Shopping for himself in such a large city was never his strongest suit. Never before has he lived the life of a middle-class citizen. In his youth, absolute poverty. In his late adolescence, absolute power. The in-between had only briefly been delved into. Briefly, but unforgotten in terms of how difficult it had been for him back then. Difficult, if it were not for bonds forged underneath the radar, unconsciously as he had accepted and embraced the man he once was, the man pure and untouched by a higher power’s sinister hand. How foolish was he to allow his pride and arrogance to push him towards such a shameful action. Though it is long forgiven, it is far from forgotten in Jack Atlas’s mind.
It would be nice to grab something to eat and leave, he thought. Despite his years of privilege, actually going out and buying groceries for himself wasn’t exactly commonplace. Or done at all, for that matter. Typically, he has others underneath him do all of the shopping, typically he would eat extravagantly despite his own palette being overwhelmed with such a burst in flavor when he himself is so used to the simplicity of instant foods or takeout. In the end, he had always returned to his old dietary habits. Always. There lies a sense of nostalgia whenever he opens up a package of spicy ramen. Artificial flavoring fills his nostrils more and more as it is heated and prepared right there in its Styrofoam cup. The texture of undercooked noodles filling his mouth, the way those unhealthily salted spices play on his taste buds— it all takes him way back to his youth. A time where things were simpler. When he wasn’t played the fool by those whom he had long thought to be the ones truly acknowledged his power. Those who truly respected and revered him as King.
Before him is a display of all sorts of ramen. Packaged in large bowls or small plastic pouches, in all different sizes and flavors, different brands and names— all of which tickled Jack’s interests immensely. Most of these brands he has never seen before in his life. Were they Hive-exclusive, he wonders? Violets examined each and every brand, each and every flavor and packaging type, to find the one that would be just right for his current appetite standing. With such a heavenly display, picking just one would be a hassle. Now, it has occurred to him that “Why stop at one?”. That is true. Ramen is very cheap, and very easily he could grab a handful of packets and still remain on a budget. It’s an easy feat, really, however…
Who said that Jack Atlas is very good at sticking to a budget, though?
There. There. Spicy beef ramen, a package and flavor similar if not identical to his favorite brand back home: Red Demon’s Ramen. The last cup left, too. What luck does the King have to secure such a delicacy in such little time. No— another hand quickly reaches for the very item he claimed long ago. No, he will not lose his rightful item. The King will not surrender—
Both hands collide before any sort of grasping contact with said package ensued. Neither male secured the cup of instant ramen. The only sound between the two were a brief clattering of styrofoam on linoleum flooring. For a moment, horrorstruck, Jack’s eyes lay fixated on the cup as though a great atrocity just happened. Before another action could be taken, the cup is taken up by the auburn-haired stranger and…
"Did I want that? I was reaching for it, so of course I wanted that." His voice almost too authoritarian, it easily overshadows the subtle presence of the other.
"Are you surrendering to me without so much as putting up some sort of resistance?” Pride speaks for him very often, unfortunately. "I don’t accept mere donation. That spicy beef ramen cannot just be given away like that!"
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