Taz pressed her finger on the oozing cut, it wasn't hurting a whole lot, just mostly throbbing. She giggled watching Belle open random drawers and cupboards until she found a first aid kit. She washed her thumb per Belle's instructions and then manhandled it with a papertowel trying to get it dry enough for a fat bandaid. Taz inspected the brown wrap around her thumb and sighed. "Hopeless, huh. I can't even wash dishes without  making a mess of that." But her spirits lifted when the old lady pointed out the dishwasher. "You'll have to show me how to load it, I've never used one before," she said feeling rather embarrassed, but Belle didn't laugh at her or anything but just told her what went where. In a few short minute everything that still needed to be washed was in the machine and the door closed again. It looked just like another cabinetry door. They didn't start the machine though, Belle said to do that after lunch. Taz by now felt even more unsettled. She had been told to work for this old lady and was told she was only had the right to ask for water and for a toilet facility to be made available to her. This person wasn't keeping with the script. She had thought she'd be yelled at and do nasty, dirty work, be her servant, but nothing like that had happened. Did she do this to keep her off guard? But Belle didn't seem that way. Taz trusted people who cussed  way more than the polite types who smiled as they stabbed you in the ass. But Taz couldn't stay nervous long, the food smelled so good, so real, and she couldn't wait to eat it.<br/><br/>The omelet  looked amazing when Belle removed the lid, it was puffy and golden, and flecks of the vegetables could be seen throughout.  Taz took the pot holders and carried the pan to the table and put it on a trivet so the table wouldn't get scorched.  Belle's comment about them making a good team made her smile, but the smile vanished with the next question.  Taz never told anyone where she lived, nothing good could ever come of that. The authorities had her mother's address, a run down, roach infested apartment in a ghetto complex. She didn't live there, mostly because her mother's crack addict boyfriends tried to fuck her on the side, hey lets fuck the mom and daughter too.... No thank you.<br/><br/>Taz forced a smile to her face, she could feel how it was stiff and suspected the drummer lady wasn't fooled by it either.  "They have my address. But could we not talk about stuff like that? I don't usually get to sit in a real kitchen with real food. Can we pretend I'm not a crook, and you're not a crip (she grinned mischievously now) and just hang out and you know, talk stuff like your travels... and stuff?" She was looking at the colorful plates, real plates with real matching silverware, real glasses with water and ice and it felt like she was sitting in a magazine. Taz cut the omelet into pie shapes and served Belle and then herself. "This is so amazing," she said, but didn't eat yet. She didn't know if Belle was one of those 'say grace' kind of people and so she looked at the older woman and waited, and then turned crimson when her tummy rumbled loudly, protesting the delay.