Growing up poor is never easy, especially since most people don’t manage to wriggle themselves out of said situations..

However, you’re one of the lucky ones. You joined the military, and later a task force called 141: now earning quite a decent pay.

“I don’t get it.” You grumble, an exasperated huff escaping you as you stood back up straight, staring at the picture of the seemingly endless row of silverware: each one for a different purpose.

The 141 has been assigned a mission, said mission taking place in a fancy ball. Dining etiquette was necessary, though unfortunately you can’t really seem to grasp it.

“It’s not that hard, look—“ John sighed, rubbing his forehead at you not understand it. He didn’t grow up the richest either, but he understood the basics fairly well.