his other hand. Ignoring his gag reflex, Nic swallowed dryly.

From then on he understood: sit, floor; sleep, floor. Never do either on furniture.