Abducted - Take Two

"Sure! Go ahead - the washer is across the hall in the mud room." Genesis gestured towards the door frame just across the kitchen with entrance set slightly further back then the kitchen at the very back of the house. It was a small room that had probably lead out back to a garden when the house was in it's prime (judging by the single door that lead out to a blank plot of land in the yard), but now it was poorly lit room with an older model washer and dryer that rattled around when you used them. Most of the house still had the ornate tin ceiling tiles intact through the house, the washroom was not an exception expect for one piece where the dryer vent had been attached - that was just a empty square that lead up to the bottom of the next floor.

Genesis grabbed two plates from the top shelf of a cabinet next to the white ceramic, farm-house style sink. It had been a while since he had made dinner for two... After the stint with Farrah he had mostly been alone save a couple of friends who used to come visit him to try and coax him out or make sure he was doing okay. Those visits had stopped a few months ago - and they weren't the in depth visits he had imagined girls would do with each other. It was more of making sure he wasn't dead, drinking a beer together and then leaving.

He carried the plates to the dining room that was attached to the kitchen. It really the least messy room in the house. He didn't have much use for it and never went in there. It had been just him and he usually ate in the living room while watching TV. The dining room was a quaint size. Not to big, not to small. With a dark red wallpaper lining the walls, with white radiators jumping out from the walls. The ceiling tiles were a dark brown - verging on black. An ornate, but small chandelier hung from a brass mount in the middle of the ceiling. And a modest fireplace at the end of the room.

"What do you want to drink?" Genesis called from the kitchen looking into the fridge. There was liquor, liquor, and more liquor. Just kidding, there was water, a couple kinds of soda - pepsi, crush, sprite, milk, and juice. He poured himself a glass of sprite while waiting on Seirra to answer.

Sierra followed the simple directions Genesis had given her and found the mudroom with ease. The first thing she had noticed was the outdated washer/dryer combo stacked on top of one another. It brought a small smile to her lips as a bit of nostalgia rekindled itself. She had grown up in a small, two bedroom home with her mother that housed a mounted washer and dryer in a little nook, identical to this one.

She tossed the few articles of clothing she had been wearing into washer before reaching down into the dirty clothes hamper for a few of Genesis's to wash as well. She had been picky growing up and refused to wash something unless there happened to be a full load. Sierra had to stand on her tiptoes to reach the laundry detergent and fabric softener that were up on a shelf on the wall facing opposite of the washer/dryer, nearly dropping the box of detergent as it came cascading down from the higher shelf.

Sierra smiled to herself, considering not busting the box of detergent a  huge feat, before turning at the sound of Genesis calling from the kitchen. Quickly dumping the powder into the washing machine, she turned it on and made her way back toward his voice. She glanced at the options lining the kitchen cabinets and settled on Pepsi. She hadn't drank soda in over a year, it had been her new years resolution to give it up, but there was no guilt or shame in her decision to drink one tonight.

"Pepsi." She murmured. It sounded almost as if it were a question, but she couldn't help but find his generosity confusing after tussling with him a few days before and being kept locked away in the cold, uninsulated cellar of his. She was leaning toward the fact that he was so strung out on whatever concoction of drugs he was on and that his true nature had began to shine through was the solution to it all. The question of what the next run in with drugs and alcohol would bring her was of concern, but in the mean time she would enjoy her meal and a good night's rest.

"Pepsi it is." Genesis chirrped as he reached up for a second glass. The glasses were all mismatched. Some had cartoon characters plastered onto them, others had dots or lines inlaid into the glass, a few others advertised different beers. "I hope Speedy Gonzales is up your alley." He said as he grabbed a cup with a mouse, who looked like a cousin of Jerry from Tom & Jerry, wearing a yellow sombrero and matching outfit with a black ascot, and filled it with pepsi.

"Also - I hope you like pizza. because that's what I made." Genesis said with a chuckle as he carried the glasses into the dining room and set them on the wooden table that had an uncentered table runner, running mostly through the middle. "I'm not much of a cook - but I figured that most of the population likes pizza." The light hearted, friendly person that Gen had always been was shining through. He had been so out of it the past several days, it didn't occur to him that Sierra had met him in quite the predicament and probably, eh, most likely definitely found his change in behavior to be odd.

Most people who knew Genesis knew that he was about as friendly and kind as a person could be, hence the shock and confusion of his friends after the drastic downhill drop following Farrah's and his would-be child's death. All the drugs and drinking made him a very different person, a dangerous and violent one. And at times Genesis showed little control for his drinking and it seemed like he may of really of had voices in his head, instructing him on what to do. But being nice was what came naturally to him and it was what flowed out of him when he wasn't out of his normal state of mind.

Genesis took a seat at the table and took a bite of the pizza. "Feel free to compliment my culinary skills." He smiled and took a drink of sprite. He didn't know what to talk about with her, it was awkward enough as it stood. He had apparently kidnapped a girl, kept her in the basement, and now that he had finally come around - made her dinner...

Sierra slowly lowered herself in the vacant seat across the table from where Genesis had placed his own glass and plate full of pizza. In front of her sat a, surprisingly, matching plate with two slices of pizza, the plastic cup scrawled with a cartoon mouse, and a neatly folded napkin that she noticed to be bounty brand. The table was well worn, with a few very noticeable marks ingraved in it. She ran her finger over it as she tried to decipher it since she was unable to read the lettering. FS+GR GR? G as in Genesis perhaps? She didn't know if this was cause for concern - was she not the first victim of this strange redhead - or if it was entirely unrelated to her kidnapping?

She was quickly reminded that she wasn't left alone with her thoughts as Genesis spoke up and cracked a lighthearted joke about his culinary success. She offered him a small smile before taking a bite from one of the pieces of pizza placed before her. It was deliciously topped with bell peppers, red onions, black olives, a few slices of pepperoni, and several layers of cheese that began to string out with each bite you seemed to take. She was grateful that he provided her with something to eat after several days of being excommunicated from the rest of the world as well as being kept from any source of food or warmth other than a shoddy blanket that had seen more wear and tear than any she could recall.

As she ran her fingers over the lettering again, Sierra decided to speak up. "I, um. I threw some of your laundry into the machine along with mine. I hope you don't mind, it's a habit to make a full load. I always had to do so growing up. Poor kid problems." She offered with a small smile before grabbing her soda and taking another sip.

The entire situation was awkward, both of them knew it and felt it, but Genesis had made an effort to communicate, as strange as it was to grasp, and she felt entitled to reciprocate. She decided against speaking about the letters carved into the table, fearful that the situation could turn ugly again in an instant.