Maliken lifted her hand, pointing the staff at Maeki's sign once more, 'Animation Studio' it read. Maliken could read Common better than speak it, still it wasn't good enough for her to be proud of. "I want to learn Animation from you. Please?" Maliken's lips pressed into a thin line, a forced smile. She felt so childish, so inferior, so pathetic to be forced to beg for help, but desperate times call for desperate action. Maliken nodded vigorously as Maeki offered to teach with so much enthusiasm. It actually pleased Maliken because she almost seemed childlike, where Maliken was still not considered an adult but felt she was as mature as any. Moments later, Maliken found herself being pushed, guided, and led through the Animator's home so swiftly that Maliken was certain she was going to tumble down a flight of stairs or trip and fall out of a window, but her demise never came. There was, however, something worse that reared its ugly head.
Filth. It was the only word that Maliken could think of that described every square inch of the home she saw. Dust seemed to be stacked a full inch on desks and counters, books were scattered around here and there, some were even stained with the telltale evidence of liquid, water, tea, alcohol, who knew what it was. She found, at one point, that her boot caught a stranded piece of clothing that was so expertly placed in her path so that it would cling to her like an affectionate child. Maliken considered leaving immediately, running from this places with all her might and with all the haste her legs could bring her. Maliken was not a neat freak, not by a long shot, but she was obsessive. There had to be order, there had to be symmetry to construction, and most of all, you had to have a safe and suitable environment for work. This place would not do. No, Maliken would either have to leave this place and hope there was another that could teach her anything, or she would personally have to repair this ruined home, turning it into a perfect piece of art. Hell, even a one-armed Isur could do that.
Maliken caught herself staring at the sink full of disgusting silverware, plates, bowls, and cups. She could swear she actually visually saw the odors and germs floating in the air next to them. It wasn't until Maeki questioned Maliken that she snapped out of her glaring at what might as well have been treated like a mortal enemy of hers (the dishes). "Yes, please teach me. I..." Maliken's voice faded, her throat suddenly dry and swollen with anxiety and fear. She didn't want to tell about herself, not about this, but she needed to. If she didn't give a plausible reason, then it was likely she would be turned down. It wasn't optional at this point, it was so close in her grasp. Maliken stood up from her seat and moved her hand, her only arm, to her neck. She grabbed as the cloak and weaseled it down the left side of her slim body until it was revealed. It was grotesque, horrible, disgusting. Maliken hated to look at the stub hanging off her shoulder, not even the full length of her bicep. She stared at it a moment, once again falling into a trance as she felt her stomach twist and turn with nausea, then as if nothing happened, she returned the neck of her robe, once again concealing her physical loss. She sat down again, but she was silent, her dull brown eyes stared longingly into that sink of dirty dishes. She felt the urge to move, to avoid the now strong attention drawn to herself. Could Maeki even really understand Maliken's desperation? No, this was something you had to experience to fully understand. |
