One is not exempt from working simply because
someone else is doing the hardest part of the job; here’s a lesson Casper
learns the hard way. Apparently, when Balor said they’d be doing this
‘together’, he meant together ‘together’, as in “While I do not expect
you to perform the burden of ridding the brush I do think you are capable of
more than idling to the side and giving advise on where to set the latest
uprooted piece of the thicket.” That said, Balor tosses aside the sapling in
his hands onto the neat pile that’s since amassed to the side of their
ever-growing clearing.
Casper watches the tree go flying with as much ease as one might throw a matchstick. “I dunno ‘bout that. You look to be handlin’ it pretty damn well by yerself.” Any and all contributions on his part will look like nothing in comparison to what Balor can do. Casper adds superhuman strength onto his ever-growing list of what amazing and terrible things a witch man is capable of; he puts it right between magics and talking with more big words than he’s heard in his life.
Balor dusts his hands off before pinning Casper with a rather pointed stare.
“Alright, alright,” Casper huffs. He’s not happy, but he knows when it’s time to cut his losses. “What do you want me to do anyhow? Put the trees on the pile with the rest of ‘em?”
“As a matter of fact-“ With a hard pull and a grunt of exertion, Balor uproots another one with as much ceremony as pulling out a particularly stubborn weed. “-That would be most ideal. Thank you, Casper.” And so saying, hands it over, roots, leaves, the whole thing.
Casper stands there, slack jawed and speechless, for a good minute. His mouth swings shut with a tight click and he swallows down the first several words that come to mind, lest he commit himself further. He takes the sapling and drags it clumsily to the pile. It’s not all that big, only as thick as his own twiggy arms; it’s the great wad of dirt clinging to the roots that’s weighing him down like lead. He doesn’t bother to try lifting it up properly, settling instead for letting it list against the rest of the stack with the others. Good enough for a job well done.
He wipes what little sweat is on his brow, pats himself on the back, and turns around only to find Balor holding out another chunk of brushwood out for him.
The big guy chuckles at his exaggerated dismay. “Did I at all give you the impression that it is not your continued assistance that I seek?”
Casper grumbles some rather impolite things under his breath, but takes the shrub and puts it with the rest anyways. And the one after that, and the next after and so on.
They fall into a routine, otherwise quiet save for the sounds of their efforts and the choice piece of vocabulary from Casper when the fancy takes him; sometimes Balor softly scolds him for it (“Language, Casper.”), other times he pretends not to hear. They carry on like that until the sun is high above them and Casper’s broken a real sweat.
Balor straightens, dusting off what little clings to the knees of his slacks. “I believe that a period of respite is in order.”
Casper stares blankly at somewhere between him and nothing at all, waiting to be handed something else to be heaped onto the pile with the rest of the rubbish.
Balor observes him cautiously. Seeing no change, he approaches slowly. “Casper…? Are you unwell?” Nobody’s home. It’s only when Balor sets a careful hand on him that he reacts, and violently, skittering back away from him like he’s a stranger (a danger). In that brief moment they’re back at square one, a stare down in a hallway the day after someone got caught in the rain. Then Casper blinks hard, shaking off the fugue, and sees Balor again instead of-
He stamps down the old, very unwanted memories back to where they came from. “Y-yeah. ‘M fine. Just peachy.” He scrubs a hand across his face, through his shorn mess of hair. “Uh. Why’d you stop?”
“Come, Casper, it is time for a rest, yes?” There’s a brittle edge to his voice that wasn’t there before; Casper doesn’t know what to make of it. He cocks his head and otherwise regards him with no small amount of bewilderment, but doesn’t resist when Balor leads him gently away from the clearing.
“But… The sun’s still up,” he says like it’s supposed be the answer to everything.
“So it is. What of it Casper?” Balor asks gingerly.
“Well,” Casper puzzles over how to explain something so fundamental, so obvious as- “work ain’t over until the sun goes down, so, so long as the sun’s still shinin’, we don’t stop workin’.”
Balor stops altogether then. There’s something in his frame that reads ‘stiff all over’. There’s a careful evenness that speaks of much restraint when he asks, “And why is that, Casper?”
“It just is,” he says, arms crossed. Doesn’t know why Balor hasn’t got on with the program yet. It’s simple enough for a dunce him to understand, so it should be all too easy for Balor to know what he’s talking about. Afterall- “That’s the way it’s always been.”
Balor fixes him with that look again. (Is there somethin’ on my face…?) “Then perhaps it is for the best that the day ends early.”
“Wait- You mean- You can’t be serious. Already?”
“I am perfectly serious. You have done well today, Casper, and I thank you for your help. Go and rest, yes?”
Casper asks confirmation several times, convinced there’s a trick laying in wait somewhere in the offer. But Balor politely, firmly insists. Can’t argue when there’s nothing to argue against. Casper looks back just to be sure and, when Balor waves him off, he scampers away to the well for a drink. He settles against the cold stone walls and digs out that chunk of bread from his pocket. It’s hard as a rock at this point, but a bit of water softens it up nicely. It’s not a great meal, but it fills him, so it’s not the worst either.
He wastes the day picking at dirt stains on his overalls, amongst others. He might wash his clothes again, he might not. It’s brown smudging against already brown, smudged cloth; hard to notice, hard to care. He wouldn’t care either if he’d anything better to do and dirt in one’s bedding didn’t mean a hellishly itchy night’s sleep.
He wanders back over to Balor who’s still pulling up the hardiest of bushes like they’re daisies. The big guy nods a greeting, asks him, yet again, if he’s alright. Casper rolls his eyes and brushes him off, but lingers around to watch him work. He compares Balor’s easy strength with his kindness. Never knew someone to be kind when they could just as easily get it with bullying and never saw a reason to do otherwise. He doesn’t understand him at all. Doesn’t understand why that bothers him as much as it does either.
On the topic of bullies, Casper spies one coming out through the backdoor now. He ducks closer behind the large cover of the 'ro-doh-dron' bushes to spy. Balor’s taken notice too, having paused to take better stock of the goings-on. Myr, dishevelled as ever, squints in the sunlight, casing the backyard, searching. Casper looks between him and Balor, who heaves a tired sigh but makes no move otherwise.
Myr grumbles to himself, hollering soon after for Balor. Casper shares a sympathetic grimace with him and watches him go, watches them still as they exchange barbs on the back porch. Can’t make out what they’re saying at this distance, but it becomes obvious when Balor turns to where he’s hiding. The jig is up, it seems. That Balor calls for him to come out only confirms his sinking suspicions.
Ah, shit.
Casper grits his teeth and reluctantly slinks out of hiding. He learned his lesson last time; it’s better for him to come out of his own accord than to be dragged kicking and screaming (mostly kicking). Myr scowls at the sight of him. Casper returns the favour.
“So, you were ‘iddin’ there after all, you lil’ snitch.” He aims his displeasure at Balor. “You weren’t lyin’ ‘bout tha’, at least.” He fixes his attention back on Casper, who does his best not to quail under the pressure. If it’s any consolation, Myr seems more sober now than any other time he’s had the displeasure of seeing him. “I know you can speak, runt. There’s no foolin’ me. Know why?” Casper doesn’t speak, lest he encourage him, but Myr isn’t bothered in the slightest; he carries on regardless. “It’s ‘cause I’m smart, see? I got it all up in here,” he points to his temple.
Casper regards him impassively. (He’s shaking.)
Myr tuts at his lack of reaction. “Know wot tha’ means runt?” He leans in until Casper can smell the rot in his breath; it takes him every bone in his body not to flinch away. “It means I know yer tricks. I can see through yer lies. You can’t outsmart me.” The pressure builds with every word until Myr’s vibrating with fury. “So, why. Won’t. You. TALK?”
Casper cringes a step back in spite of himself. He’s breathing hard and his heart’s slamming away against his ribcage.
“You afraid, lil’ rat?”
Out of the corner of Casper’s eye, Balor clenches a fist so tight the bones crack. Myr doesn’t notice.
“Good. ‘Cause you should be. An’ when I find out you’ve ben spillin’ my secrets into the street, I’m gonna find you, you lil’ rat fink. An’ the things I’m gonna do ta you, they’re gonna make you wish you were dead.” He stalks after him, step by step, sending Casper reeling back further. “So, what yer gonna do is keep yer gob shut.” Step. “Stay outta my way.” By. “And stay outta sight.” Step. “You figger you can do that?” He stops.
Casper stares up at him, frozen, and nods furiously.
“Good,” and finally Myr turns to leave. “I dun wanna hear from either of you ‘less I’m askin’.” And with those parting words, the door slams shut behind him.
No sooner does he make his exit than Balor materializes at Casper’s side. “That was thoroughly unpleasant.”
Casper near jumps out of his skin. “Jesusfuckin’christ, don’t do that,” he hisses; it gives Balor pause and before he can (presumably) apologize, Casper cuts him off. “Don’t. Just, don’t. I…” he breathes deep. His heart’s still beating too fast, thoughts in a frenzy. “Leave me alone.” Without further ceremony, Casper takes off. Balor seems to get the message and doesn’t call after.
It’s a blur from then on until he finds himself staring at his reflection in the lazy current of the river. On the ground close by are his spare trousers and the torn remains of his old shirt. He forgot about those. It’s funny how things tend to get left behind over the course of the day, like there isn’t enough time for it all. Or perhaps they were forgotten because they were no longer useful (and doesn't that thought crush and squeeze him tight between his ribs).
He looks down at his own filthy overalls. He decides against washing them. He’s not feeling up for it. Not now. What he does feel up for is curling up into a little ball and watching the river go by while he settles down; he does just that until the sun goes down and the stars start to come out. He begrudgingly heads back before Balor comes searching for him, settling with spending another night in the greenhouse over going into the manor where Myr is. Not even the prospect of another dinner made of Balor’s wild game can convince him to set a foot in there. Besides, Balor’s greens aren’t so bad… once you get used to them.
He curls up to sleep among the plants, hidden from sight behind the bulk of the planters, but still feeling exposed. It’s not the night chill that bothers him. He wishes he’d brought his knife.
Casper watches the tree go flying with as much ease as one might throw a matchstick. “I dunno ‘bout that. You look to be handlin’ it pretty damn well by yerself.” Any and all contributions on his part will look like nothing in comparison to what Balor can do. Casper adds superhuman strength onto his ever-growing list of what amazing and terrible things a witch man is capable of; he puts it right between magics and talking with more big words than he’s heard in his life.
Balor dusts his hands off before pinning Casper with a rather pointed stare.
“Alright, alright,” Casper huffs. He’s not happy, but he knows when it’s time to cut his losses. “What do you want me to do anyhow? Put the trees on the pile with the rest of ‘em?”
“As a matter of fact-“ With a hard pull and a grunt of exertion, Balor uproots another one with as much ceremony as pulling out a particularly stubborn weed. “-That would be most ideal. Thank you, Casper.” And so saying, hands it over, roots, leaves, the whole thing.
Casper stands there, slack jawed and speechless, for a good minute. His mouth swings shut with a tight click and he swallows down the first several words that come to mind, lest he commit himself further. He takes the sapling and drags it clumsily to the pile. It’s not all that big, only as thick as his own twiggy arms; it’s the great wad of dirt clinging to the roots that’s weighing him down like lead. He doesn’t bother to try lifting it up properly, settling instead for letting it list against the rest of the stack with the others. Good enough for a job well done.
He wipes what little sweat is on his brow, pats himself on the back, and turns around only to find Balor holding out another chunk of brushwood out for him.
The big guy chuckles at his exaggerated dismay. “Did I at all give you the impression that it is not your continued assistance that I seek?”
Casper grumbles some rather impolite things under his breath, but takes the shrub and puts it with the rest anyways. And the one after that, and the next after and so on.
They fall into a routine, otherwise quiet save for the sounds of their efforts and the choice piece of vocabulary from Casper when the fancy takes him; sometimes Balor softly scolds him for it (“Language, Casper.”), other times he pretends not to hear. They carry on like that until the sun is high above them and Casper’s broken a real sweat.
Balor straightens, dusting off what little clings to the knees of his slacks. “I believe that a period of respite is in order.”
Casper stares blankly at somewhere between him and nothing at all, waiting to be handed something else to be heaped onto the pile with the rest of the rubbish.
Balor observes him cautiously. Seeing no change, he approaches slowly. “Casper…? Are you unwell?” Nobody’s home. It’s only when Balor sets a careful hand on him that he reacts, and violently, skittering back away from him like he’s a stranger (a danger). In that brief moment they’re back at square one, a stare down in a hallway the day after someone got caught in the rain. Then Casper blinks hard, shaking off the fugue, and sees Balor again instead of-
He stamps down the old, very unwanted memories back to where they came from. “Y-yeah. ‘M fine. Just peachy.” He scrubs a hand across his face, through his shorn mess of hair. “Uh. Why’d you stop?”
“Come, Casper, it is time for a rest, yes?” There’s a brittle edge to his voice that wasn’t there before; Casper doesn’t know what to make of it. He cocks his head and otherwise regards him with no small amount of bewilderment, but doesn’t resist when Balor leads him gently away from the clearing.
“But… The sun’s still up,” he says like it’s supposed be the answer to everything.
“So it is. What of it Casper?” Balor asks gingerly.
“Well,” Casper puzzles over how to explain something so fundamental, so obvious as- “work ain’t over until the sun goes down, so, so long as the sun’s still shinin’, we don’t stop workin’.”
Balor stops altogether then. There’s something in his frame that reads ‘stiff all over’. There’s a careful evenness that speaks of much restraint when he asks, “And why is that, Casper?”
“It just is,” he says, arms crossed. Doesn’t know why Balor hasn’t got on with the program yet. It’s simple enough for a dunce him to understand, so it should be all too easy for Balor to know what he’s talking about. Afterall- “That’s the way it’s always been.”
Balor fixes him with that look again. (Is there somethin’ on my face…?) “Then perhaps it is for the best that the day ends early.”
“Wait- You mean- You can’t be serious. Already?”
“I am perfectly serious. You have done well today, Casper, and I thank you for your help. Go and rest, yes?”
Casper asks confirmation several times, convinced there’s a trick laying in wait somewhere in the offer. But Balor politely, firmly insists. Can’t argue when there’s nothing to argue against. Casper looks back just to be sure and, when Balor waves him off, he scampers away to the well for a drink. He settles against the cold stone walls and digs out that chunk of bread from his pocket. It’s hard as a rock at this point, but a bit of water softens it up nicely. It’s not a great meal, but it fills him, so it’s not the worst either.
He wastes the day picking at dirt stains on his overalls, amongst others. He might wash his clothes again, he might not. It’s brown smudging against already brown, smudged cloth; hard to notice, hard to care. He wouldn’t care either if he’d anything better to do and dirt in one’s bedding didn’t mean a hellishly itchy night’s sleep.
He wanders back over to Balor who’s still pulling up the hardiest of bushes like they’re daisies. The big guy nods a greeting, asks him, yet again, if he’s alright. Casper rolls his eyes and brushes him off, but lingers around to watch him work. He compares Balor’s easy strength with his kindness. Never knew someone to be kind when they could just as easily get it with bullying and never saw a reason to do otherwise. He doesn’t understand him at all. Doesn’t understand why that bothers him as much as it does either.
On the topic of bullies, Casper spies one coming out through the backdoor now. He ducks closer behind the large cover of the 'ro-doh-dron' bushes to spy. Balor’s taken notice too, having paused to take better stock of the goings-on. Myr, dishevelled as ever, squints in the sunlight, casing the backyard, searching. Casper looks between him and Balor, who heaves a tired sigh but makes no move otherwise.
Myr grumbles to himself, hollering soon after for Balor. Casper shares a sympathetic grimace with him and watches him go, watches them still as they exchange barbs on the back porch. Can’t make out what they’re saying at this distance, but it becomes obvious when Balor turns to where he’s hiding. The jig is up, it seems. That Balor calls for him to come out only confirms his sinking suspicions.
Ah, shit.
Casper grits his teeth and reluctantly slinks out of hiding. He learned his lesson last time; it’s better for him to come out of his own accord than to be dragged kicking and screaming (mostly kicking). Myr scowls at the sight of him. Casper returns the favour.
“So, you were ‘iddin’ there after all, you lil’ snitch.” He aims his displeasure at Balor. “You weren’t lyin’ ‘bout tha’, at least.” He fixes his attention back on Casper, who does his best not to quail under the pressure. If it’s any consolation, Myr seems more sober now than any other time he’s had the displeasure of seeing him. “I know you can speak, runt. There’s no foolin’ me. Know why?” Casper doesn’t speak, lest he encourage him, but Myr isn’t bothered in the slightest; he carries on regardless. “It’s ‘cause I’m smart, see? I got it all up in here,” he points to his temple.
Casper regards him impassively. (He’s shaking.)
Myr tuts at his lack of reaction. “Know wot tha’ means runt?” He leans in until Casper can smell the rot in his breath; it takes him every bone in his body not to flinch away. “It means I know yer tricks. I can see through yer lies. You can’t outsmart me.” The pressure builds with every word until Myr’s vibrating with fury. “So, why. Won’t. You. TALK?”
Casper cringes a step back in spite of himself. He’s breathing hard and his heart’s slamming away against his ribcage.
“You afraid, lil’ rat?”
Out of the corner of Casper’s eye, Balor clenches a fist so tight the bones crack. Myr doesn’t notice.
“Good. ‘Cause you should be. An’ when I find out you’ve ben spillin’ my secrets into the street, I’m gonna find you, you lil’ rat fink. An’ the things I’m gonna do ta you, they’re gonna make you wish you were dead.” He stalks after him, step by step, sending Casper reeling back further. “So, what yer gonna do is keep yer gob shut.” Step. “Stay outta my way.” By. “And stay outta sight.” Step. “You figger you can do that?” He stops.
Casper stares up at him, frozen, and nods furiously.
“Good,” and finally Myr turns to leave. “I dun wanna hear from either of you ‘less I’m askin’.” And with those parting words, the door slams shut behind him.
No sooner does he make his exit than Balor materializes at Casper’s side. “That was thoroughly unpleasant.”
Casper near jumps out of his skin. “Jesusfuckin’christ, don’t do that,” he hisses; it gives Balor pause and before he can (presumably) apologize, Casper cuts him off. “Don’t. Just, don’t. I…” he breathes deep. His heart’s still beating too fast, thoughts in a frenzy. “Leave me alone.” Without further ceremony, Casper takes off. Balor seems to get the message and doesn’t call after.
It’s a blur from then on until he finds himself staring at his reflection in the lazy current of the river. On the ground close by are his spare trousers and the torn remains of his old shirt. He forgot about those. It’s funny how things tend to get left behind over the course of the day, like there isn’t enough time for it all. Or perhaps they were forgotten because they were no longer useful (and doesn't that thought crush and squeeze him tight between his ribs).
He looks down at his own filthy overalls. He decides against washing them. He’s not feeling up for it. Not now. What he does feel up for is curling up into a little ball and watching the river go by while he settles down; he does just that until the sun goes down and the stars start to come out. He begrudgingly heads back before Balor comes searching for him, settling with spending another night in the greenhouse over going into the manor where Myr is. Not even the prospect of another dinner made of Balor’s wild game can convince him to set a foot in there. Besides, Balor’s greens aren’t so bad… once you get used to them.
He curls up to sleep among the plants, hidden from sight behind the bulk of the planters, but still feeling exposed. It’s not the night chill that bothers him. He wishes he’d brought his knife.
END
OF DAY TEN.
<== Day Ten - Morning ==> Table of Contents <== Day Eleven - Morning & Midday ==>
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