temporarily cut off
a content trail in alfred's footsteps · 6/16

Seeing with two eyes was a harmonious gift. Seeing with two eyes through the scope of another man was variant to his daily life. Struggles of sight temporarily disabled was a welcomed curse. Swapped in for the life of a butler in a world that differed in one too many ways, held the least complaints except waking up to his girlfriend's best friend. Elements of surprise, especially in that nature was instinctive to squander any efforts on his life. He could've killed out of defense, or caused the most harm. His level of rage simmered, tamed by a long source of sleep. A better night's rest he's ever gotten in some time and where the rest was concern, turned him to dabble within confines of a kitchen. It wasn't his own. It didn't spread like the counters or the ledge where his cats all joined to watch him from. There was however, an abnormal feline following his every move. Slade within asked why the stupid thing was made to follow every move, staying in sync with his steps. The less time he questioned the more his focuses turned into utilizing normal senses. He wasn't as sharp, lacked the quick reflexes, and didn't have to rely on enhancements to get around. 

As long as it would last, Slade had been spared when he missed his tanker of a body. A machine augmented in a memorable past to pursue the interests of the government until he took matters into his own hands. Pursuing interests of his own needs, monetary at the most, for sport later on, was all on the experience gathered with service then the coordination of mind and body. Slade sold his soul on numerous occasions, and felt there would come a time he would be faced with an offer that would not refuse. It could cost the cracking of current relationships or effectively bring his moral code into question, as if it weren't already. He couldn't be mindless in this new vessel. There was a challenge to be more forward in a tactical sense, to use what he could while possible. Doing so required the stasis of  the mind while exerting given abilities to better navigate. Charged by less weight he was used to carrying didn't pose a significant hindrance in his stride. Where he maintained multiple processes and ideas running congruent with another, his current train of thought, slowed and enough to narrow, prompted time spent within the kitchen. 

Written notes of recipes for which he pilfered from one of many cookbooks laying around, was set to be his time spent while some of the scouts (as he liked to call them), went on the hunt for a precious and powerful stone. Majority of diligence should have been the search party where he had shown up in extension to the night before, but it cost him to lose his body. What he lost, he now gained and felt the most peace as he'd ever experienced in the past year sans his stock of memories. The battle scars still slashed against his soul were permenant. The wounds at most were throbbing to heal and when the days that it all went dark with holes of light shown through to the other side, he was reminded of what once was. His pettiness wanted to unravel, to lay at the doorstep to those he once went toe to toe with in the old world. To revive a plan that once was befitting to his desires to see and hold power but the challenge of reaching it while seemingly playing his part, was more of a gamble than he imagined. The players on the board were shaky at best, and then there were some with potential to play right along with an act of the team player. 

Where his plans of deceit laid dormant once again, another, and one that teetered with memories of his favorite pastime, resulted in contemplating on which way to go about stripping the cut of lamb to best cook properly. Stains of gamey blood dressed the sheet of notes after hacks at hunks of meat split a quartered lamb carcasses in parts. Loins, to leg meat precisely broken down hinted of reminders of anatomy to man, where the body, in more than one occasion had been victim to his own hack jobs. A cleaner, one that was artisan in nature gave more joy to him than he would let on. Silently gratifying of past jobs where he had little choice but to break down after draining once life ended. He eyed the shank meat cautiously, claw punctured into undesirable parts he would later part ways with to freeze. Slade marveled over the selective cuts, shanks in particular, as action took to creating a course that his counterpart favored. Sleeves rolled, attention paid to hands unlike his, forearms exposed further prior to taking select cuts to start at its prep in the most enticing way possible. 

The counter was the drawing board. Stove preheated acted as the assist in conjuring up a masterpiece welded with textures, flavors, and bold standings that took him away from a different but all too similar discipline. In the business of killing, intent determined how well the master was. Slade's ego and proceeding reputation spoke without him having to. If the exchange exposed in Alfred's home was indication of adaptation easily obtained without fight, he was off to a proper start. Paring knife switched out for the cleaver shaved at thick fat deposits unnecessary for use. He worked at the sinewy tendons at the narrowed end, clipping it to expose bone for easier shrink away while roasting. It took a few tries to establish cleaned and usable cuts of meat, mystified by the entire process as he set the usable cuts aside to bother storing the rest for another time. Ziplocks contained the other broken down meat while scrapsn in heaps were disposed of. His hands were soiled, chopping block soiled, and he trained his eye to look down to the cross eyed cat that stood at his feet attempting to lick it's paw. 

Undeniably there was a soft spot and one he could imagine Alfred had for the damn thing. Where there was the first wave of clean up to make room for the next wave of preparing a meal, he remedied the mess, that including his hands, by thoroughly washing. Stripping down the space used to butcher, and finishing it off with a better and more efficient surface. His eyes accepted the temporary change, hoping it was that but would heed to the difference in a way to learn rather run away from. It showed in his determination in the kitchen arena while understanding one's capabilities. Slade didn't turn over a new leaf. He wasn't seeking half ass attempts at redemption. Only finding the balance he so desperately would kill for if it meant channeling what was once joy into the trade of fine cuisine.