Work Text:
Calla and Lacey are going to a rage room tomorrow. They’d come into some money recently (and by that, Calla means they stole it), and had decided to go for a day out.
And, hit things.
‘Parently, people paid ‘rage rooms’ to destroy their stuff.
Calla liked the sound of that, and Lacey agreed it would be fun. And it could maybe stop Calla from stabbing another customer. The bosses didn’t like it when she did that.
They deserved it, though.
So! Trip to the rage room. There was one nearby- they’d used the ‘puter device in the library (Calla liked the library, ‘cause Lacey could use the computer. And they had a lot of nice pictures! It was just a bit sad that she couldn’t read the books) to find one, and it was a 5 minute walk. That was less time than it took to cook a salmon fillet. Which was good. Calla didn’t like the outside all that much (‘cept for their alleyway, course), but it was a lot better with Lacey.
Everything was better with Lacey. Even potatoes! And potatoes were great by themselves. Lacey was like a potato, in many senses. Beautiful, not respected enough, and Calla liked them both a lot!
Calla’s excited, all in all. She sometimes got that itch under her skin, and this seemed like a fun way to get rid of it. And it was more time with Lacey, which was another pro.
They didn’t let you smoke, though. Fire risk or something. Calla thought that was stupid, since she smoked all the time in the kitchen, and hadn’t burned anything yet.
Except that time she forgot the pork in the oven. But! That’s okay no one else figured that out. And it’s not like she did it on purpose. She’s just not good at remembering.
Lacey’s always been nice about that. She gives Calla words when she can’t find them (like the word simile, for when something is described as being like something else.) , and isn’t upset when Calla doesn’t remember. People don’t tend to like that Calla doesn’t remember.
She does try. She swears. It’s just- the memories don’t stick. They slip and slide like an oiled up pan, and drop to the floor like food carried by a stressed waitress.
Speaking of pans, Calla turned down to look at the asparagus she was grilling, and stirred the beurre blanc in the large pot on the stove.
Prep wasn’t too hard, but it was always just a bit too much work for just Calla. Not that that mattered, since it was just Calla always, so she managed. Besides, no one could stop her from 86ing anything on the menu, if she wanted to.
What were they gonna do? Fire her? No way they could get another chef willing to do this.
Anyways. Work was mindless. Calla liked cooking, but not so much at work. It was why she made fries for her and Lacey.
Speaking of! Calla and Lacey are going- somewhere. Somewhere near. Somewhere where Calla can be.
She couldn’t remember. Calla knew they were doing a day out. She could remember Lacey’s hair (brown) and that they made their plans in the library (also mostly brown). But she couldn’t. Remember.
She slipped out of the kitchen, leaving her prep half finished, and took a drag from her cigarette, exhaling smoke into the pale glow of the morning sun.
Maybe one day she’d be able to remember. Maybe when she remembered being younger.
So long as she never forgot Lacey, she’d be okay.