What Even are You? (Wes)

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There was an hour to go before the pub was scheduled to open, and Kyle was up and about making sure that everything was ready. The floors were swept, the glasses were polished and the boss was awake, so far so good. Once Kyle had taken the rubbish out and brought the ice trays inside they’d be more or less ready. While working in a pub had never been on Kyle’s life radar he found that he was enjoying it. The atmosphere was casual and conversations were encouraged. When things did turn nasty, the threat of being thrown outside seemed to subdue most people, which was no wonder since the night times here were cold enough to freeze your nostrils off if you left them exposed. A fresh coating of snow had fallen during the night. There was at least another three feet added to the frozen layer below and Kyle had to stamp out each step to ensure that his legs didn’t sink in. Kyle marvelled at the experience, he who had never even seen snow until this year, was wading through enough of the stuff to build a small hill. It was a complete novelty. The dumpsters was but twenty meters away but it took Kyle a good ten minutes to reach them. One contained all the cardboard and packaging that their drinks came in, and the other housed the scraps and dregs left over from the simple pub food that the Drunk Drobushki offered. Both bins were weighted to prevent pests from sneaking in and having a snack and a kip. If anyone wanted to use the dumpsters they’d have to untie the weights first, then remember to tie them up again once they’d thrown their rubbish away. On this occasion one of the dumpsters was untied, but this was not unusual, people are forgetful. Kyle tossed the food scraps into the first dumpster then waded over to the second. He lifted up the untied lid without questioning it too much, his thoughts were back at the pub where the old geezer would be laying out breakfast for them both (if he hadn’t fallen asleep again), so it took him a little while to notice the pile of rags lying upon a mattress of cardboard. The…thing, was obviously alive, it wouldn’t be kicking off the cardboard Kyle had just dropped on it otherwise. But working out what the shadowed figure was was a much more difficult challenge. It had four limbs, a head and…was that wool or hair? “Excuse me!” Kyle called, his voice metallic sounding within the contours of the dumpster “Are you a boy a girl or a sheep?” He lifted the lid a little higher to get a better view and saw that the curly head was not wool white, but tawny brown. “Okay, not a sheep” Kyle murmured to himself. Out loud he asked another question “What are you even doing in the dumpster? This thing gets carted off every second week and put in a furnace. You’d be roasted mutton.”

Word count: 508 Notes: Kyle's like,19 here so Wes would be about 16-ish

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{tags} {word 603} {notes}
i just want to start this over

Russian winters were different than the ones he was used to, A slight chill, rosy cheeks and wet noses to rub together and snicker with his friends. There wasn't usually too much snow that a shovel couldn't fix, and lectures were hardly ever canceled. It was hard to imagine only five months prior everything had simply fallen to pieces with one unforgivable mistake. It just seemed so foreign-no!

Unreal.

It felt like he was the protagonist in some sort of adventure novel, running from a hoard of angry knights to keep a sacred medallion from harm. Or maybe it was an RPG? His mother hadn't been much of a fan of video games, but he had played one or two over at a friend's house from time to time. The needless running about and lack of plot for a while certainly seemed to fit. Was he grinding? There certainly didn't seem to be a change in his level or stats, maybe he got some new kind of attack. It would certainly be cool to have some sort of bow and armor, he could fight back at the cruel fate. Maybe he even promote order in the world with his group of ragtag mutants and humans. 

That was a laugh. The limelight wasn't something that appealed, he was much more suited to stand off on the sidelines. 

Yet it had been a long five months to get to where he was, his sixteenth birthday had come and gone without any recognition, and often enough he had thought about what would have happened if he hadn't fled. Maybe Marianne didn't remember a thing when she woke, maybe she hadn't even woken at all and he was just a murder suspect. It was something he regretted, not taking the moment in his frenzy to check if she was alright or call an ambulance. For some reason the idea of having murdered someone didn't seem to trouble him, maybe it was the fact that he had been so detached when it happened, or that he had hardly known her that well at all. Either way, the cameras captured enough.

If only it had happened in the winter, Russian summers would have been far preferable to the harsh winter he was forced to serve out. His grand idea, spend the last of his money and run off to where they were least likely to look for him. What was the point of it if he was just going to freeze to death. It was then that he noticed he couldn't feel his nose, which was rather startling due to the fact that mere minutes prior it felt like little imps were viciously stabbing icicles into it. Well...he brood think on it later, for now he was just so horridly tired and a nice little nap was so tempting. It would just be a moment, even the garbage he was lying on to keep out of sight felt like a premium feather mattress that was French. Why French? Well...he never had the chance to finish that thought, muddled mind fading off.

...

He was woken by the sound of the dumpster being pulled open, and the echo of a voice above him. The light filtered in from behind him was blinding, golden blades digging into his narrowed eyes as he struggled to raise his hand to shield them. Had it always been so painful to raise his arm? "I'm a sheep" he tried to snap back sarcastically to the question, yet all that passed through his lips was garbled nonsense. Something was off, he felt so stiff...
'

MADE BY KIROUKO OF GANGNAM-STYLE

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A small dirty face glared up at him and muttered something that was unintelligible but was clearly meant to be sarcastic. An arm was raised to shield night-accustomed eyes from the glare of the sun, but not before Kyle noticed that the urchin’s nose was coloured the very palest shade of blue. Hang on that couldn’t be right. Skin wasn’t blue. Was it a trick of the light? No his lips were blue as well. Kyle didn’t know much about cold, coming from a warm climate like he did. But some innate knowledge (or perhaps just common sense) told him that the boy here had been exposed to cold conditions that people were not built to withstand for very long. And here in the middle of a Russian winter, meant that he was not going to get warm by merely standing in the sun, sunlight didn’t last for very long here anyways. Like most people Kyle knew the risks associated with bringing a stranger into one’s home and for the most part he adhered to the safety warnings. But here right now, this stranger in his dumpster did not look like a threat, he looked like a sheep that had been shorn too close to winter’s frost; and even the sheep had each other to help them keep warm, this kid only had a pile of cardboard. Kyle took a deep breath and made his decision. “You’re cold. I have a place where you can get warm.” With that Kyle reached an arm into the dumpster and scooped the boy up by his armpits. While lifting him wasn’t hard in that the kid didn’t really weigh much, it was complicated by the jerky movements of his limbs. He might’ve been trying to cling to Kyle or he might have been trying to swat at his head, it was hard to tell. “Relax. I’m not a creep. And I don’t do sheep anyways” he informed the kid. He adjusted his load so it hung over his shoulder and begun trudging back towards the pub. Getting back was easier than getting out because the footsteps were already in place and Kyle was inside and thanking his lucky stars that the boss was nowhere to be seen in no time. “Here’s the stove, you can defrost there” He deposited the sheep by the stove and set about untying his boots and placing his gloves near the stovetop so they could dry out. “I’m Kyle by the way.”

Word count: 414 Notes: I'm sorry! I know I promised this sooner.

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{tags@SheepshaggerOzzie} {word 537} {notes}
i just want to start this over

“You’re cold. I have a place where you can get warm" the annoyance announced, slipping his hands up under Wes's armpits and lifting him up out of the little nest he had made for himself. He wasn't cold at all! He didn't even notice the chill anymore now that he was lifted out into the open, his body must have simply gotten used to it and adjusted accordingly. That was the only obvious explanation that came to mind, and he wanted to stick with it rather than the other dark thoughts he had to shove off to ignore. 

He squirmed, trying to awkwardly flop his way back down into the dumpster nest and out of the hulking sheepdog's arms. The boy only succeeded in awkwardly waggling his wrists and ankles at him, not even able to shove him an inch with the attack. The police station was surely where the dog was carrying him, he had little doubt about that, where else would someone take a stranger wandering about? Arcadian citizens surely were wary with regards to strangers out on the streets, though this dog didn't sound very native. He sounded more like a giant load of cotton stuffed in his mouth, like he had gotten too much novacaine from the dentist. 

Like a sack of flour he was dropped over his shoulder and dragged off, staring blankly at the huge prints he left in the snow behind himself. They were large enough that could curl up like a rabbit in a snug little bed inside, with enough to eat and a future spring to look forward to. Yet he wanted a future too, and the jealousy overwhelmed him for a long moment before he realized he was being stupid for being envious of a rabbit. They ate their own shitte, to each their own.

The chair he was deposited in was utterly stiff and uncomfortable, The wood pressing into his back and making things he had never known could ache starting up. Yet it was warm, and he could feel his toes tingle with little icicles as life was breathed back into them. It was gradual as he defrosted, but he slowly began to become more alert, finding himself in a kitchen chair in front of a warm stove. 

Wes shifted his hands up into his armpits, quickly tugging his legs up onto his chest to conserve heat. He took immediate notice of Kyle, not the sheepdog he had thought he had been prior but instead a tall tanned dolt who had taken a person he didn't know off to his home. 

"Sage" was the name he gave, awkwardly mustering up a sweet smile so he could stay indoors for a little longer to figure out what he was to do from here. If he acted too suspicious he might scurry off with his tail between his legs to the police, and that was something he wanted to avoid as long as he could. "Do you have anything to eat?"

He tugged off his worn shoes and wiggled his pink toes, gripping and pinching each and every one to be sure that they were alright. Luckily it didn't seem like there was any lasting damage,

MADE BY KIROUKO OF GANGNAM-STYLE

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For the first few minutes after he had been placed in the chair the kid had not moved. Kyle worried that he might be going into shock. What were you meant to do with shock again? Put a pencil between their teeth? No that was fits. Thankfully the boy eventually started to respond to the warmth, he began to shiver and curl up into himself, obviously trying to hold on to what little heat he might have. Meanwhile his eyes were glancing around at his surroundings, taking in the stove, the big wooden table and of course Kyle himself. Kyle stared back at the kid, taking in his features in the better light. He actually really did look like a sheep, or perhaps a lamb. Yes a young lamb, with fluffy white fur that had not yet grown long enough to stop it shivering. And his hair was weird, sort of like ram’s curls. Kyle was suddenly tempted to pat said curls and see if their owner would actually bleak like a real ram.

“Sage”

Huh? Oh yes. That must be his name. “G’day Sage” he answered and grinned back when a small smile was offered his way. “Welcome to Arcadia’s alcohol centre the Drunk Drobushki.”

“Do you have anything to eat?”

“Uh yeah, hang on” Kyle made his way to the stop top where his and the bosses breakfast was simmering in a pot. Taking a bowel he ladled some of the pot’s contents into it and drizzled honey and applesauce onto it. He personally did not like his breakfast this sweet but the sugar would probably do Sage good. He offered the bowl to Sage along with a spoon “Is porridge alright with you? It’s all we have I am afraid except for snow.” And as fun as eating snow was (provided it was clean) it definitely was not very substantial.

Kyle’s next move was to find a basin and fill it with warm water. He would have preferred it hot but until the water heater in the basement defrosted properly their rations were limited. Anyway Sage’s feet were probably so cold they would not know the difference.

“Can you lower your feet into this Sage?” he asked placing the basin on the floor in front of the kid “The water will make them feel better”

Throughout these interactions he had deliberately avoided asking any personal questions. He really was curious to know what Sage had been doing in the dumpster, but figured he probably would not get a reply. This bridge of simple trust between them was already so fragile that he could not risk any potential damage.

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{tags} {word 439}{notes}
i just want to start this over

The teen craned his head around the kitchen to get a good enough look, green eyes soaking up the antique wood molding of the building. It was certainly a different structure than what he was used to back in England, a foreign look to it that he simply couldn't shake himself from seeing in every aspect his gaze encountered. Even the smells were unique, the faint scent of alcohol noted now that he was aware that it was a bar, this Australian probably thinking he was just another alcoholic homeless man off on the streets. It wasn't far enough off, he was a homeless teen with a likely future of alcoholism to drown out the unending depression of being alone for the rest of his life, unless he was taken off to the mutant pound before then like a stray dog.

Here he was being taken in and fed like a stray anyways, it was close enough.

Wes took the small bowl in both of his hands and held it gently between his palms, leaning over it to drink in the sweet scent and enjoy the steam rising up and warming his cheeks. After weeks of eating scraps and anything he could get his hands on a proper planned meal was heavenly, and he couldn't help himself but to immediately dig in with his spoon. He shoved his spoon into his mouth and relaxed, hardly noticing what the other was doing as the sweet porridge quickly disappeared down into his stomach. It was rather hard to not lick the bowl completely clean, flash some Oliver Twist doe eyes, and ask for some more. But then again his priories were never very clear, and when it came to the splendid art of freeloading he had learned not to have much of a conscience. There was always the point that the smiles and cheers faded away and he overstayed his welcome, and until that time he would wring every little drop of hospitality out of...whatever this one's name was.

"More?"

The bowl was held out and the spoon clutched tightly in his fist, the teen slowly letting his feet down into the steaming basin and immediately tugging them out less than a moment after with the flash of heated pain. His face stayed neutral, trying again to dip in a toe and finding the water still far too hot for his sensitive defrosting little sheepsie feetsies.

"I can lower them in a little bit, once it's not scalding" he murmured, growing a little more lively as he literally warmed up, drawing his red feet up to rest on the chair seat.

MADE BY KIROUKO OF GANGNAM-STYLE

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As Sage tugged his shoes off Kyle was immensely glad to see that his toes were pink for a boy and not blue for a frozen limb. Frostbite was something he had never had to treat before and he was not even sure how it was supposed to be managed. His bowl of porridge was accepted and the contents vanished almost instantly, no chewing was involved, it was really just and extended swallow by the looks of it. Sage then held the bowl up and asked for more with a wide eyed look that had last been seen on a BBC’s rendition of Charles Dickens’ works. No Kyle had not read any of the writer’s books, but he had seen some of the TV shows, he was especially fond of the fact that many of the unwanted secondary characters were gotten rid of either by illness or by sending them off Australia, end of the world that it was. Where they no doubt became the poor but honest parents of wild colonial boys like himself, and raised a few sheep while they were at it. Kyle succumbed to the power of Sage’s doe eyed simper without a fight and brought him another bowl of porridge to demolish, the first one had barely touched the sides apparently. As he was eating that Kyle perched on a stool in front of him and explained how things would probably turn out once the boss finally arrived. He thought it best that he was completely honest about their situation. The boss was an old revolutionary at heart and would probably let Sage stay, but there would be conditions. The Drunk Drobushki pub was a business not a charity. “Look Sage I have no idea how you ended up in my dumpster, but there’s no way I’m going to send you back there in this weather. The boss won’t mind if you stay, he has a fondness for strays. But you’ll have to work. The pub’s not poor, but we can’t really afford extravagance either. If you’d rather not stay we can take you to the police shelter, though I’d rather you stayed, I don’t like coppers.” He grinned charmingly at the boy “What will it be my sweet lamb?”

Word count: 375 Tags: @fluffything Notes: How's Wes going to take to being his 'sweet lamb'?

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{tags @aussie} {word 434} {notes}
i just want to start this over

Westley had long forgone the spoon in favor of slurping down the porridge as soon as possible. He wasn't quite sure if he was still hungry, but it had been so long since he had last filled his belly with something so warm and comforting. He wanted as much of it as he could get, and soon the second bowl was licked clean just like the first. The boy would have held out his bowl for another, but he certainly was beginning to feel rather queasy. 

Green eyes fixed on Kyle, judging him harshly on the little petname he had drummed up to call him. His mother had once referred to him by something similar. Although she had certainly not used any such comforting little nicknames for a long time, years to be exact. Wes wasn't quite sure if he was irritated by it or not, but he was uncomfortable, most certainly uncomfortable. The grin the man gave him did not assist in calming him in the slightest. Rather, he was considering punching him and fleeing.

As tempting as punching him was, his feet ached, his fingers prickled, and he was safe for the moment. There as no reason to throw it away for a simple bout of discomfort. There were far worse situations he could be in, and if Kyle meant to bring the police in he would have already called them, he was quite sure. 

"I like it here" he decided, waving off the question of the police shelter. Slowly the boy lowered his feet into the water and cringed, keeping them submerged but making very open noises of distress at the feeling. His squeezed his eyes closed, shoulders tensing up as he curled his fingers up into fists and leaned back on the stool with an arched back. 

"Ugh. Erm...It's a pub then? You sell piss?" He tried to drum up a conversation, growing more lively the more he defrosted from the cold. "I can do kitchen things, a little bit of it." The kitchen kept him in the back, away from patrons. But when had he decided to stay? "I don't like people very much, so I'd far rather be out of sight so I don't have to talk or see any of them." Realizing it could sound suspicious he added a hasty "I'm a little shy..." as an afterthought. 

He didn't know how silly he would be hiding out in some pub in the center of evil, but for some reason he certainly felt safe with the idea. Who would look for him off in Russia?

MADE BY KIROUKO OF GANGNAM-STYLE

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For the ovine term of endearment Kyle received a glare that could have cracked glass and a stony silence. Kyle grinned. It was fantastic. That glare. When he was younger much of Kyle’s penchant for trouble had stemmed from the fact that he constantly misjudged the point where he had pushed the boundaries too far. That, and he and the adults around him never quite saw eye to eye on what was considered risky behaviour. How was keeping trying to climb a palm tree like a koala a dangerous activity? So when others might have cut down on the sheep related nicknames, Kyle only resolved so create many more and see what reactions they would give him. A glare like that was worth a broken nose anyday. Besides, he had already broken his nose once, so he knew exactly what sort of pain he was in for if he took that particular route. Eventually Sage managed to lower his feel into the water, though he could tell from the tension in the boy’s shoulders that the experience was anything but pleasant. But he put on a brave face and distracted himself with questions "Ugh. Erm...It's a pub then? You sell piss?" “Yeah” Kyle agreed “Piss from around the globe. And we also have a bunch of wine and spirits for the patrons who just want to forget things. We do food as well. Just pub food, nothing fancy.” “I can do kitchen things, a little bit of it." “You’ll be chopping up a full ton of potatoes and cabbage” warned Kyle. It was true, the Russians were mad for cabbage, seeming to think it was an actual food. And who ever heard of a pub that didn’t have chips on the menu? "I don't like people very much, so I'd far rather be out of sight so I don't have to talk or see any of them. I'm a little shy...” Kyle saw right through that particular lie. Anyone who did not want to be seen by people didn’t want to be seen for a reason. But he was sensible enough to humour Sage’s excuse of shyness and nodded as if he believed him. “Boss should be alright with that, just don’t set anything aflame.” Kyle was about to step out of the kitchen to get the boss when he realised something. Sage had known was piss was. But that would mean… “Hey! You’re a bloody Kiwi!” he exclaimed gleefully. “No wonder you look so much like a sheep. Did the ram’s curls come from your mum’s or your dad’s side?”

Word count: 431 Notes: Let's get this bickering started!