"Dude! You're pissed drunk! Seriously though, I'm fine."
"I'm not! I want some eggggssss….." he sprawled on the sofa.
"Okay, how 'bout I cook both of us some eggs?"
"Oui oui," he mumbled under his breath.
Famine made her way into the kitchen and looked for the ingredients and tools. Her technique and movement were swift and professional. The smell of decently seasoned and perfectly cooked scrambled eggs lingered in the air. It appeared to be an effective alarm clock as Pride rose from his brief slumber and stumbled his way to the dining table.
"Mmm… scrumptious. This reminds me of the egg I used to have in a diner when I was a kid. Hey! Why don't you try to apply for a job there? You can earn some extra pocket money and get fed with all the food your heart desires. You should stop pretending to be a delivery guy. That's identity theft," he spoke with mouthfuls of egg.
