The door rattled on its hinges from a solid boot kick, but Soul got no response.
Tubaki yelled from downstairs, "You leave that poor kid alone. He's traveled from across the world to be here. Let him sleep in, at least for today?."
"Sorry Tubaki, can't do. I've got a lot to teach this kid and not enough time to do it."
Soul wrenched the doorknob, and barged into the small bedroom.
He grabbed the mattress and with one quick flick of his wrists, sent the kid tumbling through the air.
He hit the floor with a resounding thud.
The kid let out a shrill yelp.
"I gave you a wake-up call fifteen minutes ago Kid."
Soul dumped the mattress back down on the bed frame.
Disgust twisted his features as he watched the kid clutch the rumpled bedsheets to his nightshirted chest.
"Stop squawking. Get on your feet and get moving. If you don't show up to eat in five minutes, I'll eat your flapjacks."
The kid glared back in defiance.
Soul shot him a heated look.
"Don't ever make me come in here to tilt you outta your bed again."
Soul strode out of the room, he didn't want to stick around and listen to the kid whine.
No use in both of them eating Tubaki's flapjacks cold.
He sat down to breakfast, said grace, and implored God to intervene with Stein's nephew.
If ever a situation existed that required divine intervention, surely this was it.
Eight minutes later Soul watched in utter disbelief as the youngster shuffled down the stairs, took his seat, and carefully cut a single, tiny bite of a flapjack and daintily slipped it between his lips.
The kid even crooked his pinkie like a fussy Englishman.
Soul propped his elbows on the table and fought the urge to bury his head in his hands.
"Eat up, kid."
One flapjack and two rashers of bacon.
How could that possibly be enough?
No wonder the kid is all skin and bones.
The kid scanned the table and frowned.
"What's wrong?" Soul barked.
"I don't see the sugar or cream for the coffee."
"Black and strong enough to float a horseshoe, that's how men drink their coffee here. Finish eating. We've got work to do."
Soul smothered a smirk.
The stables usually reeked in the morning from the horses.
Fancy Pants Albarn might not possess a single skill, but that wouldn't matter.
Anyone could grab a shovel and muck out stalls—and that was precisely what Soul planned to assign the kid today.
The kid took a sip of the strong coffee and made a face.
"Organization is key to success. I presume you and my uncle have routines that keep matters well in hand here on the ranch?"
"There's a general routine, but animals have a habit of putting a kink in whatever plans we make. There's not a man on this spread who lacks the full array of necessary skills."
Soul gave the kid a telling look.
"I'll see to it you learn the ropes."
"Ropes!" The kid perked up.
"That would be wonderful! I'd love to learn how to throw the lariat!"
Soul inwardly winced at how the kid pronounced it "larryette."
"It takes time, practice, and diligence to handle a lasso."
"Well, then, I suppose once I get good with the larry-ette, I'll move on to the lasso."
"Lasso is another term for lariat." Soul pronounced it larryut and hoped the kid would get the hint.
"When someone learns the ropes, it means they gain proficiency in the essentials. You'll have to learn other basics before you learn to throw a lasso."
The kid's brows puckered.
Soul couldn't be sure whether it was from displeasure at that news, or from the sip of black coffee he had just drank.
It didn't matter. Either way, Fancy Pants Albarn was going to endure plenty of things he didn't relish in the weeks to come.
Soul rose from the table, growing restless.
"Finish up and be quick about it."
The kid bolted to his feet. "I rarely eat breakfast. Shall we go?"
Maka didn't mention that she often skipped breakfast because she hadn't had enough money for the extra meal after her papa had passed. She didn't need this geuff man's pity.
Soul gave no response.
He pivoted and headed across the floor and out the door.
The kid scrambled to keep up with him as they went towards the stable.
Outside Tad and Justin were replacing boards on the corral.
"I see the staff is hard at work. That's commendable."
Soul stopped and locked eyes with her.
"Get this straight, they're not staff. They're hands or cowboys or the men—or punchers."
"Oh, I meant no offense."
Soul scanned the kid and shook his head.
The kid looked apologetic, but he couldn't help it.
He was so different, from another world really.
Even his clothes spoke volumes.
"Whatever passes for men's duds in London won't cut it here kid. Baggy shirts and pants will get caught or chafe you. Next time you go to town, get a few pair of britches and shirts that are boys' size."
The kid's jaw hardened.
"Mr. Evans, I happen to feel more comfortable in loose-fitting attire."
Then the kid added in a quieter grumble, "Besides, these are boys'."
Soul nodded curtly and said nothing more.
He wasn't sure of the Kid's exact age, but he guessed it doubtlessly embarrassed him to have to buy boys' clothing at his age.
Hopefully, he'd soon have enough muscles and height to take up the slack in what he now wore.
People were like crops though.
The ones that were tended and fed right grew best.
Proper activity, training, and plenty of food might boost the kid into a sprouting season.
"I beg your pardon, but I didn't hear what you just said."
From the Kid's comment and quizzical look, Soul realized he must have mumbled something under his breath.
He shifted his weight and sighed heavily.
"Good food and hard work are what you need."
"Miss Tubaki's food is quite tasty, I'm sure I'll be eating more in no time."
"Which leaves hard work." Soul strode to the stable with a sly grin.
"Black Star!"
"In here!" he yelled back from somewhere in the large barn.
The Kid trotted alongside Soul reminding him of a lost pup.
"Wow, look at the size of the stable! How many horses do we have here?"
Soul couldn't be sure whether the kid was claiming ownership or speaking in general terms when he said "we".
He decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, even though it irked him something fierce.
"The ranch owns two dozen horses. A couple of the hands own their own mounts, so the total tally is thirty-one."
The kid's eyes widened. "Thirty-one! I didn't realize there were that many men here."
"There aren't. We keep three mounts for each man."
Black Star strides over to them, holding a shovel.
Soul shoots him a pointed look.
A slow knowing grin creases Black Star's face.
"There's plenty of stalls ripe for the getting kid."
Soul chokes, trying not to give away his amusement.
Craning his neck, the kid peers down the stable.
"There aren't that many stalls."
Soul slaps Black Star on the back.
"Nope. Not that many at all. Shouldn't take you long."
Balck Star chuckles, not even bothering to hide his laughter.
"What shouldn't take me long?"
Soul accepted the shovel from Black Star and thrust it at the kid.
"Mucking."