Happy Days Are Here Again
By: Stor-E-Phool
The smithy was hot as the blonde drove the final iron stake into the water for cooling. He had already ushered pig away from the wheel to let the coals begin to simmer down, but the heat was still as blistering as before. He sighed and placed the still-warm finished stake next to the others in the pile, looking up as he heard his name being called from across the training ground.
"Hey, Smithy!" the ugly red-head smiled at him, shouldering a sparring sword and laughing with confidence. He tried not to notice her imperfect eyebrows and lopsided left eye.
"Oh. Hey, Jane." He replied, and looked away, hiding his repulsion by reordering his already tidy stack of stakes, "What did you need?"
"Oh, nothing." she laughed with a snort, and gestured toward the gardens, "Rake asked if I could let you know the wheelbarrow's wheel just collapsed again."
Smithy rolled his eyes and glanced at the last wheel in the corner of the smithy. "Its all that dung he pushes around the castle. It's really dense."
A look of shock passed over Jane's features. "Don't call Rake stupid!" She said, shaking a finger at him, causing Smithy to notice how dirty and chipped her unpolished nails were. He subtly leaned away from the wagging digit to avoid retching.
"I...I'm not." He said, "I said that the dung is dense. It puts too much stress on the wheel."
"Oh!" Jane's back straightened and the exuberant grin returned. At the impatient, gruff call of a certain fellow-trainee, she galloped away, making the blacksmith relax a little. He grabbed the last wheel from the corner and angled himself for the next section of the castle, narrowly avoiding a collision with the prince and princess playing tag as he passed under a narrow arch.
"Ah, there you are, Smithy!" Rake called, standing behind a sizable tomato plant and waving him over. Rake's clothes were permanently stained with splotches of dirt, and his tanned face was red and peeling from recent sunburn. Smithy smiled at him. "I've been waiting for an eternity! I was barely a quarter of the way finished fertilizing the vegetables when, CRACK! The wheel collapsed! I've been having to spread it by hand this whole time!"
Smithy cringed at the sight of his clumbsy friend's filth-coated hands, and met his eyes. "No problem, Rake. Where's the barrow?" The gardener motioned toward the overturned barrow at the side of the garden, very near to the wizard's tower. Smithy hoisted the wheel onto his shoulder, arm threaded through a gap in the stablizers, axle under his arm. He dreaded the odor about to offend his nose and ruin his whole day, but supposed it had to be done.
Rake lifted a shovel from the garden soil and placed it in a loop of his apron. He looked back to Smithy. "Oh, and when you're done, Pepper said we're stopping for lunch."
Smithy nodded and turned back to the barrow, stomach doing flip-flops in his gut. Lunch, Dinner and Breakfast. His favorite parts of the day! He smiled to himself and got to work on switching the damaged wheel for the new one. As he worked, his belly continued to leap and dance; whether with love or with hunger he didn't know.
Finally, he replace a final screw and stood, job finished, and ran for the eating table, old wheel in hand. As he neared, the aroma of baked apples filled his nose and he moaned as his stomach growled. A subtle, more heavy smell also hung in the air, though he couldn't place a finger on it.
"Pepper?" He asked as he came to an open window of the kitchen near to the table. The pretty, ebony-haired cook poked her head out, wide brown eyes raised to meet his in surprise.
"Oh! Good morning, Smithy! Well, I guess it's noon now, of course, but good, none-the-less!" She was speaking quickly, a blush upon her cheeks. Smithy smiled openly at her, a blush adorning his cheeks, too. He prayed she thought it was due to a sunburn, or maybe even the forges.
"What are you cooking, Pepp?" He asked, walking toward the kitchen entrance, speaking loudly so she could still hear.
"You'll see when it's time to eat, peeper!" she replied as he came down the stairs. He crossed over to the table where she was. Smiling, he reached for a still-smoking apple, only to get smacked away. Pepper pouted sternly. "No! Not with those dirty hands!"
He pouted, but turned to the washing basin anyway. "You spoil all the fun."
"I try!" She laughed, and he smiled again as he scrubbed the grease and dirt from his palms and nails. He dried his hands on a clean towel and turned to her, grinning.
"What can I do to help, Pepp?" He asked, wiggling his now squeaky-clean digits in the air. She chuckled and began mashing potatoes in a large wooden bowl with salt and pepper.
"Nothing. I just have these to finish, then its all ready!" Smithy moved to the table, trailing his still-damp finger in a layer of flour dust on it.
"I can do that for you," He commented, rubbing the flour collected from the table between his finger and his thumb. He glanced at her, and smiled. She had her eyes closed, long black braid bouncing with every motion. Her apron was covered in flour, and a little was even on her face. He supposed she had been making either bread or cake earlier in the morning. Her eyes opened, then widened as she realized he had been looking at her. He chuckled and closed his hands around her bowl and mashing spoon, lifting it into his arms and began working the potatoes.
"Hey! Give that back, Smithy!" She said in earnest, trying to grab at it, but he pulled away.
"I told you I'd do it for you!" he laughed. Pepper crossed her arms and pouted.
"I didn't ask you to."
"You don't have to ask me to do nice things for you, you know." He grinned, pleased as he realized she was taken aback by the comment. It was silent for a moment as Smithy stirred the potatoes, making them into a creamy mixture, the odor filling the air. He took in the smell, and recognized it as the aroma that he could not identify earlier. Smiling, he set it down next to the apples, and patted his hands clean from any dried mashed potatoes still clinging to them. He turned to Pepper. "Lunch is ready: shall we finally serve our famished friends?"
She stood for a moment there, her hands clasped behind her back, shifting from foot to foot. "Uh, Smithy..."She glanced up at him. "I've, uh, got someone else, remember?"
Smithy's smile dropped, and his heart rose in his throat. "N-no, I know that." He looked down at his boots, ashamed of the tears he, and indeed she, heard in his voice. Her eyes melted from nervous to compassionate.
"Oh, I thought our conversation that night had cleared all of this up..." Her voice held pity.
'Pity...'
He looked away from her. "O-on second thought, Pepper, I don't think I'm hungry." There she went. Opening old wounds. Salting them with pity-filled words. Pity. She pitied him. She didn't look up to him as a provider. As a man. She looked at him...with pity. "I-I'll just be at the forge with Pig. See you." He walked away, wishing with his soul that he wasn't so weak. That he could hold his ground in face of her. Wishing that for once, she looked at him with love, or even dependence... anything but pity.
"Oh, Smithy! Hey!" He cringed.
"Hey, Jane." He put on a happy face and waved a little as the ugly redhead bounded toward him. Great. Just another thing to spoil his mood.
"Aren't you going to lunch?"
"I'm not hungry. I'm feeling a little... under the weather, actually." He coughed into his hand a little to confirm his lie to be the truth. Her freckled, peeling, sunburned face contorted into a frown.
"D...did something happen with Pepper?" Lovely. The manliest woman on earth could read him like a book. Just lovely.
"Why don't you go somewhere and burn?" He asked, cursing as he realized the bite in the comment had been dulled by a crack in his voice. He turned his face away from her and ran for the saftey of his forges, yearning for some solace.
A/N: So how do you like Smithy's inner thoughts? :)
Okay, first of all, I'd like readers to know that this is not at all how I picture Smithy. At all. Smithy is really strong, gallant, loving, caring, compassionate, utterly friendly to all except those who threaten his lovely Jane. Plus, in reality, I don't think our Jethro would EVER go for Pepper. :) I just thought it would be interesting to write him like this. Like, as if his inner thoughts about Jane are mean-spirited and maybe even a little germophobic. Tell me what needs to improve! Too many smiles? grins? WHAT BOTHERS YOU ABOUT MY WRITING????!!!!!! Lol just click that little clicky thing and critisize me already! Gee wilikers!