Author's Note: Many, many thanks to all who left comments, kudos, story alerts, favourites, and bookmarks! They are very much appreciated! It pleases me to know that there are readers out there who are enjoying the story. I hope you continue to do so.
Just a reminder- italics = Shai/sign language. If you should see italics within quotations, then it is the speaker emphasizing that particular word.
And, as always, comments and kudos are always welcome, if for no other reason than they make me smile.
First Day
Shai awakens with a start, sitting straight up in bed, disoriented and groggy from the abrupt disruption of her dream. She looks around at fragments of an unfamiliar setting; a bathroom with the light and vent fan left on; a sliver of silver glare from a mirror; and the outline of a door, presumably the entrance to this room. The bed feels too large and the blankets too soft. Even the pyjamas sticking to her skin do not feel right. Where am I? Then, it swiftly comes back to her. Her new job in the Shinra Building. A creepy professor and a nice doctor. Elevator ride to a condominium on the 63rd floor. Introduction to her new client. She grabs the phone to check the time: 6 o'clock am. Time to get up.
Shai swings her legs over the bed and moves to switch on the lamp when she remembers sending it flying to the floor. She pads over to the torchiere and switches it on. It lights up the entire room in ambient light. She walks into the bathroom. It is as beautifully designed as her new room: a porcelain pedestal sink, a large mounted oval-shaped mirror with a black lacquered frame, and a freestanding ceramic tub and shower encased in a tiled, glass enclosure. She unpacks her toiletry bag in a glass cabinet opposite the sink and takes out a washcloth to do her morning routine.
Depending on the client, Shai had a standard "uniform" of worn blue jeans, v-neck T-shirt, and low-top canvas sneakers dotted with paint splatters. She never applied make-up and her hair was done up in a tight bun like she wore yesterday. She wonders if such an ensemble would be acceptable for the general. She decides on a blue v-neck T-shirt and replaces the jeans with chino pants. She pulls her hair back in a knotted pony tail and gives herself one last inspection in the cheval mirror. Not bad, Shai, she thinks. Let us hope you are not alone in your assessment. Grabbing the little sketchbook and pencil, she walks down the hallway with greater care than she means to and peeks around the corner.
The living area is empty. So is the kitchen and dining area. The door to his bedroom is closed. Not a sound can be heard, leaving Shai to wonder if the place is sound-proofed. She takes a chance and knocks on the general's bedroom door. She waits for it to swing open and have a towering one hundred ninety three centimeters of enraged SOLDIER glowering down at her, but nothing. He's not here. And I thought I was an early riser, she thinks to herself.
She goes into the kitchen and begins to take stock of what is there. The fridge is filled with little more than bottled water, even though there is a dispenser in the door, and a few takeaway containers with leftover entrees inside. Browsing through the containers, it is clear the man has a high end palate. Shai is going to have to brush up on her culinary arts. She may not have taken on the role of chef very often, but that doesn't mean she can't cook a mean lobster thermidor. Plus a run back to her apartment to nab some cookbooks couldn't hurt.
Taking inventory of the rest of the kitchen and pantry is easy since there is nothing to take inventory of. The cupboards are literally bare, aside from his tableware and glassware. The drawers contain cutlery and assorted utensils. The kitchen has all the tools needed to cook a fine meal, but without the cook to prepare it. Shai has to go shopping. She composes her first text to Dr. Moreau, asking if she is aware of an allowance for food and if so, how does she access it. The reply comes quickly; I'll be right there.
While waiting for Moreau, Shai goes to her room to gather her satchel, sweater, and scarf. Fifteen minutes later there is a knock on the door. Shai peeks through the peephole and opens the door for the doctor.
"Good morning," she says in a tone much too bubbly for the hour. Shai grabs the sketchbook and writes; you got here fast.
"Oh! That's because I live in the building. We're practically neighbours! I live on the 60th floor and my office is on the 55th." She pulls out two bank cards from the pocket of her lab coat and hands them to Shai, each has a post-it note adhered to it with a four-digit pin.
"These are for you. One is for the spending account to maintain the condo and for purchasing groceries, and the second is for your personal account to access your pay. Should you have any questions about the cards or the accounts, the bank has a branch in the lobby." Shai fishes her wallet out of her leather satchel and slips the cards into it.
"Are you familiar with the area? The shops and whatnot?" Moreau asks, as Shai slides into her favourite knitted cardigan, wraps the scarf around her neck, and grabs the satchel. Shai quickly jots down that she'll manage.
"Ok. If you wish to grab a bite to eat before you head out, there is an excellent cafeteria on the 10th floor. It's for Shinra employees." Shai writes that maybe she'll stop in.
"Shai? If you don't mind. After you have written down what you wish to say, would you mind translating it into sign language? I wish to learn and they say the best way to learn a new language is to immerse yourself in it. It can't be very practical for you to write everything down." Shai smiles and writes down her answer, then signs of course.
The doctor leaves and Shai does another sweep of the lower cupboards to see if, by chance, the general has reusable shopping bags. She's not surprised when she finds none and adds it to her mental shopping list. She slings her satchel over her head and right shoulder. It is one of her most favourite possessions, a vintage design constructed of brown leather with a distressed finish and a long adjustable strap to keep her hands free. It is as prized to her as her portfolio, professional grade artist pencils, and the copy of Emily Dickinson poems given to her by her mother.
By the time she steps out the door, it's shortly after seven. She enters the elevator and realizes that it does not climb to all floors, but stops at the 66th, four floors shy of the top. She takes the elevator to the 10th floor. The cafeteria is not hard to find; it takes up the entire floor. Men and women in the lower echelons of Shinra's hierarchy exit the bank of elevators, some still wearing their coats and toting purses, some in overalls with the Shinra insignia embroidered on the sleeve, others donning bike helmets and courier bags, all there to have their morning meal or a cup of joe. Shai is sure in a building such as this there is another establishment for upper management and executives to dine and discourse. That could explain the calibre of the dishes found in the general's fridge. She buys herself an egg, cheese, and spinach breakfast sandwich and an extra large mochaccino. She finds a single table by the windows and tucks into her breakfast, dividing her attention between the view of Midgar and the full grown silver birch tree in the center of the room.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Shai's apartment is a small studio on the plate, a cramped one room with a kitchenette, closet, and a small bath consisting of a tiny sink, toilet, and space-saving shower. It is furnished with a twin-sized daybed with a wrought iron frame that serves as a sofa by day and a bed by night; an accent table with three drawers topped with a vintage bell shade lamp with jewelled blue glass that she lucked out on at a rummage sale. There is also a steamer trunk that stores Shai's clothes nestled in the corner. Every other available space is taken up by shelving filled top to bottom, end to end, with books, and if there is no space on the shelves, they are stacked in columns or arranged in rows on the floor. It is on these shelves that Shai pulls three cookbooks that she feels are appropriate for a distinguished palate. She shoves them into a rucksack and heaves it onto her right shoulder. She takes one last look around to see if she needs anything, decides she's good, and locks the door behind her. She passed a grocery store on her way here. That is her next stop.
The store is of medium size, a lovely family run business, smelling of newly baked bread and fresh cut flowers. Shai decides on buying ingredients for a simple meal tonight, spend her lunch preparing a suitable menu, then do a bigger shop the following morning and have it delivered. She chooses a recipe she knows by heart, makes her purchases, and begins her journey back. Shai finds that as she moves closer to the Shinra building, butterflies quiver excitedly in her belly. It is the thought of returning to the condo to find the general is at home that is feeding this nervous frenzy. Ridiculous, she thinks. It is not even midday. Why would he be home?
Stepping onto the elevator, scanning her ID, and pressing floor 63 brings sidelong glances from a few of the car's occupants as well as a few stares as they exit on their chosen floors. As the last person steps off on the 57th floor, they turn to give Shai an appraising look before the elevator doors block them from view. Shai can't help but wonder if this is going to be a common occurrence every time she leaves and returns to the condo. Clearly it is no secret who lives on the 63rd floor. She exits into the foyer, swipes her ID over the security lock, and walks inside, mentally bracing herself in the event her client decided to come home for lunch. But she is met with an empty residence as devoid of life and sound as it was this morning.
She sets the groceries on the kitchen counter and goes to her bedroom to put her things away. As she steps from the hallway, she stops dead. There in the kitchen, gulping down a bottle of water, is the general. The length of his hair is pulled back and bound with a strip of black leather at the nape of his neck, his fringe flowing freely. But what takes Shai's breath away, is the kendo gi and hakama he is wearing. Then it clicks; he was in his dojo. He's downing his second liter of water when he finally takes notice of Shai. He finishes off the bottle and tosses it into a blue recycle bin under the sink. Well, Shai thinks, at least he's not clogging the landfills with plastic. He says nothing until he reaches his bedroom door.
"I will be working late this evening. Do not expect me for dinner." Shai nods in reply, then signs OK. He enters his bedroom. The moment she hears the door click shut, Shai runs back to her room and dumps the contents of her satchel on the bed. She grabs the sketchbook and pencil and walks briskly back to the kitchen to unpack the groceries. Once finished, she writes in her book; would you like lunch? She walks to his bedroom door and musters the courage to knock when she hears the hiss of the shower. Damn, she thinks. She's not sure her courage will last the time it takes for him to bathe. She returns to the kitchen and opens the storage closet. She begins rummaging through the cleaning supplies, most of which are untouched. She needs to busy herself with work if for no other reason than to divert her thoughts from the general in a kendo uniform to dusting and polishing.
Armed with a cloth and spray, Shai goes about her work. She starts with the dining table, wiping down a surface with not a trace of dust on it. She sighs at the ridiculousness of it all, but she has to do something, and if that means cleaning an already immaculate living area, then so be it. She is finishing up with the legs of the last dining chair when she hears his bedroom door open. With what little courage remains, she stands and grabs the sketchbook. As he walks towards the door, she steps in front of him, boldly blocking his way. His eyes brighten momentarily with unchecked emotion. He cocks a brow at her and prepares to speak, but Shai beats him to it. However, in her rush to show him the book, she thrusts the open pages high in front of his face, almost knocking him in the nose. Realizing her foolishness, she lowers the sketchbook to a more manageable distance and holds it for him to read.
"No, thank you. I eat in my office while I work." Shai closes the book, signs OK, and steps out of his way. He nods either in gratitude or approval, Shai is not sure, but she replies with a smile. He looks at her strangely as if she is something of an oddity, then proceeds out the door. Shai truly begins to wonder if he associates with anyone outside of Shinra's sphere. She finishes up the living room, and decides to break for lunch before vacuuming. She makes herself her usual- spiral ham, Havarti, spinach, and spicy mustard- grabs one of her cookbooks, and has a seat at the kitchen bar. Well, it looks like her choice of dinner tonight will have to be scaled down to one. No matter. She expected there would be days like this. He is a general and in charge of the SOLDIER program. Of course, he's busy.
Shai spends her lunch multi-tasking between eating, flipping through the cookbook, and writing up a menu and a shopping list for the rest of the week. The question on her mind is whether or not he will be home to eat these meals? Should she come right out and ask him? He may not appreciate her poking into his schedule. Then there is the path of least resistance; assume he will be home and cook accordingly. Take the risk that she could be spooning leftovers into food containers more often than not. She hates the idea of wasting food, especially when she has taken the time and effort to make it. She wonders whether he would eat leftovers for lunch? She's going to make an educated guess and say no. All those takeaway containers in the fridge are still there. If he had intended to eat one of them for his afternoon meal, he would have taken it with him.
If she is going to be an effective live-in domestic, these are the types of things she needs to know. Too many wrong assumptions on her part, and he will decide she is a blundering incompetent and that is not her. She slips the menu and list into the cookbook to mark her place and gets back to work. She vacuums the carpets and sweeps the tile floors in the kitchen and bathroom. She leaves the den and his bedroom alone. They raise more questions than she is comfortable asking right now. Baby steps, Shai. One thing at a time. When she has finished, she decides that is enough for the day. She preps the ingredients needed for tonight's meal and stores them in the refrigerator until it is closer to the dinner hour. She knows he is working late. She has a couple of hours to kill. Perhaps some me time is in order.
She grabs her large sketchbook and pencils from her portfolio. Sitting on the couch, she begins to sketch the fireplace. The masonry is made of the same layered slate stone that is in the foyer. Pinks, oranges, blues, and tans mixed with browns and greys stand in stark contrast to the painted white walls of the living area. The mantel is a hand hewn beam of red oak stained the same dark shade as the doors. It is a centerpiece all on its own. She takes her time, paying too much attention to detail than she should for a sketch. Typical. Every picture has to be a masterpiece. Every picture has to perfect. It's her high expectations that has brought about some of her best work as well as her lowest moments.
Dinnertime sneaks up on her, but given that she is eating alone, the hour no longer matters. She decides to cook a meal for two, taking small portions and saving the rest. Should she leave him a note that dinner is in the fridge? He has probably already eaten his meal at that elusive executive restaurant. She would not be surprised if there is another takeaway container added to the others. She cleans up the kitchen, shining every surface like new, leaving it in the same condition it was when he left this morning. The only addition she has made is a fruit bowl on the island, filled with oranges and red and green apples, a splash of colour among the neutrals, whites, and dark woods.
She takes a shower and marvels at the luxurious shower head, a square fixture mounted into the ceiling to give the bather the feeling of being in a rain shower. It is nothing like the trapped feeling she would have had in her old bathroom's enclosure. She spends the first few minutes simply standing under it, arms open wide, head tilted back, letting the hot water give her a sense of renewal. As first days on the job go, this could have been much worse. She washes her hair and body and, with a certain amount of reluctance, gets out and dries off. She forgoes blow drying her hair, so she can get to bed earlier. She walks out into the living area and turns off all the lights save one. Placed next to the fruit bowl is a note to the general.
Normally, when she crawls into bed, she has a novel to read. Tonight she'll have to suffice with another cookbook. Finding a light-bulb in the storage closet, Shai is able to settle in to browse through the recipes for chicken cordon bleu, Cornish game hen, and beef Wellington. She remembers closing the book when her eyelids begin to droop and that is all. She is positive that she fell asleep with the light on, but when she wakes in the morning, the lamp is off.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Sephiroth comes home near midnight to find his home smells of furniture polish and the lingering aroma of a home cooked meal. Walking towards the kitchen, he can't help but notice the large clear mixing bowl filled with fresh fruit. He doesn't know whether to be annoyed at her assumption that this is acceptable, or be impressed with her initiative to have healthy food readily available to snack on. He grabs a red apple and picks up the note. Taking a bite, he reads:
Made cheese ravioli with pepper topping.
You'll find it in a clear container in the fridge.
Hope you had a good day.
Shai
Hope you had a good day? He recalls the meetings, paperwork, and review of new recruits that comprised his schedule. If he had to place his day in a category, he concludes that good would suffice. Sephiroth grins and takes another large bite of apple. Is this what it is going to be like to share accommodations with someone? Handwritten pleasantries regarding leftovers? He places the note back on the counter, and walks to his room. He pauses with his hand resting on the door handle. Floating down the hall, is a sound common to those who have a vibrating soft palate. Snoring, faint, but unmistakable is coming from her room. She has carelessly fallen asleep with the light on and door open. He's tempted to ignore it and retire for the night. None of his business, really. But that light. It irks him somehow. He never understood people's preoccupation with their sleeping environments. Particular idiosyncrasies like absolute silence, a fan on high speed, nightlights, etc. For him, it is a matter of closing his eyes, his upbringing and years of military service undoubtedly to blame.
He strides down the hall and peeks around the door frame. As he suspected, she is asleep, her mouth parted just enough to let out a low rumble. He walks silently into her room, to the far side of the bed. He gazes down at her. She lies on her right side, knees bent, and her hands resting near her face. Her hair is loose, large natural curls spilling onto her pillow and the bedding. She looks like a completely different person with her hair unbound, the soft waves restoring the youth that the previous hairstyle had stolen away. He decides he prefers her hair this way. Sephiroth has always had discerning taste when it has come to women. It does not take him long to recognize a women's defining attributes. He noticed Shai's eyes immediately. Now, her hair. Perhaps there will come a day in the future when he will be able to tell her. For now, though, he reaches under the shade, and turns out the light.
