Trent sat in the kitchen, out of the way of the bustling cafeteria workers as he ate his sandwich and sipped his water. He kicked his feet up and munched quietly, his eyes darting this way and that as he studied each person in the kitchen. Ms. Rossa, the white-haired old bitch who ran the kitchens, walked to and fro between the stations, checking things over with the sharpness of a drill sergeant. She dug a spoon or fork into every dish, the slightest taste telling her whether each was prepared according to her explicit designs. Mr. Dell, the rather youngish fellow working on the meats station, trembled just a little as she reviewed his work and found it adequate. Mrs. Hampton stood passively over a tall, simmering stew pot, stirring a thick sludge with an even thicker stick.<br/><br/>Rossa's eyes fell on Trent and he gave her a quick, smart-ass wave and grinned over his sandwich. He had a feeling she knew what he was up to; no doubt she'd have to be one of the first to die, if the chance for escape ever rose. Trent sort of liked the rest of the kitchen staff; he chatted them up occasionally. They were mostly just working stiffs, scratching out a paycheck and probably sending it home to their families. He didn't fool himself, though. There was every possibility that that was just what they wanted him to think.<br/><br/>He finished his sandwich and gulped the last of his ice water, and pushed his dishes away. A tune came to mind and he began to whistle softly, making up a bluesy melody as he went along. One of the guards noticed and tensed, but Trent held up both hands in a universal 'no trouble' signal and the guard slowly relaxed. Trent took note of the guard's name and badge number; most of the guards were pretty careless, but now and then one would display evidence of a brain.<br/><br/>[Hm, observant little bastard, aren't we? What's your name, bucko? S-1...Verdon? Ah, Vernon...we'll be keeping tabs on you, sparky.] He thought to himself as he rose from the table. He was still a little hungry, and decided to invoke one of his little 'privileges', digging through the fridges and pulling out a small yogurt cup. It had cost him a lot of effort to earn the few freedoms he'd been given, but they were worth it. General free run of the kitchens during daylight hours, minimum security escorts, and of course his guitar. Of course, it pissed off Rossa to no end, having him in her kitchen at all hours; he felt her lethal gaze on his back as he rummaged in the fridge. A mischievous smile played over his face and he took two more yogurt cups, just to piss her off a little more. From the look in her eye, it seemed he succeeded.<br/><br/>He left the kitchen with his dairy treasures and passed the resident bookworm heading into the cafeteria. "Hey, Ghost. Think fast." He tossed a yogurt cup easily to the kid and walked on, chuckling. Hm, one left. Who else should benefit from his generosity today? He looked down at the two cups. One peach, one lime. He spotted that frail girl with the cane and the cape near the cafeteria entrance. He cupped a hand around his mouth and shouted for her attention before sending one of the yogurts sailing through the air toward her.<br/><br/>"Yo! Zukes! Special delivery, compliments of the 'Bitch in de kitchen'!"