Chapter Ten: Fancy

Though the one-story cabin was small, everything needed cleaning. Moreau was there for a day and three weeks and even with the previous dweller being a minimalist, it appeared that the elder hadn't been very immaculate with dusting. Then again, neither was Moreau, until the dire need to impress his friend changed that way of living. Now, he had never been so willing to put a broom to work.

For most of the daylight hours, the pair shared the housework. Joy wiped the appliances and furniture, also clearing them from used matches, while Moreau swept the floorboards. Sweeping with the lightweight broomstick turned out not to be very difficult for the fish-man's fractional immobility. He leisurely swept and gathered all the dust bunnies into a pile which the woman collected into the dustpan and sprinkled the grayish particles out the backdoor. She clarified that the term just meant clumps of dust. Moreau decided that he preferred Joy's diction as it made cleaning more exciting to imagine insect-sized rabbits trying to scamper out of reach. However, when he swept by the dresser's mirror, that made it harder to do his chore because his creased eyelids would always screw together, instantaneously.

As she had done with the bedframe, Joy offered to push the couch in order for Moreau to clean its space. But this time, he weakly declined. He said the couch had stubby legs so there wouldn't be any dust bunnies hiding underneath. In point of fact, his drawstring sack was tucked away, and it contained something of value to him. Something that the former adjoined Lord of the Village would rather... keep in his past.

Joy's little foot accidentally tapped the pail that was concealed under the right armrest of the sofa and Moreau was utterly relieved that it was still dry and clean. She asked if she could use it to mix the vinegar and water, instead of the little porcelain bowl. And with folded, fair hands and her fluttering full lashes, the hesitant fish-man just couldn't say no. With realization, he smiled when he allowed her to use it. He no longer needed it because eating with his super smart precious person meant no more abdominal cramps or nausea.

Tiptoeing, the petite woman washed the three windows in the kitchen and the four panes in the living area. Shortly after, wearing her coat, she stood out on the porch and Moreau handed her items to shake and pat clean: the little oval brown rug, the two couch cushions, and the bed linens. Joy was keen to clear the latter of dust; she was happy that her sneezes last night didn't stir her slumbering friend.

When the cabin was spic and span... Joy suggested having pasta for an early dinner as she recalled spotting some boxes in the food pantry. Moreau questioned if the lengthy dried strips were like noodles. Joy explained that she found pasta easier on the stomach, but it was also satisfying. Moreau then, could not agree more. They'd been so busy cleaning that the duo had completely forgotten about lunch and Moreau could almost hear his impatient belly practically hurrahing. Joy requested the need for his help again and of course, he had no qualms about it.

Cooking with Joy had become his favorite job to do.

"Don't worry, Mo, I got dis," grunted the young woman, carrying the filled medium-sized kettle closer and closer with the fireplace poker.

"O-Okay," Moreau meekly responded as he twiddled with a large, metallic, serving spoon.

Albeit, Joy was a bit nervous interacting with the hearth. But her bigger worries were if her friend would strain himself after all the shoveling, he'd done for her. He had suggested using the big black pot which was called a 'cauldron'. She told him that was a fancy word to know. This had brought some more rare color to the fish-man's insipid, lifted cheeks.

As Joy carefully tried to match the handle to the hook in the fireplace, she heard chuckling and fronted Moreau. After a few stifled chuffs and snorts, he pointed the big spoon below her small nose.

"He-hee-hee-hee! J-Joy has a silly face! He-hee-hee!"

Moreau's throaty chortles intensified when the woman's sights went crossed to look at her own tongue that had emerged from the side of her rising mouth-line. She made a gruff giggle while refocusing on her task.

"Yeah... my tongue... does dat... sometimes!"

"Hmm-hmm! Mine, too! Like taking icy boots off. Some things can be uhhh, com... compla... com-plee...?"

"Complicated?"

"Yes! ...Tricky word."

"Thank... ...you!"

And at that moment, the full, weighty cauldron was correctly hung on the chained hook and was tersely swaying over the glowing and crackling embers.

"Dare!" Joy sighed, signaling to her friend. "Da pasta's already in so we don't get splashed with hot water. Now, we just stir so da pasta doesn't get sticky wicky."

"Oh... all right!"

Still wielding the serving spoon, Moreau carefully leaned in as much as his contorted stature would allow and spun the prolonged utensil into the warming water. Soon, high amounts of steam were rising from the pot. From cooking the previous meals, Moreau knew it would eventually start to boil and cook their food. And once the escalating effervesces occurred, he watched in sheer wonder as the stiff, durum semolina lines gradually became limp and loose.

The fish-man veered his gawking countenance to his grinning friend on his right. He'd never seen anything like this!

"Is... is-is this magic?!

"Tee-hee-hee! Uh-uh! Dat's what happens when pasta cooks!"

"Oohh..," crooned Moreau, resuming with whirling the surface of the water with the big spoon.

"Yeah, no hocus pocus," Joy added. "But it's still super-duper neat whenever it does dat."

As high amounts of vapor arose, he noticed Joy looking on intently. He carefully elevated the misty spoon towards the blinking woman.

"Really?"

Her friend nodded with a firm hum. "Really, really! We can take turns." He discerned Joy gingerly taking the handle and he waggled a thin, webbed, index finger. "The boiling water is very hot. Just, just be very, very careful."

Clinging onto the big utensil, Joy bowed her head tersely. "Okay, Mo."

Moreau kept a watchful eye as she did the given task. And when it was his turn to tend to the pasta, the corners of the fish-man's lips tugged upwards... after his peripheral vision caught Joy observing for his safety, as well.

Once the thin strands seemed to be soft and supple, the young woman stood back and caught the hot cauldron from the fireplace with the wrought-iron rod's hook.

"Now we drain da pasta and get ready ta eat! Let's go, Mo!"

Moreau followed his hauling friend to the kitchen. Her pace was steady, and her posture remained nearly perpendicular. He marveled which was bigger: Joy's heart or those mighty little arms of hers.

Moreau's beam heightened at his inner rhetorical inquiry. It was most definitely, a tie.

When the fish-man entered the eatery, he noted that Joy had set the smoky pot onto the kitchen table and the fireplace poker was set aside. He looked at her as she was moving the empty rainwater jugs that they had used to fill the cauldron by the wooden clothesline so they wouldn't trip.

"I can refill da big bottles with more water from outside after dinner." Joy walked over to the still-open food pantry and brought out two cans of tomato soup. "I didn't see any tomato sauce, so I guess we can sprinkle da pasta with dis. ...Do ya think dat'll be alright, Mo?"

Moreau droned to himself. "I... I think it will be fine."

At least, that's what he surmised. Liquid tomatoes were liquid tomatoes, after all.

With a profound smile, the woman skipped to the table to place the can down, and with a large washcloth, she readied to take the kettle's handle.

"We don't have a cauldron ta pour da cauldron in-" Unmoving, she blinked once. "Wait... wh-what da heck did I just say?"

Moreau jerked his skimpy shoulders, placing the serving spoon onto the tabletop.

"Uhhhhh... I... was going to ask you that?"

After a few more flitters, Joy giggled and shook her head. "Yeah, dat did sound kinda weird, didn't it?"

The fish-man huffed amiably. Then, Joy halted her tittering and her sights widened.

"Oh! I mean we don't got a colander. ...It's a round, fancy thingy with a bunch'a holes ta drain water. I'm just gonna pour most'a da water down da sink and we can just use da big fork in da cupboard ta put da pasta on our plates."

Moreau revealed jagged, misaligned teeth from an open smile as he wriggled in place. Not just because of the smartness of his precious person, but to have the very first good supper that he can actually remember enjoying with an actual friend!

However, as a small, left hand curled onto the pot's handle, bright green orbs darted from the kettle and locked sights with her friend's.

"Do not worry," he reassured, scuttling beside the off-grid sink. "I'm here... And Joy is smart and strong."

With a sharp breath and a confident bob of the head, the young woman took hold of the cauldron's handle and slowly moved to the sink. Then, with the aid of the thick towel, she began the cautious chore of draining the cooked, edible strands. And as she did so, Moreau saw the small, rosy lips parting fully, revealing straight, pearly molars as the cauldron was emptied of its vaporous water. His friend looked... so proud. Like, this was something she'd always wished to do, and this was finally the first time in which she was partaking in it.

After some brief preparations, the little pine timber table was prepped for dinner. In place of the lantern and across from each other were two sets of pasta-filled white dishes with matching porcelain cups of snow-ice water, pair of forks and dishtowels as napkins, and the remaining cooked strands with the serving fork, in a white serving platter in the center.

For the former resident of a shack, he was astonished by how elaborate this all was. Not to mention that it all smelled extremely good, too!

"Great teamwork," Joy praised, finely pouring the condensed tomato soup from another cup onto their full dishes.

"Hmm-hmm-hm! Yes, yes, teamwork!" Moreau chortled in utmost hungry delight.

Joy set the sauce cup beside the platter and readied to sit, but Moreau held up a hand. She fluttered her sights with a confused pout but soon, smiled broadly. For the fish-man had waddled to his right and pulled her chair out for her. Because such an exquisite dinner required manners.

"Why, thank you, Mister Butler!"

Moreau made a small grunt as he pushed the occupied chair inwards.

"Miss Maid is most welcome!"

Joy wiggled in her seat and wanting to follow her friend's good decorum, she placed the white dishtowel onto her lap, and he took to his chair and parroted her actions. The young woman admired the dedicated setup of their dinner; her bottom lids enhancing the proudness of excited, gleaming eyes.

"We really did such a good job, Mo! It all looks so-"

"Fancy!"

The word was echoed from both light and deep vocal cords, instigating the two beings' giggles to fill the small kitchen.

When Moreau readied to take his fork, he heard the gentle clearing of a throat.

"Umm, if ya don't mind, Mo, would'ja like ta give thanks first, before we eat?"

The fish-man slanted his wide head. "Give thanks?"

"Y'know, ta be grateful 'cause not everyone can be."

Yearningly smacking his impatient, moistening mouth, Moreau glanced down at their tantalizing special feast. Apart from the cheese wheels, not once did he ever feel indebted over a meal. All the same, his previous, miserable existence could relate to feeling misfortunate.

"All right... but... would Joy like to say thanks?"

"Oh my goodness!" the woman squeaked, folding her hands next to her bosom. "Really?!"

Swallowing, the hungry fish-man nodded after blotting his lips with his towel.

"Yes, really, really."

"Alright, Mo!"

Moreau watched Joy lace delicate fingers onto the rim of the tabletop and close her eyes. He gasped to himself for he'd done the very same thing when he readied to speak of the verses of the sacred prayer... about her.

But then, the young woman began to cite quietly...

"We receive dis food in gratitude ta all living beings... For dose who has helped ta bring it ta our table... In turn, we vow ta respond ta dose in need... with understanding... and compassion. ...Thank you."

After a moment of peaceful discreetness, the pair reopened their eyes. Moreau blinked proudly at his friend.

"That was... pretty, Joy!"

"Thank you, Mo." The woman's cheeks tinted as she rubbed the nape of her petite neck. "My mom taught me dat when I was a kid. I never forget it."

Moreau nodded with inner kinship. When he wasn't drunk on the bitter alligator brew, his limited mind still had the prayer of Mother Miranda memorized. Although, he could never recollect who lectured him on how to recite it in the first place.

"I'm glad'ja liked it," said the humble woman, separating her hands.

The fish-man made another bob of his head. And to his hidden revelation, he preferred Joy's little thanks over the prayer of Mother Miranda. Still undeniably, Moreau would never stop loving Mother! She was his glorious, divine matriarch and he couldn't thank her enough for gifting him, Joy. However, Joy's thankful verses were such a curious contrast to the grandisonant prose of Mother's Prayer. Somehow, they beheld light without the actual word and were philanthropic...

Just like his precious person.

"Welp!" Joy picked up her fork and gave it a solid wave in the air. "Let's eat!"

Moreau's reverie was snapped from hearing the happy decree and the grumbling resounded from his vacant stomach.

"Oh! Yes, yes, yes! He-hee! Let's, let's eat!"

After carefully blowing some steam away, the pair commenced consuming their repast. At first, Moreau was a little bewildered with keeping the wiggly thin lines on his fork. But with his clever friend visually guiding him to twirl the pasta around the teeth of his utensil, the famished fish-man eventually caught on.

Joy giggled at his murmured humming as he chewed zealously. Her friend was really chowing down! She remembered his reaction when he had first viewed their dinner cooking in the cauldron.

"Is dis your first time eating da skinny pasta?"

Moreau swallowed his mouthful. "Yes! And it's super tasty!"

Actually, it was his first experience with eating any kind of pasta.

Joy wrapped her fork with the thin strains as well. "Yeah, da skinny kind always is!"

And as they dined, Joy saw how voracious Moreau was and was glad they'd opened several boxes. She was amazed at how much pasta was piled on his plate. Even more than hers and pasta was her utmost favorite dinner! His first, brimming serving seemed to be enough for three people!

With an understanding smile, the young woman continued to eat. Sprucing up was very hard work.

"Thanks so much for helping me with all da winter cleaning, Mister Butler."

"You're welcome, Miss Maid." Moreau scrunched his saucy lips for a moment. "Uhh... isn't what we did, called spring cleaning?"

Joy patted her jutted bottom red lip with her fork as she ruminated over the query.

"Well... It's still early in March so it's not spring yet. So, I think da cleaning we did is winter cleaning."

"Oh... yes, that makes much more sense!" confirmed the fish-man, grinning admirably while focusing on his food again.

His precious person was very super-duper smart!

"So... ya really like the angel hair, Mo?"

True, he already answered, but Joy's inner glee couldn't resist asking once more.

Just like the fancy folks on the video box, Moreau put his half cup of iced rainwater down with his smallest claw extended.

"I'm enjoying it very much!" The fish-man jabbed his fork in his lessening dish. "Because Joy's a great cook!"

The beaming woman's cheeks seemed to glow.

"Thanks, Mo." She took the cup's handle, also remembering to keep her pinky finger out, as well. "But ya helped made it, so Mo's a good cook, too!"

Moreau smiled coyly from the treasured praise, but his expression froze as did his right hand coiling the pasta; his sating hunger finally allowing him to reflect on the perplexing thought.

"Angel hair? I thought we were eating pastas?" Moreau's lash-less eyes flittered several times. "Will... Will we grow big wings now?!"

Joy almost snorted out her drink of ice water. "Hmph?! Ahem! Oh my goodness, no! ...Dat's just da pasta's name 'cause it's long, light, and yellow, so it sorta makes people think'a angel hair." She put her cup next to her dish. "Did... Did I explain dat okay, Mo?"

With another mouthful of pasta, the fish-man nodded curtly, and the pair resumed their dinner. But as he ate, he droned to himself a bit sullen. This... angel hair was as Joy said: long, light, and yellow...

Just like hers...

Moreau always wanted to admire Mother's hair. During some rare chances, he had secretly stolen glimpses of the beautiful being when her ebony veil became loose during a windy day. Her blowing, golden, silky strands were truly those of an angel. Even if Mother's sacred scalp wasn't mounted with a halo, she had marvelous, multiple wings. Therefore, she must be an Archangel!

Moreau had often pondered what her hair was like to touch. He was never allowed to touch her. And in turn, Mother never wanted to touch him...

Never...

As Moreau took another large bite, instantly, his saucy long frown upturned profoundly.

"Mut iz zit, Mull?" muffled Joy, raising her eyes to him and reminding herself to speak with a clear mouth.

Repressing some chortles, the fish-man gulped down his chewed portion and gestured his fork toward Joy's messy, small chin.

"Hmm-hmm-hmm! Joy looks like a hungry bird whose worm's trying to escape! Huh-ha!"

Blinking broadly, the young woman crossed her eyes, again, provoking, even more, chuckles from her friend's wide throat. Joy swayed her head to see one very lengthy thread, hanging from her mouth-line, touching the portion on her plate.

Joy halted her giggling so she wouldn't cough and finished her bite, then drew in the rouge, slippery pasta amid drippy tomato lips.

"Tee-hee-hee! Yeah! I guess dey look like squirmy wormies!"

"Better eat them..." Moreau began rolling up his meal around his fork. "...Before they, they squirm away, he-hee-hee!"

Joy mirrored her friend's motions. "Oh, yes, us birdies better get ta it!"

After flailing bent elbows with amused, muffled laughter, they recommenced digging into the delicious and hearty meal. Moreau soon found himself in the same dilemma as Joy not fitting all of the stands into his eager mouth. Thus, making them chuckle between bites from witnessing his own sloppy sucking.

The two, jovial friends had forgotten to use their ruddy-stained towels. Their lower faces were becoming painted with pressed tomato, and they weren't exactly quiet as mice during their feasting, either. It'd become quite clear to Moreau and Joy that the original notion of having an etiquette dinner was not nearly going as planned. However, as the little duo continued to slurp, giggle, and snort, the diverted fish-man and young woman discovered that honestly, they could care less.

Angel hair pasta was just too good to be fancy.