A/N: Thanks to those who have commented, faved and is following this story. It means so much!
Chapter Nine: Dust Bunnies
The short duo's stomachs rumbled while pouring the maple and cinnamon oatmeal into their bowls. This time, Moreau harmonized with Joy's appetite and the two had generous portions. In the kitchen, the sitting young woman squeaked and tittered from the muffled murmuring of her friend as he plowed his spoon into his morning meal. Moreau was enjoying it as much as she was, if not more. They had cooked the porridge just right. It was sweet, warm and very sating.
During breakfast, Moreau explained about telling the time by the sun; using the kitchen windows as a visual aid to detect the big star's position. Although the plan for the lesson was to follow breakfast, the former has-been lord simply could not wait to be a teacher. And his sole student was keenly focused and all ears. With her growing curiosity, Moreau also enlightened her on how oil fed the light in the lanterns, using the lantern on the table as a visual aid. Joy remarked on how 'cool' it was that the lamps worked without batteries or electricity. Again, for Moreau, that outside term was... uncomprehending. How could fire be cold? Nonetheless, his friend's captivation was all the beaming fish-man required.
After the meal and lessons, Joy finished the rest of her apple juice with more collected ice. And Moreau gathered the saucepan, bowls, and utensils, along with the empty soup cans, and washed them in the off-grid sink. He found it... happily strange that just earlier yesterday, he'd normally eat right out of whatever can or container that the food was preserved in. However, since he was with company, he desired to be more proper like his big, booming sister.
Joy returned the oatmeal ingredients to the pantry and offered to clean her cup and dry the rinsed items. Holding them in the bottom of her sweater, she headed for the backdoor but froze. Putting the cans down temporarily to unbar it, she remembered to let Moreau know that the front door was unlocked. The fish-man smiled as he approached the door with his key.
Joy really did feel safe around him.
A minute later, the chilled woman came back inside with a shiver. After hooking her coat on the rack, she went to her backpack which she had moved to the small bedstead, and took out a paddle hairbrush.
"Thank you again, Mo, for making me a path ta da porta-potty," mentioned Joy, combing the bamboo bristles through deep red strands to her shoulders.
In her view, she saw the back of the couch and Moreau's hood as he slowly settled himself down in its grooved cushion.
"Joy is very welcome," he sighed contently. "And thank you for the tasty breakfast."
Joy reared her head up with pride. "Of course, Mo! I'm glad dare was regular oats in da pantry. Da instant stuff cooks faster but da regular kind is better for your tummy."
Moreau bobbed his head. The oatmeal had certainly appeased the hunger pangs. Unfortunately, his mutated back was still sore from the laborious, cold-hating ordeal. Thankfully, at least the throbbing around his stretched-out spine was waning.
The woman smoothed back her bangs from a small brow and put the brush into the bright blue pack again.
"I can only imagine how much work all dat shoveling musta been..."
Moreau gawked at the air around him. Maybe Joy really could read minds! Then again, that should come as no surprise as his precious person was quite gifted.
"Does it snow a lot here?" she asked, returning the brush to her knapsack "...In Eastern Europe?"
"Oh, yes," replied the fish-man matter-of-factly. "Lots and lots in winter."
Joy's lips parted open. "Wow... I've never ever seen so much snow."
The rising creases in Moreau's broad forehead deepened. "Really?"
The woman noticed he was trying to crane his head to see her, so she moved in front of the sofa.
"Yeah, really, really! My mom and me have always lived in California. We hardly got any. Den, when Mom's friend from da hospital died, we got a beach house in L.A." Joy made a slow sway of her head. "And it never snows dare."
Moreau's bottom jaw fell. "A... beach house? And no... snow... at all?"
"Uh-huh." Joy laced her arms with a short shudder. "And uh-uh ...No snow."
The fish-man closed his mouth and a smile gradually garbed it.
"Oohh... Is, is it... warm?"
The woman nodded zestfully. "It's very warm! And lots'a seagulls and sunny days. We'd be able ta have lots'a sun-time, all da time in L.A."
Moreau's sights coasted to the living area's windows. His longing mind flashed a cloudless sky, full of nimble birds cawing and soaring over shimmering gold sand and a sinuous blue sea that never ended. He couldn't remember ever creating a footpath along a shoreline before. However, this daydream was more vibrant than the ones he'd gotten after watching his old video box.
Those recollections were always in black and white.
Moreau blinked back to the present and glared at the iced windowpanes and the cold, cruel world behind them.
"I hate snow..."
"Yeah, I can tell."
The fish-man's sights widened. He did not mean to say that out loud. He looked at Joy as she made a small frown.
"I mean... I think'a wittle snow might be fun, but not when it covers everything up like dis. ...I know ya don't like being cold 'cause ya wear your coat inside." The woman's mouth-line flipped to a relatable smile and she clung to her upper arms more tightly. "But I totally get it. It's not fun ta be so cold."
Repressing a cringe and whimper, Moreau nodded. He kept his head low while shamefully staring at a stain above his covered kneecap. Not once, did Moreau willingly remove his tatty trench-coat; only when it painfully forced his secret hated-self to rupture its way out. Whenever that happened, he always had to throw off the stitched, leather outerwear. The fish-man was so tired of pricking his fingertips with cruel, sewing needles.
And of course, the petite, pretty being must never see him for what he was. Nor, what he became. Staying vigilant was crucial...
Moreau let out a pent-up, rough breath. "Yes, being cold is not fun..."
When he lifted his sights, he found that Joy was no longer in the room with him. Then, a clink of glass touching wood was emitted.
"...Joy?"
"In here, Mo!"
Moreau lumbered to his feet and entered the kitchen to find her leaning over the little square table, spreading its surface with a small white washcloth over and over.
The fish-man slanted his view in full-on stupefaction.
"Uhhh... What on flat earth is Joy doing?"
The woman stopped the confounding activity and faced Moreau.
"Since Mo was super-duper helpful with making a path ta da porta-potty, I wanna be super-duper helpful, too-! Wait." She puckered her lower lip. "Da earth is flat?"
Moreau droned while partially shrugging. "That's... that's what the book pictures have shown me."
"Huh..!" Joy resumed her self-appointed duty. "I never thought about it like dat!"
Moreau's crocked nose wriggled. There was a new scent around them. It was both strong and fresh smelling.
"I couldn't find any cleaning stuff in da closet," clarified Joy as her free hand gesticulated to a glass bottle and a bowl filled with limpid liquid. "But my grandma showed me how ta clean by mixing white vinegar with water."
The fish-man made a silent bob of the head. Even though he wasn't sure what vinegar was actually for. Besides all the past sick spells, Moreau didn't do any housework... Except for the collecting and trashing of the broken teacup and its plate that was dropped by the silver-scalp man... Just so there wouldn't be any sharp porcelain pieces to cut into his bare toes.
"My mom comes home tired a lot," Joy continued, "So I try ta help keep our house clean." Her throat made a small spasm and she quickly returned to wiping the tabletop. "Mom works so hard..."
Moreau moved to the sedulous young woman's side and patted her rotating shoulder. Although Joy belonged to him, he didn't want her to be a servant. In his limited retrospect, servants always ended up quitting, dying... or becoming the undying.
"You... shouldn't clean."
Joy paused and turned her canted head toward Moreau's direction once more.
"Why not?"
"Be-Because Joy isn't a maid but a good friend!"
Hearing this, triggered the worried woman's lips to perk, as did her spirit.
"And Mo's a good friend, too." With an assertive nod, she dabbed the washcloth into the bowl. 'And dat is why I want ta be a maid and clean our lodge!"
Another rare, optimistic grin overcame the fish-man's mien.
Did Joy say our lodge?
Joy gave the table a few more strokes then put the off-white cloth down.
"I saw some dust bunnies so I wanna make dis place spic and span."
Moreau was still confused about dust bunnies, as they were the only ones who lived there... No other people named spic or span nor any bug-sized rabbits... Regardless, Joy was happy, thus, he decided to no longer protest about her desire to be a maid.
Besides, there was no possibility that his perfect, precious person could ever turn into a monster!
And in truth, deep down, Moreau was grateful. All the leftover particles were rather sneeze-inducing. Moreover, due to his restricted movements, it was quite hard to do tedious tasks like bending and stretching his arms all over the place. Therefore, Moreau surprised himself when he made the trail to the outhouse. His achy back, however, wasn't impressed in the slightest.
"Mo..? I'm sorry I didn't ask ya first," peeped, the light and kind tone, softly interposing her friend's retrospection. "Is it alright if I clean?"
Ignoring the nagging twinges, the fish-man nodded and tapped a clawed hand to his flat chest while trying to recall what a man-servant was called...
"May, uhhhhh... a, a butler help the maid?"
The sole of Joy's sneakers left the floorboards.
"Yay!"
After the exultant jump, the woman skipped to the adjoined corridor and the slight creak of its wall-cabinet was heard. She then, hopped through the hallway's entrance to the eatery, holding up the broom and dustpan with outstretched limbs.
"Would da butler like ta sweep?"
Moreau matched the determined grin of his friend. Those dirty little rabbits didn't stand a chance against their fellowship.
