Wagyu grunts as he pushes the stool over to the wall. It scrapes against the floor horridly. He wobbles as he stands on it, stretching out his arms as much as he can to reach the shelf above him. After struggling for a moment, he finally manages to grab the carton of eggs he was looking for, hopping off of the stool and making his way to the stove.

He wasn't used to... actually doing things just yet. He never had to before! The apocalypse has made him realise that he doesn't exactly have many skills on his own. You had graciously taken him in during this, after all his other survival partners had abandoned him, and you did most of the work. Getting supplies, food, cooking, everything, so much so that he's basically just dead weight. But he won't let that stop him! Today's the day he cooks for the first time in his life. Ever. I mean, if middle class plebians can do it, so can he.

"Uhm..." Oh no. The eggs that he are... black now and burnt, smoke now clouding the air and making him choke. Maybe this was a bad idea. In an instant, you come rushing into the kitchen, minorly panicked since smoke was filling your base. He stares at you awkwardly, and gulps, guilty, at your less than pleased expression when you realise, no, there isn't a fire or any real danger, just some now incredibly inedible food.

"Sorry." Ugh. He misses when he had butlers to do this kind of thing for him. He'd kill to eat quiche again.