My expression straightens, a sigh blows out my nose and my posture straightens, the recoil lingering in a bruising manner on my left side. It would be nice if I could just pick something out to eat without an issue creeping up on me. Bashing and or knocking against me... Seems people don't want me eating as much as they want me to be gone as soon as possible.
I've barely joined the queue, at the back of it, too, and people are already shoving on past me. Hitting me as I wait. The guards, as usual, linger about with their eyes on me, their guns way too eager to point down and in line with my person. A snarl builds up on my lips, and the queue moves a little.
Impatient, hateful shoves find their way to me and then away from me. We keep on going, moving up a half-step at a time. Barely getting anywhere and somehow moving backwards more than I'm moving forwards. It's a struggle to get to the end of the cafeteria counter.
But, the counter is a good thing indeed. It gives me something to hold on to, something to anchor myself with. I can keep my spot just barely. So... Very... Barely...
A digit taps away, all as a means to vent my anger even just a little.
By all the gods above, by every single one of them, I'm getting angry. I'm getting pissed! I'm just standing here... Just standing here and all I'm getting is shit from these people! To make it all worse, I'm not even obstructing the main queue! There's multiple ones these people could go to but many are choosing the one I'm in to flick at or shove me!
In theory, each shove I hold firm against hurts them more than it hurts me. I know I've a sturdy body for the most part with all this bug chitin. Yet, I'm just going with the flow. Moving slightly with every body-on-body collision I have to go through. All until... All the way to the point I finally reach the end of the queue... After all that significant bloat. All rooted in spite towards me for simply existing.
"Sandwich?" I quietly mutter to myself as I spy what's on offer, a lot of it thankfully familiar. I suppose one shouldn't develop too many expectations about food when you travel. All lands have their cheeses and their meats, fruits and veg, pastries and breads. Good cooking, more or less, should gravitate towards the same ideas, really.
I'm fairly experienced in food, actually, more well-travelled than anyone else is-
"Yes! Sandwich!" some bloke behind me mocks, his tone exasperated and retarded. I turn to look at them, and more and more join in on what he said, many biting their tongues a little to interfere with their voice. Infantilization, patronisation, condescension.
I snatch up the sandwich and head off, shaking my head the whole time. Yet, as I leave to go find some corner to claim as my own and be left alone in... I'm left frowning at what I can see. The whole cafeteria is in uproar. Everyone is shuffling about, and all the old dynamics have changed. Fake friendships have propped up, and shallow conversations, which serve no purpose, fill the air.
Any moment where there is even so much as a spot for me to sit is filled. People legging it to where I aim and want to sit. They go so far as to awkwardly hurt themselves, hurling slurs, insults and swear words at me until I leave. Many even blame me for their own stupidity, shoving all the responsibility for the tiniest of scratches and bumps...
Just to do it all over again at each and every bloody table I try and get to!
I come to a stop and look around at the way things are moving. By design or unlucky, horrendously unhappy coincidence... I'm being corralled into the centre-most seats. Something I all but relinquish myself to as I just take the first spot I can. I put my plate down, and it slides away, shattering on the cafeteria floor.
My head turns, and I meet the eyes of the smug prick chatting away on my right. Another guy props himself up on my left, and the chairs screech across the floor. Pinning me into an awkward cushion, I can't fight back against as a guard repositions himself near a support pillar. He adjusts his gun, keeping it laxly held, but so easily shiftable.
Something wet splatters against my head, and the people both sides of me pick through it. They rub it in deep, clogging up the gaps in my carapace and trying to worm it all under my plates. My claws keep my sandwich firmly secured, nothing gets past at all. More and more disgusting projectiles come at me, and my overalls become clogged with spit and muck.
A hand goes for my sandwich, and my grip tightens, overextending itself in the effort to protect my... Sandwich.
I stare at what is squeezing on through my claws, and the laughter grows as I give up trying to protect it at all. One guy howls away in my ear, clogging it up with that obnoxious chortling of his. Another approaches from behind, his running steps making things clear. A hard something smashes the back of my head, throwing it towards the table.
My face stays against the mushed-up sandwich, and I sigh. Forcing my way up, I don't even bother to try and get something to eat again, and I just go. I don't even know why I bothered coming here. It should've been clear to me from the get go that I should've gone straight back to the dorm. Make something there like I am going to do now... But... I guess I wanted to... Try anyway?
I'm no masochist at all. I don't enjoy this at all. But, whatever desperation is making me want to fight back against all of this abuse... I... I don't know what to do...
Either or, I put some distance between me and this cafeteria building. I clear myself out onto a quiet path, and I find my eyes a little hot. They're burning. Then, something rolls down my cheek, washing out some of the mess caught up on me.
I come to a slow, shaky stop, and I try to bite down on whatever these buggish things I call lips are, and I... I sigh, the breath as shaky as my person is as my fists curl up and loosen without end.
"At least I don't have a bag of belongings or anything on me... Otherwise they'd all get broken..." I wheeze full of despair as I try to pick apart one good thing from all of this.