The {Tall Tale} of a {Metaphor} // Sue x Orville (blitz)

[Deleted]

COTTON EYED JOE

He whistles a tune while he works. 
(He tells people that that's how the Mockingjay's learned to sing.)

His fingernails tap against the metal of the only inanimate object he trusts, his axe "Babe", sending a symphony of rat a taps through the forest, ricocheting off the trees and trunks as his long overgrown and dirt protecting fingernails meet metal.
(Rumor has it he carves his name into the trees with his fingernail to mark where he's been, all because he doesn't wanna dull his knife.)

He's been in these forests a'plenty of times, enough so that he can recognize every single tree and it's age just by looking at how dulled the bark is. And as he drives his axe into the trunk of a tree over (and over, and over again just like the lies he tells) he strokes the woodchips out of his beard, flicking them to the ground with a mere snap of the lanky fingers he possesses (those same fingers he used to repair a butterfly's broken wing). And although his muscles never get tired of the repetitive motion of swinging an axe into and through wood, his mind does. And as the time flies by faster than an eagle when ol' Cotton Eyed Joe tells it to come his mind and imagination begin to wander like a bug through the grass he starts whistlin' a tune that he learned way back when from one of the mockingjays he's a'gotten to know throughout his days. 

He whistled for what felt like hours on end, so long that the chipmunks started to spread the word that there was a human choppin' away at the trees that had such a great voice it was raisin' up flowers all over the place. Yes, he whistled for such a long time that he din't even notice the fact that another young man (this one quite a bit younger than the lumberjack himself) had entered the clearin' right along with him, axe clutched between his fingers (though, of course, it was nowhere near as sharp as Babe).

"Now, you be careful now son." He placed a toothpick in between his teeth, presumably drawn from his pocket.
(Legend has it he stores so many things in those things that he can pull just about anythin' outta 'em)

"Wouldn't want no accidents. Of course, i'm with ya' so everythin'll be just fine."

He ends it by continuing his whistle song.

template by chelsey

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

ORVILLE REED KING

There's nothing left to do except wait for a little slip of paper. It will have have his name, bold and confident, and with a little bit of magic, it won't be wood on the chopping block. It will be his neck. And his neck isn't nearly as good as the necks that game before it. Phoebe Alexander's was long and sinewy, tough and elegant. Owen's was thick as an ox's, a warrior's neck.

What would they say about his, marked with moles and a half-grown adam's apple? Would they say it was bad luck to wear polka dots at a funeral? Course everyone knew that, but they were on his neck, they were in his skin, and he couldn't just run away even if he'd wanted to.

But he didn't. He still had his tiger.

The axe fell, his rhythm adjusting to form a beat to the player's tune. Sweat and sawdust formed a grimey mask. He'd wipe at it, but that wouldn't help. The mask always crept back, and if he lost his grip now, he'd be done for the day at half wages. Worse, he might not get to work along the minstrel. He so preferred the bird song to conversation.

Over the years, Orville had gotten mighty used to not getting what he wanted. He blinked, the slow fall of lashes, as the man addressed him. He let his axe fall one more time, splitting a log. "I'm always a caterpillar. Half. Full anything is like being eaten by the sun. Half-caterpillar, half-cat. But give me some paper and I'll be half-dead instead." He smiled, showing too many teeth. He felt absolutely confident that had come out well, better than expected at the very least. Orville wanted to assure this man, who had shown him a bit of kindness, that he didn't expect anything in life to ever be fine. That was too high an expectation. He'd settle for something above absolute misery and grief. It even seemed a little greedy to declare himself half-cat. He frowned, fingering the frayed bottom of his weapon.

"I'll stick to half-of-half. But that leaves half-of-half for you. What'll you be?"

template by chelsey