Taking Down the Mechanical Giant

Chiyuki stared at the man as he was punched into unconsciousness and dragged out of the machine by strong grip of Miss Hilda Sinclair. He was a particularly stocky man with a small head, short arms, and much of his weight concentrating around his gut. Judging by the sweat-wet white tank top and oil-stained kackies he wore, it had been obvious that he had lived, breathed, and existed only within a garage or some sort of workspace for these troublesome mechanical figures. He also smelled and odorous smell, so Chiyuki cringed at him when he realized this.

Miss Hilda Sinclair went on to detail how they'd proceed, and as she continued to explain, his mind wandered further and further off to other ideas. He wondered of when he'd get eat again and was overly self-conscious of the soft winds blowing against his brown nipples and running chills through his flesh as a result. His brows would scrunch together and he'd heave a deep and disgruntled breath through his nose. The only thing that had returned him to the present had been Miss Hilda Sinclair's sudden approach and inquiry. She had asked Chiyuki if he were okay, and while he gave her a bloody and bruised thumbs-up, she approached him anyway. His knuckles didn't ache, and while they bled, he hardly noticed they were doing so at all. It was his fault for striking so clumsily in his fit of anger and not controlling his strength as to not break his skin when he did. To him, it was eerily similar to an "oh, well, whatever!" sort of scenario. But his injuries were tended to regardless of his reassuring gesture, and a cooling sensation ran over him.

After this, the pair went on to go down that list of things to do. They delivered the still unconscious man to the nearest prison, then his belongings to that "IHI" place Miss Hilda Sinclair mentioned, and then their brief journey back home. Of course, during this proceedure, Chiyuki knew little of what he was doing—he tuned out when Hilda was speaking beforehand, afterall. He ended up mostly doing the laborous things, like carrying the man's belongings and carrying the man himself to the prison whilst following Hilda, and then he slept the entire car ride home. It was an uneventful departure back to Ace of Spades, and when they got there Chiyuki was given medical attention with a red face screaming his embarrassment. After that, the two separated without many words.

Days later, and every day since the job, Chiyuki had been purchasing dish after dish from the mess hall, and many would watch him from a distance as the clean plates and empty bowls would stack further and furhter up in only seconds. Not even a grain of rice had remained, except maybe around his mouth. But his money for food wouldn't last long, and her bitterly found himself closer and closer to doing another job. He ate with a gloom surrounding him because of this.

The gloom only diverted some people from him, but not Miss Hilda Sinclair as she found herself a seat across the table from him. Chiyuki raised his head from his bowl with a puzzled look, dipping his head in a somewhat formal greeting. "Mish Hwilda Shwinclair?" he said with a full mouth. He was obviously still shirtless and wasn't lying about his last shirt being, well, his last. And it was also true that his magic required the conservation of energy, so his greeting was extraordinarily lackadaisical. He watched her as she placed two things onto the table—a box and a bag, and both of which were slid over to him like some questionable transaction, in his eyes. His look became even more puzzled than earlier before she explained what it was, and instantly he set his bowl of rice and chicken down and began to peek and rummage through the bag of shirts.

Chiyuki pulled out the softest shirt he groped and instantly slid it over his head and let it swallow his torso. He slumped back into his chair with an satisfied look, letting his arms hang over the sides. ". . .Thanks." he sputtered. It was all he could say in his current state, weary and weak, like a ragdoll. But he was quick to return to his erect posture to open up the box, where an empty and shiny-like-new plate sat. Again, a bewildered expression overtook his face.

When he took the plate out and held it gingerly, a whole rotisserie chicken came to mind. And like some god had possessed the plate, a whole rotisserie chicken appeared on it! It was greasy and had beautiful brown skin, and the meat in between looked so moist, tender, and it shimmered in the light, a clear sign it was juicy too! He marveled and thought of all this whilst Miss Hilda Sinclair was explaining it, and it was the first time he had registered everything she had said!

The redhead broke into tears, his eyes glossy and cheeks red like tomatoes. He wasn't crying! He was sobbing! His entire face was wet with tears and every ounce of energy concentrated in his pretty-blue eyes, pulsating happiness and joy! A rush of relief came upon him, his entire body trembled with vigor! Suddenly, the energy reserved for his magic was finally tapped into, and his entire being was no longer half-hearted or lacking spirit. With one ferocious movement, he lifted himself from his seat (nearly having it fall to the ground!), leaned over the table to grasp Hilda Sinclair's hand and gingerly held it with both of his bigger ones in a trembling, firm grip! "Are you God? You're God, aren't you, Miss Serilda?" Chiyuki continued to sob, and many of his tears dripped from his chin onto the table, the steamy chicken stinging his eyes. He also hadn't realized that he had finally said her name correctly, but he was still wholly convinced it was "Hilda Sinclair." It was his knack for recalling unbearably small details that began to show.