Xirysa Says: Short chapters are made of epic win, I think. School sucks. That's all I have to say on the matter. But… I said I was going to update relatively soon, didn't I? Hehehe, it's the least I could do for you guys… Ahahaha, does a certain knife in this sound familiar at all? Ack, my neck hurts… Ah, and even though Nanny is André's maternal grandmother, I've decided to make her his paternal grandmother for this series. Because I just found out that little bit of information.

"K" is for Knife

The room was totally silent.

It wasn't the kind of awkward silence between people when they had run out of topics for conversation, nor was it the charged silence that filled the air when someone was found guilty of something. No, it wasn't any of these. On the contrary, this particular silence was the comfortable silence that was fairly common between friends and comrades. In fact, it didn't feel odd at all; it was, for lack of a better word, rather nice.

This silence was one filled with comfort and understanding.

Both Oscar and André appreciated it. She liked the fact that it allowed both of them to do whatever it was that was required of them, and André reveled in the innocent intimacy they shared. It was times like this that he was glad that Oscar was a girl, even though he would never admit it—they tended to be more calm and collected than boys.

The boy sat on a stool while contemplating this, flanked on either side by large metal tubs. One tub contained rich, earthy brown potatoes, while the other held the pale flesh of peeled ones. A wooden bucket that rested between his knees held the skins. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up well past his elbows to prevent them getting in the way as he methodically peeled the tubers with a small dull knife.

Standing by a window a few feet away, Oscar watched her friend as he carried out the task at hand. Amused at the way his face was crinkled up in concentration, she attempted to imitate the expression and laughed quietly when she saw her reflection in the window. His head shot up and he looked at her questioningly, but she shook her head and waved her hand, silently telling him to carry on.

He shrugged but continued, and a few more minutes passed by. Oscar sighed and leaned her head against the window, letting the fingers of one hand tap a steady rhythm on the window pane while the other fingered the small knife tucked into her belt. Speaking of knives… She looked at André's hands for a moment before speaking.

"Hey, André?"

Too focused on his chore to look up, the boy made an affirmative grunt.

"Don't you think that 'knife' is a funny word?" She pulled her own from her belt and examined it in the faint light that streamed through the window.

André paused for a moment and looked up at her. "Why are you asking me this out of the blue?"

"Well…" She leaned back on the window and pulled the knife out of its sheath. It was a beautiful knife, she thought, one her father had given her a few days ago. He had said that all men needed a proper knife if they didn't have a sword. "No reason, really. Just asking."

Finishing up the potato in his hands, André tossed his own knife on the floor and wiped his hands on a rag before speaking. "I guess it is. I mean… It's spelled k-n-i-f-e, but when you say it, you say nife instead of kuh-nife. So… Yeah. I guess it is a funny word when I think about it."

Oscar nodded and became quiet again. Thinking she had finished saying whatever it was she wanted to, André sighed and picked up the knife. After all, potatoes didn't exactly peel themselves. Granny would have his head on a platter if he didn't finish by the time she was ready to make dinner.

Apparently, though, Oscar felt that the conversation wasn't quite yet over. She spoke suddenly, and a bit louder than she intended. "Your knife's a bit dull, André. Did you know that?"

He jumped at the sudden change in her volume, almost falling into the bin that contained the potato peels. His ears and face turned apple-red upon hearing Oscar's laughter, but after regaining his balance and some of his dignity, André bent down and picked up his small blade. He walked over to the window and stood by Oscar and inspected the knife by holding it up to the light.

Tapping her nose thoughtfully, Oscar examined her own knife. It was a nice one, she had to admit. The blade, though small, was still sharp enough to cause serious harm when needed and was perfect for someone her size to use. She absentmindedly scratched a random jagged pattern underneath the windowsill as André vocalized his observations.

"Huh… I guess the blade is kind of dull. This knife used to belong to my father," he told her with a hint of pride, "and Granny gave it to me after I came here. But other than that, it's a good knife. I like it."

Oscar looked the knife over with a critical eye and smirk. "A man's only as good as his weapon. And if we're judging based on our knives, then I'm clearly the bigger man."

Clutching the knife's red hilt tightly in his fist, André pouted; actually, it looked more like a grimace, since real men didn't pout. "Then I'll get a better knife than you, Oscar. Then we'll see who's the bigger man!"

She simply laughed. "Alright then, sir. This afternoon, the usual time, Knife-spar underneath the apple tree." She tapped his forehead with his index finger and laughed.

Andre scowled. "You're on, Oscar."

-x-x-x-

"I know there's one around here somewhere…" André crawled about the kitchen on his hands and knees to avoid being caught by one of the maids—the last time he and Oscar had journeyed (well, Oscar had dragged André there with her) to the kitchen, the broccoli that was supposed to be used for that night's dinner had mysteriously vanished and had reappeared in Madame's best vase. Therefore, Oscar and André (but mostly André, for some odd reason) weren't allowed in the kitchen until further notice.

Hearing the tell-tale swish of a skirt, André ducked behind a counter and held his breath. He turned back just in time to see his grandmother walk by. Exhaling quietly, André turned and snuck over to his destination. This wasn't just about who had a better knife anymore—it was now a matter of masculine pride.

Reaching upwards, André scrambled onto the counter. His face took on an uncharacteristic expression as he found what he had been searching for.

"I wonder who the bigger man is now, Oscar!"

-x-x-x-

Oscar found herself waiting for André under the apple tree at the usual time. She was nonchalantly picking out some mud that had accumulated on the soles of her shoes when she saw him. He was hiding something behind his back, and the expression on his face was odd.

She stood up and looked him over. His small red knife was no where to be found. She smirked—this was going to be easy. The only thing that unnerved her a bit was the oddly cocky attitude that seemed to surround it.

"Ready to lose, André?" she catcalled as she stood up and assumed an offensive position.

He grinned. "Anytime you're ready to, Oscar?" Keeping his arms behind his back, he slowly moved so that he had more arm room—the knife he had found was a small one his grandmother used to cut up fruit with, but it was still very sharp and he wasn't used to holding it yet.

Despite the charged atmosphere, however, neither of them moved. Secretly, each hoped that the other would back out. Yes, they were proficient with swords, but knives were an entirely different story.

Perhaps it was a good thing that they did nothing, for André's grandmother was, at that moment, searching for her favorite fruit-cutting knife. She bit her lip nervously. Someone had told her that they had seen André slinking around the kitchen, and she had put two and two together.

Finally, she saw them, standing in the shade of the apple tree. And she did what all concerned grandmothers did.

She screamed.

-x-x-x-

It was quiet once again.

This time, however, the silence was neither comfortable nor nice. It was thick and heavy and guilt-ridden instead.

Oscar tilted her head to the side and glared at André. "I can't believe I'm doing your chores." She viciously stabbed a poor potato to prove her point.

André simply sighed. "I can't believe I actually let your silly challenge get to my mind like that." He carved a despondent little face into another tuber before peeling it completely.

Madame Grandier snorted. "Well, I can't believe that you two decided to have a knife fight! Now get to work—those potatoes aren't going to peel themselves, you know."

Xirysa Says: Potatoes are fun to peel, I think. Of course… We boil them first and then peel them using our hands instead of knives. But potato kura is delicious. Actually… Most Indian food, I think, is delicious. I'm happy that I'm Indian. XD Anyway… Sorry. That went off on a tangent I really didn't mean for it to. Either way, potatoes are good. And "knife" is a funny word. I had a conversation with my dad about the pronunciation of certain words in the English language. While eating potatoes during dinner. And thus, the chapter was born! –shot– Oh well. Heehee, anyone know what "lapin" means? It's French, I'll tell you that. Thank God I've been learning French in school for the past four years...

Up Next: The Letter "L": Lapin