My name is<i>Taz</i>,<b>not</b>crook,<b>not</b>Terry, ...<i>Taz</i>. Well, my friends call me Taz. The cops just call me Bauer, or Degenerate, or useless little bitch."   She glowered at the woman in the kitchen. "I don't fucking call<i>you</i>a gimp or a crip, do I? "<br/><br/>She stood and tried to stare down, intimidate the old crone. But her steady and cool gaze made her's waver and eventually she faltered and looked away, hating herself for her weakness.<br/><br/>"And lady, I've mostly lived in crack houses, under bridges, and abandoned houses. Sorry, but my<i>culinary acumen</i>is a little limited."  She said the last part in high falutin' tone. She looked down, her steam having vented as quickly as it had appeared. "I did sleep in a library storage room for almost half a year before they caught me and kicked me out."<br/><br/>The room was silent which made Taz uncomfortable. In her world people yelled, they threatened, they pushed her around, but they weren't silent. Taz looked around the kitchen which was very nice, but then to her everything was nice. She had never been in a house like this before, and certainly never been in a kitchen like this.<br/><br/>"If you show me what to do, I'll try," she mumbled, turning a bit red. She felt so unsettled, so ill at ease. She had expected to be treated like shit, didn't everyone, but damn her, this old biddy had so far only been nice and was kinda cool to boot. She hated the fact that she couldn't even hate her.