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A real, honest to goodness kitchen. If someone has asked him, more than a year ago when he first became forced to live inside of his flower shop, what would be the one thing in his apartment that he missed, Krishna Dhawan would probably not have used that as his answer. Now, as he pressed the button on his electric water heater in order to get his morning cup of tea, he could not imagine how he ever would have chosen any other part of his former home above that wonderful kitchen. A place where he could make tea, toast, and eggs all at the same time? Truly a luxury, and strangely harder to replace than a cheap place to take a shower.

A luxury that he would not have to miss for much longer. January 1 could not come soon enough for his tastes. He poured the steaming water into his mug and steeped his tea. He glanced at the clock. 4:50 a.m. Still ten minutes for Alois to show up and help with pre-opening preparations. He would be able to assess the youth's capabilities, whatever they might be, and assign him appropriate tasks based on his observation. He would be lying if he said he would not take a certain amount of pleasure in the task. To have a former thorn in his side act as a tool instead? Who could ask for more?

The florist took his cup of tea and moved towards the door of his shop. The various components of the store had been moved a bit further from the windows in order to protect them from potential frost damage. So far, his windows had not cracked or been vandalized, but such things had happened in the past, and it was safer to take precautions. They were still in their respective sections, divided by habitat. There was a warmer, dryer section for desert plants like aloe vera and cacti; there was a section dedicated to hanging baskets and other small saplings that needed less space. Rows of flowering plants in various colors could be seen, but moved to special place of prominence for the Christmas season were mistletoe, miniature Christmas trees, and pointsettas.

With everything inside still in order, Krishna allowed himself to drink some of his tea. He did not pause for long. Every morning he needed to check the walls outside of his shop for graffiti. He moved to do so now, half-hoping that there would be some. That job was extremely labor intensive. The local gangs had been quiet of late, however, because of the destruction of Sugar Shanty and the increased presence of authorities. Still, he could hope.

The tea warmed him against the morning chill as he made a 360 degree inspection of the building. So far, the white stone structure still appeared to be clean. On a normal day, Krishna would have found this fact satisfying. Scrubbing the stone was laborious, and that time could be better spent inside. Today, it was slightly disappointing because it would have been the perfect menial task to give Alois. Quick to learn, easy to check up on, distant from not only the customers in his store but also his other workers. Ah well. He would find something else.

The shop's owner was walking back towards the front of the store whenever he spied his underling approaching. He stayed at the side, just out of sight, for a moment. Krishna's gold eyes ran over Alois's pale face as the boy pushed his way through the double doors. Even from this distance, the florist did not like the haggard look he found there. Perhaps the early morning was simply not a natural time for this leech to be roused. He followed up behind the black-clothed youth and turned the knob, ushering him in.

"What happened?" The florist's voice was crisp and chilled as ever, indicating that he more wished to be informed than felt any form of concern. It was an inconvenience, certainly, to see that his new worker was not exactly in tip top shape. Most of the tasks that would be most useful, and most punishing, were physical in nature. Letting Alois around customers was not really an option, given his violent and pyschotic history. Still, at least the newly-demoted lieutenant was tall. Maybe he could reach to clean light fixtures or some other task.

Without further query, the rainbow-haired man walked to the front desk and retrieved a clipboard. Attached to it was a form that indicated Alois was working as a volunteer, as well as a waiver to insure Krishna was not liable for any injuries that occured. The Indian handed the clipboard to Alois along with the pen to fill out. Surely, no matter how roughed up, the boy could still write and speak at the same time.

Krishna caught Alois's gaze easily and held it, as though challenging him to complain. In an odd twist of fate, both of the two very different men had equally intense, golden eyes. When they looked to one another, it was a battle of metal, a test to see which would bend or melt first. This time, it happened to be the dark-haired youth who looked over the forms that the florist had gathered. Alois may have considered such matters beyond his punishment, but Krishna could point out that there was truly no difference in and out of uniform. He was still a Captain - Alois, a lieutenant. An order was an order. Anyone who thought otherwise was sorely mistaken.

While his worker took care of the forms, Krishna brushed some of the rainbow hair from his face and took another swig of his cooling tea. Although his gaze was not currently focused on Alois, he took in every word the youth spoke. A battle gone wrong and... saved by another Senshi? Some weak minded fool unfit for their battle. Still, at least it meant his charge was alive, however in pain. Even over the spoken injuries, the florist snorted, "What you deserve. Lost your experience, along with your power? Should have called for help."

With the clipboard thrust back towards him, the florist took hold of it and inspected the writing to make sure everything was in order. His brows arched at the script and print he saw. Far neater than his own, far neater than any he had seen beyond his mother's. Krishna set down his drained tea cup on to the counter and moved away from the youth. He walked behind the counter and pulled out a small stack of plain paper. These, he slid over to Alois and made a simple, if strange, demand. "Write three holiday sentiments."

Krishna shook his head, a sneer curling across his lips. His reaction was partially a result of the shining, bloody mucus that spewed out of Alois's mouth like venom. His reaction was also partially a result of the words that squeezed out of the broken, pitiful, choking thing that stood before him, struggling to even make a threat. Truly the once powerful Bischofite had fallen far - and worse, seemed content to insinuate he could fall farther. It was a lucky thing that he happened to have a talented mentor on hand.

He soaked in every word that Alois spoke, but his eyes were on the pen and paper. The first sentiment was in German, which he did not speak but Richard knew a smattering of. The second an English Christmas sentiment. The third a more pressing message, one that would have to be dealt with on top of everything else. No matter the language, the sentiment, or the length, however, the handwriting came out neat and clean as calligraphy. Krishna set his empty tea cup on the counter and instead took up the papers for closer inspection. 'Yes, it should work. It seems consistent, despite his coughing fits. It should work...'

But business would have to wait. There were concerns that needed to be addressed. Vocally, as much as he hated that medium.

"I will not repeat myself." It was a fair warning, and more than Alois had ever given him. The florist busied himself while he spoke, tapping the sheets of paper against the counter to straighten them before heading over to the rack which held his teal apron. His words were serious, and as he often found himself around the youth, he had to use more of them then he would like. The once-general was not yet adapt at reading between the lines. Like the invalid he currently was, he would have to have information spoonfed to him as though it were warming broth.

As the florist slipped the apron over his head, he responded to the two statements that had been made. "Natural consequence of your actions. Richard aptly named you; like a weed, you spread poison roots. Anyone would know to pluck you before they spread further. Laurelite has given you a chance to prove your ability to bear fruit. As ordered, I will cultivate and aid as necessary. All of this is more compassion than you have earned." It was all true. He would not coddle, he would not sugarcoat, and he would not spare limb or spirit if they needed to be broken. That did not mean that Krishna would not defend or fight, as necessary.

With a callous hand, the Indian took the final sheet of paper, the one with what appeared to be a confession - or an attempt to rile him? Either way, he quickly, efficiently tore it half and dropped it into the trash can on his way back to Alois's side. The other two pages he left unscathed and placed back on the counter. "Death, Alois? Not this day, or ever, until I am given the order. On that day, I will gladly cull you. For now? There is work. Follow me."

Krishna grabbed his gardening gloves and the two pieces of paper and moved to the back of the store. The area was filled with bags of soil, fertilizer, adn other such sundries that needed to be stored but not out in the open. It was an isolated spot with its own door seperating it from the main body of the store.

Krishna shook his head at the statements that gurgled out of Alois's throat. Judging from the word 'target,' he assumed that the rest was just another attempt to try and provoke a reaction. The Indian merely tightened his normally stone-faced expression, as though to prevent any of the potentially desired responses from leaking through. Not that there was much to bubble forth.

His heart rate was slow, steady, his breathing unlabored, his brown skin untinged with blush or pallor. Krishna did not intend to lose his temper or to give his German companion the satisifaction of any response other than his usual curt fare. Even his 'threat' had not been an anger-fueled rant - merely a statement. He would not allow Alois to die. Not as long as he was responsible for the now junior officer. If someone were to end the youth's life, then the florist felt he was the natural choice. Who else could make a better case - except perhaps Richard, and then would his partner not only ask Serpentine to do the deed for him? The talk of the puppetry did not even make the older man c**k a brow. If the fool could not see the difference between a puppet and a soldier, then maybe the boy needed a dictionary.

The florist ignored the youth when he all but collapsed onto a sack of soil. With the number of injuries that Alois sported, it was not surprising that he would be weakened. To see how little stamina the misanthrope possessed only further convinced his keeper that his plan was, indeed, clearly the correct path. Krishna began to move sacks of fertilizer from the higher table and put them atop the piles on the floor. It left him with fewer, taller piles, but they were relatively sturdy and would give him sufficient room to place a chair in which Alois would sit. Of course, he would need to bring in the chair, along with a few other items.

As he worked, he responded to the statements that had been made on their way to the store room. He grunted as he lifted his third bag, "know what to do with you, else I would not bring you here." He set the fifty pound sack down with a minimal of effort before crossing back to the original pile to repeat the process. He honestly had nothing else he felt he needed to say. Discipline was not the same, to him, as punishment. Discipline was self-control and knowing when to speak, when to act, and when to plan. Did he know how to punish Alois? Perhaps not. The tactics that worked on Richard would likely not work on such a different being, but Krishna was patient. He would learn. Then, the discipline that he naturally possesed would transfuse into the one for whom he was currently responsible.

What he had in mind was a simple job, one that even one as injured as the boy could endure. The florist wiped the sweat that accumulated on his brow on the back of his gloved hand. So far, so good. Now he just needed to get the rest of the materials, and he could go back to his normal pre-opening business. With little warning, he turned towards the door and threw a brisk command, "Stay here. I will return."

Outside of the storage room, Krishna took mental inventory of materials as he gathered them. A sturdy, but comfortable, chair was his first grab. This one was from his own office, actually, for it was the only one large enough for Alois to sit in without threatening to squeeze his injuries as he hunched over. Providing anything for the youth’s comfort irked him, but if he exacerbated his charge’s wounds, then the demoted General would be even more useless. That situation could not be allowed.

The other materials were far less heavy. A supply of paper. The better of his ink pens, which he normally saved for important documents. A box of ribbons as diverse in color as the blooms in his shop or the strands of his hair. Some scissors. A spool of tape. He consolidated the small materials together in the box and placed them on the seat of the chair. The florist then wheeled the encumbered chair towards the back. His head was lowered as he pushed through the door, but he did announce his presence with a grunt, “These should be suitable.”

He only looked up when he lifted the box and moved to set it on the table. Krishna’s eyes swept over the scene and immediately drew conclusions. The youth had wanted a reaction from the florist previously; he got it now. A furious flush of bronze spread across the older man’s face as he scowled. The box landed with a thwump onto the recently cleaned table, and it was only a moment before he was lunging forward with the clear of intent of snatching the vial and syringe out of Alois’s grasp.

“No. No drugs. Ever.”

Krishna was definitely not smiling. If anything, the normally stoic man had retreated into something thicker than his usual stiffness. His mouth tightened. His gaze was intense. His spine drew as straight as it could be, as though to accentuate his limited height. The initial crack of a smile that loosed an explosion of mirth from his new charge made his hands curl into fists at his side. He did not enjoy being the fool. It was a role beneath him, and it was a role he did not normally adopt. Yet, the florist did not turn away. He did not strike. He waited. He listened. He learned.

Drugs had never been something about which he wished to know. They had simply been a reality. His neighborhood had been crawling with drug dealers who offered everything from simple, relatively harmless pot to cocaine and heroin. They infiltrated schools with teenagers and thus developed a long-lasting clientele. Krishna had never liked them, neither the men and women peddling their wares nor the junkies that he observed. Attitudes had changed a bit over the decades he had been alive towards marijuana, at least, and new drugs were now available that the Indian knew nothing about. But he knew the look of people on them. Gaunt and constantly itching, stringy hair hanging limply around their faces, horrible teeth and nervous, feverish eyes… but whatever drug that was, it was not the one which Alois described in such detail.

With each point made, the florist was more--not less--convinced that the youth was taking some kind of drug, or at least had, at one time. Even if it was not here, at this moment, the Goth was too well-versed to have never even experimented. These thoughts distracted him for a moment, until he saw the glint of the needle. When stale air puffed his face, the florist sneered and moved to take a step back - but not before a thin trail of blood splattered against his chin and neck. Krishna’s fury unleashed with a hiss, and he pulled Alois out of the chair by his shirt “Enough. Don’t do it again.”

The florist practically threw the injured boy back into the chair and ran his hands on his apron to get rid of any residual filth. His next grab was to a handkerchief in his apron pocket, quickly wiping away the mess on his face as he turned back to the box he had brought into the room. The sooner he assigned the task, the sooner he would be able to leave Alois behind and begin his own work for the day. “For a cur, your penmanship is nothing short of remarkable. You will write holiday cards to accompany product. You should have everything you need here. Do you understand?”

The air between them had definitely soured, and Krishna made no qualms about showing how eager he was to depart. The handkerchief went over the affected area again, as his skin itched at the thought of some lingering bodily fluid remaining behind. He needed cold water, a mirror, some soap… and heaven help the boy if there was a stain on his apron.

Like drug use, medicine was a subject about which Krishna knew only peripherally. He knew medicinal plants and herbs and their effects, but something as complicated as a perforated lung? This type of knowledge was beyond him. He kept his face passive as much as he could, but the slight tilt of his head made it clear that he was paying rapt attention and processing the knowledge. The only part that made him scowl was the ending statement. Of all the qualities the florist would swear Alois did not possess… intelligence was not one of them. He knew the youth to be remarkably intelligent, if twisted in mind. Did such a mind truly require this much handholding to understand his terse communications? Apparently so. He thus followed up the expression with clarification, although he hated to waste so many words, “Then stab as needed to survive. Do not contaminate me or my shop with blood again and do not use any drugs, beyond those needed to treat your wounds, in my presence.”

It helped to cool some of Krishna’s irritation when the youth went straight to work. It was satisfying to see the Alois begin his task, not merely because of having a former enemy under his thumb, but because it meant the conflict of the moment was over. The florist was already behind on his normal morning tasks due to the time he had spent here. All the same, the older man had no illusions about the fact that he and the youth would butt heads again; he simply had the utmost confidence in his own ability to tame the beast. As did Laurelite, or else she would not have given him such a task.

The question gave him pause because it did not seem to demand an answer. His vanity could not admit he did not understand the question; his pride would not even consider the question of what he was supposedly not understanding. So, he ignored it and instead supplied additional information. “If you need anything, call me. I will hear you. Richard will bring lunch at noon.” The normally taciturn man felt he had put enough stress on the word ‘need’ to avoid being dragged back into the room at a moment’s notice and told Alois everything else he might need to know. Satisfied with himself, he left the youth to his task.

On the way out of the door, Krishna again rubbed the handkerchief against his cheek, and the thought of lingering blood was too much for him to bear. The first stop would have to be the bathroom and to a mirror, and then he could prepare the shop for the remainder of the day. Time he did not have, but to present himself with anything less than perfection was simply… intolerable. Even more intolerable than the one to whom he sought to teach teamwork via his tasks. If they worked together, ate together, patrolled together, then surely that much time spent in a close proximity would yield fruit of some sort. It had, after all, worked with Richard, and his partner would be helping him to better utilize the creature currently practicing calligraphy in his store room.

It was simply a matter of time, and if there was anything he had in abundance… it was time.