Is this considered slice of life or some other tag?
His guts rumbled as he filleted a whole leg and stroked the fire he had lit beneath the iron block that was the oven. Crushed the salt grains and pepper in the pestle and licked his finger to see if the mix was right, the burst of taste made his stomach cry even harder. After rubbing some fat over the great piece of metal he threw ten slices of meat that was thick as a woman's finger and as long as two palms, the whole room was almost immediately filled by the smell of cooking.
"With that smell I almost regret having had my fill with your sister,"
"To each their own, I don't like drinking half as much as I like eating,"
Faithful gave him an appraising look, eyed his gut and gave a nod in understanding that made Nico snort in dissent. He was most definitely not fat, why, he was the very epitome of healthy, a little too healthy some would say but that depended on your definition of the word. After turning the cooking meat and spicing a couple to his taste, he turned round and sat by the counter that was fashioned as a window to the kitchen.
Taking a glass for himself he dipped it in the bucket of clear water that Itse had fished before and cleaned the excess with his hand.
"You don't drink?"
She asked as she pointed at the sealed bottle sitting by the edge of the counter, he shook his head and winced a bit at the thought of drinking rum now. The only two things he could enjoy at any time were beer and fernet with cola, anything else and he would feel queasy after the first glass.
"I will stick with water, thank you,"
"A pity. It's easier to know what people are like when they drink a bit,"
"We can still talk without drinking or you can drink, and I follow you with this,"
"I guess we can try,"
She gave him an amused smile that was sweet as the smell that came from the empty bottles and she eyed Martina, she was eagle spread on the couch and grumbling every now and then when the cat kneaded her stomach. A curious little thing that one, it was unlike any other feline he had seen, with a head two sizes smaller than its body, not much in the way of tail, and a pair of ears that were as long as its head and ended sharply.
"Tell me about your sister, what is she like to you?"
He raised an eyebrow at that question, seemed a little redundant to him, what with all the drinking together they had done and everything.
"Why would you want to hear me talk about her?"
Her head tilted from side to side as she thought, a small dance that looked to help her think.
"I find it amusing to hear how people see others, to know what kind of person lives in their eyes. It's fascinating when they speak, and I feel like we met completely different personas,"
He could understand that, just barely, the idea of wanting to know so much about others had his mind twisting as to why someone would go out of their way to meet others. But he guessed that same interest of hers was the reason why she was hosting them, and that was better than all the alternatives his sister had drilled in his head. Much better.
But then came the question, what did he think about her? That she was a goblin fueled by alcohol and sarcasm, that was an excellent description, but it lacked so many pieces of her.
"She is," and he struggled to find the words to describe the little thing.
"She is iron and hard work. You will never see her lazing around if she isn't drunk, and if she starts something she doesn't stop gunning for it until others recognize her effort and results,"
He chuckled at that, the image of that little thing sitting in front of a computer and taking online classes to skip the first year of university and avoid wasting her time. Drinking herself stupid when a year went by and she had nothing but aces, cackling like a crow every time someone came at her to complain and she had showed them their ignorance and scrubbed it all over their face.
"Spiteful is a very important piece of her as well,"
Faithful was beaming when he looked up and it didn't take long until she couldn't hold it any longer and she laughed, loud and clear as a bell and with so much energy that it couldn't come from a woman with the starts of gray hair.
"It's delightful to hear family praise each other. That's how it should be, how it should always be,"
A shade of crimson creeped up his face, he surely hadn't spoken so much as to call it praise, it was but his observation and not much else. Faithful looked at him and gripped his shoulder with more force than her thin arms should have before slapping him.
"There is no need to be embarrassed about something like this, boy. Love is nothing to be shamed about,"
"Well, we are family after all. Only right we care for each other,"
He answered after his head was back in track and his face was a shade of red that could have very well been a burn from the sun, it was a very sunny day and he had worked hard without shade after all.
"If only. I have seen so many examples of the opposite that I consider you two fortunate,"
Her words made him think as he pressed the point of a knife against the thicker slice and confirmed it was thoroughly cooked, he thought of a boy shooting his father as he put three slices on a wooden plate and the other seven on another. He thought about that boy growing to be twisted and miserable before picking hope when he found his brother, sprinkling a bit more of salt he saw him break as he found out his betrayal and harden when he shot him.
But what called him more than anything was how she said she had seen them, she had bore witness to this cracked families, and that brought a question.
"Itse you say you saw this happen. Meaning you travelled around a lot,"
Eyes that were soft with enjoyment harden at the end, showed an iron that had been scarred through the years and had held itself true. Her voice was slow and deliberate.
"Yes, you are right,"
The tip of his tongue flicked nervously over his lips, it looked like the dry mood was going to chap them. But he soldiered on, say one thing for Esquirla Nicolas, say that he doesn't know when to shut up.
"Then, my question is, were you a marine or a pirate?"
"Are those two my only options? Couldn't I have been a merchant? A dancer or a whore?"
Wincing at the last part of her sentence, he looked at her, there was no joy in her and no fun to be had when her face was hard as stone and her lips pointing downwards. Brushing her face with a hand she wiped some of her misery and tried smiling again, only making Nicolas wince harder and making her give it up.
"Well, you are right. I was one of those two. I was a pirate,"
She tried the word in her mouth and seemed to find it soaked in melancholy.
"I was a pirate for seven years and that was twenty-three years ago, joined a crew when I was fifteen years and no more. The best captain and the best friends, and all of them gone their own way,"
He was looking for something to say, anything would have been better than the sound of himself chewing. It was beef, the Poppy Tiger, as it was called proper, tasted so much like beef and was so soft it practically melted in his mouth, and so the chewing kept going, stress giving his guts the need to keep eating. But she didn't seem to mind the background noise.
"We split up. One year before Gol D. Roger had his neck meet the chopping block our captain decided she had had enough. Said she was no longer capable of leading, no longer capable of sailing,"
Nico chocked on the meat, a big, mean chunk had gone the wrong way and he grabbed his neck in pain. He tried to cough it up once, then twice, and then he spat it out when Faithful grabbed him from behind and squeezed him.
"Are you okay?"
His throat hurt something fierce, it hurt so damn much, but his shock was stronger as he looked at the floor and tried to keep it hidden. The King was dead, the throne still guarded by the small giant, and the world was ignorant of their child. Itse kept him seated and served him a glass of water.
"Thank you. I am fine now, sorry to have worried you,"
"Doesn't matter. Least you made me stop talking about that,"
"Sorry that I made you talk about something you didn't want to,"
"No, no. If I didn't want to talk I would have told you so, I may be bitter about how it ended but those years with the Blackjacks remain the best years of my life,"
"Do you still want to talk about it?"
She chewed on the inside of her cheek for a second.
"No, that's enough for one day,"
Thank god.
"I see. Then I am going to clean up and get ready to sleep if you don't mind,"
"You can have the room to our right. You may want to slap the sheets and get rid of the dust though, I will be going before you then. Have a good night,"
"Thank you and likewise,"
He watched her go, swallowed by the darkness when she stepped past the reaches of the oil lamp overhead, over their heads actually, it was at eye level for him. When he focused back on his plate he found a paw peeking from the other side of the counter, amused he stared at it watched as the cat slowly creeped up.
It showed its head a second later and paid him no mind as it kept climbing unashamed at being caught, once it was on the counter it started to stalk towards the plate topped with fillets. Moving fast Nico grabbed it before the cat could throw itself on it and pulled it out of its reach, he flick it on the snout with one finger and it hissed at him.
Dumb dumb, the cat, searched for the plate and its eyes landed on his outstretched arm and pounced on him. It clawed at his shoulder and tore his shirt, but did nothing to him proper, he looked at it for a second before prying the animal from him. He held it by its scruff in the air and chided him, only to be hissed at once again. He wondered if it was a race of daredevil cats that lived here, or if this specimen was simply too stupid to realize its predicament, if it was the latter it was nothing but natural selection to throw it in a pot if it kept at it.
Deciding to spare it, once again, he put it on the floor and just slapped it on the head, making it scamper towards his sister and hiss again once it was safe. Why, it almost managed to look smug.
After cleaning the plate and the slab of iron he had cooked with and slapping a cat four times, if it wasn't stupid from birth it was most certainly stupid by now, he went to his room. Threw the window open and dusted the sheets from there, a bloody cloud rose from them and he was almost sure he would have died if he had spent the night breathing that.
He lay on the bed, simply not caring about the dry straw and letting his bulk flatten it all, with but a sheet that reached his ankles to cover himself. It was all a luxury for him, a few hours ago he didn't think he would be able to taste the comfort of a bed in a long time. All of it was welcome and the breeze that freeze his feet and the straw that needled him were but small things that let him remember he was here now, that he was alive and that was welcomed as well.
And he slowly drifted to sleep.
Congratulation [Warrior] Class levelled up.
[Warrior] level 1.
Congratulations new Skill acquired.
[Lesser Strength] learnt.
Congratulation [Chef] Class levelled up.
[Chef] level 1.
Congratulations new Skill acquired.
[Deft Hands] learnt.
His eyes shot open as the last of the notifications faded from his mind, there were no letters in his head, no sound, no nothing. They simply appeared somewhere, they came to him like a memory triggered by something and made his breath struggle in his chest.
He tried calling them again, tried prodding his head and trigger that same feeling but nothing happened. In a fit he had called every single word and command he could think of to no result other than playing the fool.
There was nothing to do other than struggle to remember the information, the Classes, the Skills he engraved every letter in his heart. It would not do to forget his character sheet when he couldn't look at it again.
Finally his beating heart calmed itself, his breathing eased up, and his exhaustion caught up to him. And he dreamt of nothing just like he hoped for.
Script: JUST CAN'T HANDLE THIS VANILLA (Me)
Edit: LET ME MIX THAT CREAM (Me)
Proofread: I WILL CHURN YOUR BUTTER (Still Me)
