Borislav ended his thirst, at last, absorbing half of the 1.5 L bottle he had grasped onto. He was sitting on his chair not far from the ungrateful devil he had rescued, as he made each of his moves as discreet as he could, taking longer than usual, as he opened up his laptop and turned it on.
The Phenotype Question had not yet been resolved, and though he had been heavily distracted by other issues that came up, he didn't forget about it either. It was item one on his list after all. He opened up his browser and was directly put back on his thread, though the page had not yet reloaded. Once it did, he saw that his post had gathered a mild amount of 15 replies. His heart skipped again from anxiety, but at the same time, if 15 experts commented it probably meant that the mystery of his ethnicity had been solved, this notion made it bearable.
However, once he read the experts' replies, he realized they often lacked proficiency in professionalism and mastery of words. "HyperBnomean6969" commented; "That guy's obviously a ****". Borislav leaned back on his chair, frowning in contempt. Such a lack of decency! How could anyone type this and not be sent away from civilization immediately? Perhaps the other experts would reprimand him on his blatant racism, he hoped. But the second reply by "ServingBulbia" made no such thing; instead earnestly asking "Is Ugly-id a phenotype?".
This reply gathered the most replies, as each of the internet warriors wrote down the different ethnic make-ups of whoever stole their sandwiches in kindergarten. They argued about it heavily, numerous insults were thrown around. It was a complete useless mess of sad, fatalist idiots coping with their bigotry. Borislav deleted his post immediately, leaving his account blank. "What a waste of time" he whispered to himself, staring back at the form.
He stared and stared until finally, a solution popped into his mind. He could be anything from Bulbazid-Kanakid to Bulbazid-Astrakid to Bulbazid-Sorkid, so why not just put it this way; Bulbazid-Kanakid / Bulbazid / Sorkid. This would surely be approximatively true. True enough not to be accused of falsification, at least? And so he wrote it down, except he went well beyond the box's limits, not really caring at this point. The rest of the form had been filled up easily, Borislav was left satisfied with how it looked. Even though it looked completely stupid, especially with his child-like handwriting going completely out of the blank space's bounds. It just didn't occur to him.
Tasks 1 to 3 were done with, as he technically just set himself to *get* the food, not to eat it. Only the 4th remained on his mind. It should have been an easy one to cross out if it wasn't for the bed's unexpected occupant. Doggo took a surprisingly large amount of the bed's space, leaving none for Borislav to squeeze in and bet on not getting eaten in his sleep. Thus he had only one place to go, and it was just one door away. Moving like a burglar in his own place, he leaped his way into the living room, silently cursing the real intruder. There he found a resting place: the couch. The old, crusty, stinking of old lady, couch.
He laid down on this couch unenthusiastically and just like his ethnicity in that form box, he had his legs hanging like ink outside its borders. He dropped his eyelids, appreciating the darkness and quiet he felt. He dozed off eventually and flew away to dreamland where no Fabius, no dead lady's home, no dead lady's dog either, was to be found.
He woke up an hour or two later, hearing his belly begging for food. He had never once disobeyed Sir Belly's orders, if it wasn't for his superhuman genes, he would have a melted chocolate grid, instead of the solid one printed on his body. He thought of something new to add to his list as he reached the kitchen: "6. Learn how to (actually) cook." He hadn't picked a bunch of noodles and instant soups because he was fond of them, on the contrary, he found them rather tasteless. It's just that except for pouring hot water onto a mug and flipping burgers and sausages, he had no cooking experience.
He did the usual; poured the package onto a midsized bowl, replenished the kettle sitting nearby and turned it on, poured the content onto the bowl...and in no time he had a soup! Sir Belly couldn't contain his excitement, making all the more noises to demand his due. Suddenly the door to the bedroom opened, none other than the armageddon's hound advanced towards the smell of non-freshly prepared onion soup. Borislav wasn't the only one in the apartment that got up hungry, it seemed. Doggo salivated and growled. What did he want? Borislav wondered. It wasn't hard to decipher, frankly, the dog was fixating on the bowl rested on the counter, barking as it did it.
"Listen, I don't speak canine but you can't...get soup. That's not dog food." said the Hooman. Dog food, human food, such stupid dichotomies! Doggo didn't care for them. Doggo wants something, it gets it. Or it barks at Borislav until he gives in anyways. That's what happened here as well. As Borislav grabbed the bowl, no longer with the intention to drink even one drop of it, Sir Belly cried out: "BOOOOOOOOORISLAVVVVVVVVVVVV, iS tHiS tHy NeW nAMeth ?". Borislav ignored him and crouched, Doggo slurped in anticipation. Sir Belly continued, "THEE CAN'T DOTH THIS BORISLAV!. ThEe fEeDetH MiNe oWn SOuUuUp to AN HoUnd? ArT tHeE s'RioUs?" The lord screamed in vain, the bowl was on the floor, milliseconds away from being ruined forever. "ThOuUu aRt nOt mIne oWn sErf nay mOo, B'rislav the filthy! Thou art Banished! DaReTh NOt pIcKetH tHiSS uP aND i sHaLt hAs'T ThEe hAnG'd!!!", this was the defeated lord's last order, as he started sobbing heavily at the sight of an unholy beast plunging his gigantic tongue onto the soup, spilling it everywhere; including on Borislav's shoes. "I'm sorry", Borislav whispered, but it was useless.
Nothing could fix the relationship between Borislav and his liege, it was now irreversibly broken. Once Doggo had finished feasting on the soup as well as Sir Belly's tears, it went back to its lair without a sound. Borislav had to chance to feed himself with another package, filling up his belly materially yet leaving it empty inside the soul...
The rest of the day proved to be uneventful, as Borislav simply lost his time watching cat videos online and looking at job offers on the internet. He was reading about an employment offer at a Fast-Food chain nearby when he looked out the window and became hypnotized by Janisbure's setting sun. For one instant, he felt different. The sun poured down like honey as the bugs known as earthlings already longed for its return. It was a strange moment of silence, where the city moved at a slower pace. Exhausted from the day, all of its people swarmed back to their individual hives, making little chatter or buzzing. Even the sound of the motors outside was muffled, and the honkings were scarce. Borislav, in this quiet, felt like he was one of them. For the first time, he realized he had made the right decision, feeling a strange sense of familiarity that he never felt in even his childhood house. Maybe this place really would heal his woes one day, in due time.