//------------------------------//
// 16~Recovery 
// Story: The Emperor Preserves 
// by Centurion Pike-Wall 
//------------------------------//

By Anton's best estimate, ten days had passed since he had woken up in the Apple's domicile. He had, in muted defiance of his burning hatred, accepted their hospitality, including the variety of hot food he had been provided. That being said, he had been forced to remain in the bed for almost all of those ten days, only being let up to use the lavatory. Even then, he had been watched and had several blankets tied around him. 

After another visit from the Apothecary, he had been deemed well enough to stand on his own. However, he had been forbidden from returning to his bunker. He was told that another incident could prove fatal, and he was still pretty weak. Despite his grumblings, he had agreed to stay with the Apples for a few weeks, despite his disdain. 

Anton had been left the same room he was held in, and free from the cotton prison, he had gotten a better look at it. The guest bedroom, as he had been told it was called, held the bed, a cabinet, desk, and a few shelves. It was sparsely decorated, with only the picture of fields of trees on one of the walls. Besides it being made of wood instead of Rockcrete, it reminded him of one of the Officer's quarters at his training camp. 

His clothes and webbing had been returned to him, which he was grateful for. Despite his cursed form, he would maintain at least some decorum compared to them. He had, however, removed his laspistol and the power sword, generally leaving them in his temporary quarters. Both to avoid any unnecessary complications with them, and to provide a token degree of comfort to the Xenos. 

On the eleventh day, he was awoken by a knock on the door. "Hey, uh... You awake?", a voice asked. Big Mac, the younger male. 

"Yes", Anton said, easily sitting up in bed. He had been lying there for some time, contemplating his new circumstances. A distraction was welcome, lest his mind turn against him and turn to darkness. "What is it?"

"Ah know this ain't really the most appropriate thing ta ask, but me and Pa are takin' some stuff inta town. Ya mind helpin' AJ wit some of 'er chores?", he asked. 

"Of what sort?", Anton asked, climbing off the bed. 

Big Mac shrugged. "Typical stuff. Dustin', sweepin', cleanin' out the cobwebs in the attic. That sorta stuff."

Anton nodded. He had been tasked with similar tasks when he was younger to help clean up around his hab-block. "Alright. Where is she?"

"She's doin' that last one right now", Big Mac said, adjusting a beanie on his head. "Ladder is down, up on the second floor. Can't miss it." With that he walked off, leaving Anton alone with the door half-open. 

He slipped off the bed, grabbing his webbing. Though the holsters and ammunition pouches were all empty, he still felt comforted somewhat in putting it on, even if it was just over his undershirt and trousers. He opened the door and headed for the main staircase of the house, going up it with loud, rapid stomps. As he reached the top, he did indeed spot the ladder hanging down from a hatch in the roof, sticking out to the floor like the misshapen tongue from the dark maw of a Daemon.

As he approached the ladder, he heard a noise coming from the attic. He stopped, looking up into the dark interior. He grabbed ahold of the ladder, attempting to hoist himself up. However, as he tried to climb up, he lost his grip on one of the rungs, falling back to the floor. 

His hiss of pain caused the noise to stop, followed by steps heading towards the ladder. "Y'all alright down there?" 

"Yeah, I'm fine", Anton said. "Not used to ladders li-. Ladders." 

"Just make sure yer hindlegs are firmly on it, and you'll be fine", Applejack said. "C-come on up."

Anton got back to his hooves, trying again to get ahold of the ladder. This time, he focused more on the rear legs of his twisted body, using them to force himself up. This time, he was able to get up better, pulling himself into the attic. 

The interior was dark, only lit by a pair of exposed bulbs. Boxes and items wrapped in papers lined nearly every surface, as well as most of the floors. The few exceptions were a few old pieces of furniture, such as a pair of cabinets and an old-looking couch. Applejack was also in the attic, putting the lid back onto one of the boxes. 

"Big Mac sent ya up ta help me?", she asked. 

Anton nodded, "Correct. I had nothing better to do, and I don't like being cooped up in that bed all day." 

Applejack chuckled. "Yeah, I can get that. Ah was just... Uh... Lookin' at some old pictures. Th-the brooms 're over there. We gotta knock the cobwebs off tha' roof and frames an' whatnot."

Anton grabbed one of the brooms, examining the simple wooden pole and thatch or straw head. He transferred it from his hoof to the aura of his horn, and began to scrape it along the frame of the roof. Applejack stood up, putting the box back onto a stack of others and grabbing her own. 

"So, uh... How long have you been living in the Everfree?", Applejack asked. 

Anton considered what she had asked. He hadn't really taken into account the amount of time he had been on his own, cursed with his new form. He gave a rough estimate however, given the progression of trees and other natural aspects around him. "About six months."

"And... Why?", Applejack said. "Ah mean, it's dangerous and... Well, it ain't natural."

"After a certain point, all of the dangerous stuff tends to avoid me", Anton said, knocking one of the bigger webs down. "As for why I'm still there... I'm not supposed to leave."

That made Applejack stop in her tracks. "What do you mean? Yer not supposed to leave?"

"Yes, I...", Anton began, but stopped himself. He shouldn't tell her about the Valkerie. The Xenos had been nice to him so far, but if they found out about the piece of Imperial technology just behind his bunker, they might turn on him. "I... I was told not to leave." It was technically the truth; though it was a part of his training to dig in, he was still supposed to hold his position when on his own."

"Oh... B-by yer parents?", Applejack said. 

Anton froze, a lump of adamantine forming in his throat. "N-no. Not them. A..."

"Ah'm sorry", Applejack said, before he could continue. "Ah... Ah didn't mean ta prod. Just tryin' ta make small talk, ah guess."

"It's fine", Anton said. "But, perhaps we should find a better topic?"

"Right", Applejack said. "Good idea."