[P] Boek! Learn him sumting
#1
Due to the chores that needed to be completed for the day, Manitou had found himself left to his own devices beneath the Rest Stop's rooftop. Fresh logs were tossed upon the fire that crackled happily beneath the large pot, his gift from the lavender sighted daughter of Nyx, and within it the bubbles of a clear broth soup rolled merrily. The gentle plop and gargle of the melted marrow brought veggies from the bottom to the top and back down again as the heat cycled through the liquid. All this hummed in the background of the rhythm of the cleaver that rattled the room with the thud of metal against meat.

Black streaks that decorate the light maw spread as he grinned wide, another crack of the blade rising as he finished the last cut. He still had one more rack to cut, but he had to get to the crab that he'd netted from the Loch before they turned sour in the air.

The blade sunk into the cutting board and he bowled the broken ribs with a swipe of his hand. To the pot they went. All piled in, they dropped to the bottom and Mani make a short round trip to return the bowl before making way to the wall and the wooden container that the crab were put into. A hand flipped the top of the container free, and the little crabs scrambled around in the sudden light. To one knee, Manitou went, and started working to collect the little creatures, “Come'a hay,” He laughed as one of the crabs crept up his arm.

All at once it seems the crabs had had the same idea. Little pinchers gripped onto him all over the place. When one of them had gripped his nose, he winced and hopped to his feet, a holler of pained amusement echoing in the one room building, "Obeah!" He called out loud, blaming the rude crabs as some sort of servant to dark sorcery. One hand shook the crabs attached to him there, one flying toward the door, while the heavy man jumped in circles. One crab latched to the little round ear that peaked from his plaits, and like a chided son with his mother tugging on his lobe, he leaned over, "AHA Deafaeted! Doen let dhe deval git en me noaw!" One eye closed as he winced, his hands bracing his nose as tears streamed down his cheeks from the tender leather abuse by the little sea monsters, "Woan hand cahne clap! Ah hurt up, ahn? Come'a! Halp meh!" He laughed, the Rest Stop echoing with his voice as he called for help.

[[Wordtober: Sorcery]]
[+448]
#2
[+000]
ooc

Little days had made no difference. Mithra set himself against whatever task was given him. No chore was too big or worthless for the Blacksun to heave himself towards; And heave he did, dragging in logs from the forest with only the strength of his body, tied about his prodigious form. Firewood would be rendered from the length of wood and kept to fuel their fires during the winter to come.

Given a task to truly set himself to, it was here that Mithra learned his first lesson that the true dedication of one to a task considered essential was something that sparked in his chest. Over the day's span the pile grew and grew as he brought down the axe he had found in their storage again and again.

It was such a little thing and yet, to him, the boy who had been a failure to all of his family, it was a beacon to alight by. For the first time in his life, Mithra had found a pride in himself. Perhaps this work would have set Nazar to sneering, or held Achsah's cold, cruel eyes upon him in mocking, but for Mithra it mattered not.

Should not the wretched work themselves to their culmination. Scant days it had only been and yet these people had earned his loyalty with so little. Mithra did not seek above the station life had thrust upon him, but he found himself smiling as he hefted the crude stone axe again and again.

He could not remember the last time he had smiled. Months and months ago maybe?

When this task was completed, and though his body ached and muscles asked for rest, Mithra was walking himself towards the Rest Stop to seek out the Boss or her mate to ask what else he could do to pay for his place here.

A calling set Mithra back into his previous skin, ears darting back against his head and the tail tucking upwards, hunching, Mithra peeked his head into the Rest Stop only to almost be hit in the face with a flying crab.

Halp meh!, called the accented voice, and Mithra was through the door before he had fully realized the extent of the situation. His own daring surprised him, and he hesitated now to see the Bajan leaning with crabs abounding, tugging on tender ear and pinching at will.

"H-.. Hhh." He could only breathe in disbelief, his sunshine eyes roving the situation and throwing up a herd of question marks before managing to force forwards an actual thought,

"H-how do I help-p!?' Shuffling forwards, he anxiously wrung his hands, reaching forwards and then wrenching back his hand as if he had meant to pluck the angered crustacean from the Seifer's ear. That would hurt though.

All along the Bajan bowed and tears were wrung from his eyes, the wincing face but laughter escaping him too. Mithra was left deeply confused and anxiously willing to assist but unknowing what would be the best way.

Suddenly, a burst of inspiration hit him.

"S-should I bite i-it?!" His teeth, though little used in defense, were youthful and sharp.




When I awoke the moon still hung, the night so black that the darkness hummed; I raised myself, my legs were weak, I prayed my mind be good to me
#3
While battling the belligerent crustaceans, his back turned to the door now, and he worked to free himself. Still his nares were trapped in the insidious pinchers and his own hand attempted to salvage what was left of his precious nose leather. To his dismay, this crab was very intelligent. The only hand that he had free of the clutch of the infernal crabs was now pinned, attached to his own wide face by a string of angry crab arms and pinched in their grip.

Sure he could have pulled them off and broken their little legs, but the memory of the sweetness of crab meat kept him pinned beneath their delicious grasps.

When he did turn to find Mithra standing there, seemingly at a loss of what to do, “Kawblema! Day 'e be!” Crookedly, he leaned over, his hand chained to his nose by crab claws, “No, yuh dumsy, dey fuh eats!” He laughed and with his free hand, still clamped on by another crab he gestured with the angry, creepy legged creature to the container they had been in, “Yuh bite dem, dey jus' wata in dere. Git dat dey,” Wiggling his hand and the crab stuck to it, he urged the boy to grab the wooden container.

“Bring um fuh muh. Ope it'en. Koshflukit, dee rasshol,” He hissed in between instructions, taking a moment to breath through the winced laughter that both had him weak in the leg, “Dee wata mek dem hard, yuh gine seh,” Perhaps in his pain and the hilarity of it, he was being a bit dramatic, but he couldn't help the laughter as he saw himself as Mithra must have found him.

[[OOC here]]
[+282]
#4
[+000]
ooc

Mithra could only stare, utterly baffled and so very anxious and this was written across the heavy lines of his face and his furrowed brows. Manitou was apparently happy to see him, and maybe was hopeful that Mithra could save him. Mithra wanted to, that much was apparent, even as he was laughed at and called 'dumbsy'.

He brimmed in terrified enthusiasm, with his wide yellow eyes and his slicked back ears.

"O-okay, okay. N-no biting." Them crabs were for the pot, apparently.

Despite himself, despite it all, Mithra found the crack of a smile slipping through his teeth.

Manitou gestured with a hand that had a crab unhappily flailing from its fingertips at the container he desired and it could not be helped what burst from his lips. A bubble of laughter broke free, it was strangled and obvious an attempt had been made to smother it with a hand suddenly clapped to his own jaw.

"S-sorry, S-seifer." Just because Manitou was laughing did not mean it was okay for Mithra to laugh too. He damn near choked on it trying to force it back, with a willful jerk of his head. He would not alienate these people as he had done his Grandfather. The fear was there, bursting to life and it killed his mirth dead.

Hustling to follow the Bajan's hard to understand words, Mithra grabbed at the pot indicated, and removed the lid, ducking his head low in submission and hopeful reparation for his bumbling error.

"H-here Seifer." The idea of being sent away filled him with a dread plague and he could only look to the Chef with pleading, sorrowful eyes, and hope that Manitou could find ti within himself to be merciful and forgive his lapse in judgement.




When I awoke the moon still hung, the night so black that the darkness hummed; I raised myself, my legs were weak, I prayed my mind be good to me
#5
After some fumbling about while Manitou directed the kid, even Mithra couldn't hold back the laughter that he had to swallow down immediately afterward. At the noise, Mani snorted himself and the boisterous laughter laced in pinching pain had him so much that he nearly couldn't recover. Tears that welled in his eyes because of those little claws now beaded down his face in pitched, rollicking hilarity. Great winded huffs blew from his mouth and sniffled guffawing nearly brought him to his knees.

The whole scene was a story to tell for a later day, that was for sure.

Mithra's apology was met with the further waggling of his gesturing hand toward the container, his voice unable to find words through his bursting laughs and gasps for breath between them. All in all, sure there was pain, but the hilarity of it was far more crippling. Mithra's own laugh, unable to be initially restrained, enforced it on the Baje man, and his apology was overlooked for the sake of getting the crabs off of his body.

When his unlikely, public-spirited candidate returned with the pot, rather than the container, Manitou was literally crying with laughter. Rather than have the boy fumble around and get the proper box, Mani gripped the pot with both hands, fell to his knees and went snorkeling. There was some good fortune in the fact that he hadn't heated the water first, as his breath bubbled up in burbles until he wrenched his head back.

Plaits slung water across the kitchen far and wide, the room now glittering with wetness. From there, choking on water while laughing and crying, he dunked his hand in the water next and the last crab that clung to him released it's might grip at the touch of the water. Gasping on all sorts of noises, great and winded cries slipping in between, Manitou all but collapsed on the floor. The echo of his tune, the distressed whimpers of jollity, were braced by a hand on his chest while struggled to catch his breath between it all.

It took some time, but finally Manitou had found some sort of quiet to himself, huffing and moaning in distress from the cricks in his sides,”  Oane hand don' clap,” He heaved on the floor, thanking the boy for his help even if it wasn't exactly what he'd wanted. Mani had learned that folks here, for some reason, just don't listen too well, but he was thankful nonetheless,” Wuh yuh got gine one tuhday? Tekkin' time en' lazy. Rangate! All dat bariffle. Wuhloss!” He huffed, a big smile on his face as he leaned up finally to look at Mithra,” 'Ah cuhn use deh heup, if 'e tight?”

[[Wotd: Public-Spirited/Candidate]]
[+464]
#6
[+000]
ooc

Jovial expression was nothing close to anything Mithra was used to, or capable of dealing with. Laughter in his world was either mocking or nervous. In a way it almost made him feel nauseous to watch the Bajan so joyous even in the midst of his pain and suffering, as the crabs pinched and squeezed at sensitive skin.

It would have been Mithra's fault. Back in the camp, back with Salsola. There was no laughter without some cruel fist to follow it. All the young boy would do was watch, frozen and shivering as Manitou dunked his face in the proffered, but wrongly assumed, pot, and commenced to chuckling himself onto the floor with a hand over his heart.

Bile slid, slick and acid onto his tongue, and he swallowed it back with a hiccuping sound that was almost a sob.

Manitou giggled and chuckled to himself as Mithra stood, awaiting a judgement he was sure would come. A prisoner before the headsman's axe.

Mithra could barely breathe an acknowledgement as the braided man finally turned a notice to himself, and the words he spoke were strangely told, sent upon a foreign tongue such so that he could made no hide nor hair of them other than the word 'lazy' and all of his apprehension came out in a blistering rush,

"No! N-no lazy. I b-been dragging w-wood from t-the forest-t a.. a.. and ch-hopping it. T-the B-boss t-told me to d-do so." White whaled at the rims of his eyes, unwilling to allow the mantle of 'lazy' to fall onto his shoulders here too. Tears brimmed in the corners, as he willed the older male to understand,

"I...I-I..." Deep was a breath took, sharp and hurried through the cage of his teeth, the voice that had yet to deepen with impending manhood was pitched high and strident,

"I c-can help y-y-y-ou."

He couldn't lose his place here. What if the Seifer told the Boss he wasn't pulling his proper weight. They'd... they'd send him away. He couldn't. There was nothing else for him. Desperation fed into his veins, an overreaction to a foreign man asking a simple question.




When I awoke the moon still hung, the night so black that the darkness hummed; I raised myself, my legs were weak, I prayed my mind be good to me
#7
Manitou's mirth was well on it's way to being crushed by the anxiety the boy across the room was railed with. As the round man propped himself up, he watched as the young'un went on and on about the complete wrong thing. Just like the pot, he seemed desperate to ensure that he could be useful, but he was barking down the wrong road and climbing the wrong tree for fruit.

“Yuh hard-ears, ahn? I en' seh 'e do, I seh 'e don'!” Irenic tune carried with it the remnants of laughter that still caught his chest, while his lip hung crooked and exposed a single of his lower canines, “Ope it in, dem ears, yuh gine be hear betta',” A pale finger tapped on his own head, close to the bear-like ears nestled in the rows of dreads.

“Safe!” The Bajan exclaimed when Mithra finally spoke something that made sense out of all this. Manitou wasn't sure what his eyes were getting wet about, but nothing like a bit of cooking to get the sun spinning like it should, “Deh crabs ramoff deh pot wid dey shell, suh yuh gine bubble dem up. Shell 'en nuh gud en deh pot,” Finding his feet, he took the pot of crab and made way to the container, pouring the water and creatures down in and making quick work of the lid. Water pooled on the ground beneath the container.

As the chilly water touched his toes, a dawning came upon the fulvous eye pockets of the Baje Sefeir. Taking the pot, he made way over to Mithra. If he didn't hear too well, the best thing Manitou could do was be simple with him. He didn't want the boy crying over anything else unless they needed the salt, “Wata'!” The demand was simple as he forced the pot into Mithra's space, for him to grab, “Clean wata' fuh cookin'.”

[[WOTD: Irenic/Fulvous]]
[+327]


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