Because I finally got to double digit chapters, for every chapter I will reveal a secret about this story. What the secret pertains to... well, that changes.
Secret number 1: I wrote this story with the intent to make myself drink less by creating a person that drank as much as, if not more than, me.
"Where are you?" You could almost remember her actual name, if you tried really hard it would be right there on the tip of your tongue. But you don't actually give a shit about her or hers. Here, she's simply referred to as Meg. Though you like to call her bitch. Because that's what she is. A raging one.
And not like Elsa. At least Elsa is fun and funny! Oh no, no. Meg is an awful, person hating piece of pompous filth. She may know a bit more about the complexities of the genome than you, but by no means does that give her any rights to question you or your whereabouts. She thinks, because she's the head researcher, that this gives her both the power and right to dare calling you this early in the morning hours.
You don't even understand yourself how you managed to untangle from Elsa to answer this call you had assumed would be important. Well you do understand how you did it, but you don't understand why. All you really know is that you should look at your caller ID sometimes. Like occasionally maybe.
"Where I am is exactly where I need to be," you tell her as you very quietly make your way out of the still-dark bedroom. And she curses in your native tongue and speaking English so long makes it sound like a harsh music. Angry notes that buzz like a swarm of bees and roar like ocean waves in a storm. A sound you've missed. Unfortunately, "That is forbidden. And yet still you speak it."
"Do something."
"Oooh," it's odd to fill laughter, specifically chuckling, with malice and ill intent. But you do it, stuff it until you're practically gargling growls. "Gladly. I'm so overjoyed you signed up for our experimental program on hybridization. Now should I put you down as a receiving participant or...?"
"Don't you dare-"
"Don't you EVER question me again, is that understood? I am in charge of this operation, not you, not any of your crack team. ME. And guess what? I come and go as I please. And still manage to do my fucking job. So either tell me the subjects I delivered are defective and I need to deal with the last Scout or tell me an experiment was successful."
There's a long pause. You can hear the grind of her teeth as she fights to keep her cool. Meg likes to try to play bigger fiddle to you. But the devil went down to Georgia twice and still got Jack shit, there's no way in hell you're going to allow her to out-maneuver you. Although, some part of you wants to thank her for waking you.
You can start on bacon pancakes.
"A successful hybrid is currently in incubation."
"That's good to hear. And the subjects?"
"All in excellent health. Relatively speaking. One is dying."
"That's unfortunate, can it be used to our advantage?"
"Experimentation already underway. Shall I contact you if the splice expires it prematurely?"
"That won't be necessary, just compile a report and I'll look over everything later."
"Yes ma'am."
"Oh and one more thing... you keep spreading rumors about what I'm doing in my free time and you'll find yourself volunteered for every single program that exists under this vast little project you like to think of as yours. Is that clear?"
"... yes. Ma'am."
The mark of a bad leader must be smiling at the discomfort of those that work beneath you. But most bad leaders had never had to deal with Meg. So.
"Good. I might see you when I drop by the facility later. Make sure I don't." You barely wait for the last affirmative before ending the call. And then, just because, you swear in your native tongue. Somehow it feels better to speak as such. You haven't done so in very long, but Meg is astronomically irritating.
You set your phone down on the kitchen counter, almost stomping over to one of the chairs that keeps the kitchen table company. You pull it out and plop yourself down into the chair, cradling your head in your hands. With a few deep breaths and some thoughts centering around Elsa and bacon - in no particular order - you manage to calm.
Slightly.
Agitation still grits your teeth and furrows your brow but... bacon... And Elsa... And then a deliciously unsafe food idea enters your brain. And you hope that Elsa will forgive you if breakfast is a little bit lacking in the pancake department, and you think she just might have to. Your new idea is overloaded with bacon, saving grace.
She won't mind. You'll even pick up the materials if you have to which won't be a problem... bitches do love bacon. 'Cept for the ones with pork allergies. But Elsa isn't so unlucky, so... yeah this should work out fine.
Three and a half hours.
It takes two and a half for your special surprise to bake, but you'd had to go to the store for cheese and potatoes. And three and a half hours later Elsa comes stumbling out of the bedroom, a yawn cracking her jaw open. You know only because breakfast is cooling and while you waited you'd been watching Steven Universe in the living room.
You'll completely catch up soon, to the ever lovely Elsa. This you inform her as she zombie walks her way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Which you had, quite luckily, made only ten minutes ago. She had new coffee beans, same brand as the last one, but this named Jamaican Me Crazy.
"Holy..." the reverence in her tone was oddly pleasing to the ears. You were enjoying it, at least. "Anna dear, could you come in here?"
"I could if I really wanted to; would you clean it up?"
"I'd lick it up, now get in here." Grinning something close to manic you make your way into the kitchen, joining Elsa next to the coffee pot. You settle to a stop with your arms around her waist and your chin on her shoulder. Staring at your Bacon Pie. It might actually be called a tart, but that denotes sweetness in your mind.
So pie works better.
"What the fuck is that thing?"
"Diabetes on a plate."
"Is it...is it for me?"
"Oh yes."
"Oh my fuck. Are you serious?"
"As that heart attack it's going to give you."
"Shit. I... I think I love you right now."
"Don't worry my dear, I think you love me too." she slaps the back of your hand but it's harmless and lacking.
"Shut up and feed me." From here you can hear your phone buzzing on the sofa. And you know, without having to check, that an experiment failed. Probably the hybrid. For whatever reason they can never manage to stabilize...
Work can wait. You're first priority is feeding Elsa. Pay off being you get to watch and listen to the rapturous way she moans and the way her eyes roll back into her head. She complains she'll get fat as she willingly dives in for more. And you tell her that's a good thing. There will be more of your Glorious Queen to worship.