Work Text:
“What on Earth -?”
Bibimba stood wide-eyed in the kitchen door. The walls were stained with dripping brown ‘goo’, which brought back awful memories of one awful time during potty-draining, and the work-surfaces were lined with various puddles of liquids and piles of crumbs. A blender sat centre of all the chaos, where it still whirred with a loud high-pitched sound. The brown liquid still shot from its lidless top. It rained down on the kitchen in small splutters.
Bibimba raced to the side of the kitchen, before she pulled the plug to the blender. It died down, which gave her enough time to race toward it and pour out the ‘gunk’ into the bin, and – with a sigh – quickly work on cleaning it within the kitchen sink. The water poured until it finally ran clear, at which point she was able to pat the blender dry and put t back, before plugging it back into the wall and testing that it worked. Finally, she could heave a sigh of relief. Bibimba placed her hands on her hips and spun towards the three culprits to ask in a firm voice:
“What were you boys doing?”
The three young men looked sheepishly to one another. It was easy to picture a blush on Kevin, despite the iron mask, and Kid simply spluttered and muttered incoherent words, as he paid far more attention to his feet than was justified. Mantaro simply scratched at his neck, as he waved a free hand in an ‘it’s nothing’ motion. A strange silence befell them. Bibimba took in a deep breath through flared nostrils, as she glared at each one of them in turn, and drummed her fingers against her crossed arms. Eventually, Kid found enough courage to whine out:
“We were – er – just cookin’, Ms Kinniku.”
“Yeah, this twat wanted a milkshake,” spat Kevin.
“Hey, ya shouldn’t speak that way in front o’ grownups.”
Kevin mimicked him in a high-pitched voice.
“Oh, real mature,” continued Kid.
“Look, I’m not the one that acts like a little child around other people’s parents, as if they’re these mysterious and mystical beings that you dub ‘grownups’. Aren’t you a ‘grownup’ now, too? Oh, no, I forgot . . . you – my good sir – are a twat.”
Kid threw up his hands. It was less a gesture of surrender, and more one of antagonism, as his blue eyes glared in direction of Kevin. The two stared down hard at each other, with Mantaro stuck between them hunched over with a frown, and he calmly stepped back with a roll of his eyes, as he made his way around the kitchen island. He came to stand next to his mother, who ruffled his hair and placed a kiss to his forehead. Kid and Kevin continued to glare, until Kid finally snapped and pointed an accusatory finger towards Kevin, as he shouted:
“Ya wanna say that again to my face?”
Kevin cricked his neck. He stepped towards Kid and leaned down, until they were at eye-level, and – with a scoff – crossed his arms over his chest in an assertive pose. Bibimba knelt down with a roll of her eyes, as she removed the cleaning products from underneath the sink. They were dropped down with a loud bang onto the counter, while Kevin let out a dangerous laugh and stepped closer to Kid, who spat out his tongue in response. Kevin said slowly:
“I said: you . . . are . . . a –”
“Enough, boys!”
Bibimba pointed to the mess on the walls. The two fell silent and blushed, as both muttered incoherent words of gibberish, and they shuffled to opposite sides of the island, with heads down and hands in pockets. A roll of her eyes was enough to trigger a chorus of ‘sorry’. Bibimba shoved a bucket of cleaning products into Kid’s hands, before forcing a pile of washcloths into Kevin’s grip, and purposely steered them towards the mess. They looked at each other with furrowed brows and confused expressions, drawing another sigh from Bibimba.
“You two clean this up,” said Bibimba. “Mantaro, you come here.”
“Hey, Mama, I’m sorry about the mess, but –”
“You were trying to make a milkshake, right?” Mantaro nodded. “Well, I thought I’d already taught you our royal secret recipe, but . . . well . . . no time like the present! If I help you make some milkshakes for you and your friends, will you promise not to use the blender again? Or at least use the lid? I’m sure I taught you that much over time, yes?”
Mantaro nodded again.
“In that case, we’ll need milk and chocolate ice-cream and a brownie.”
Mantaro beamed brightly, as he raced towards the double-doors of the refrigerator. He fetched the ingredients with great speed, and spread them out over the counter beside his friends, who – grumbling about a bit of elbow-grease – sighed and grunted to see him with an easy task. Bibimba kissed the top of his head. He beamed bright, just like when he was a child, and she handed him the measuring jug for the milk, as Kid and Kevin struggled to get melted chocolate from the walls, floor, and even ceiling. Bibimba chirped warmly:
“You’re a good boy, Mantaro.”
‘He’s still such a mommy’s boy,’ whispered Kid in English.
‘I know,’ laughed Kevin. ‘He’s like a little puppy.’
‘Always begging for attention.’
‘Desperate for approval.’
Mantaro pouted, as he shouted out:
“Stop speaking English! I know you’re talking about me.”
“To be fair, the Americans haven’t spoken English in at least two hundred years,” sighed Kevin. “It’s all ‘howdy, y’all! Can I grab a root-beer and some chips, while y’all pony on down to the rodeo, ‘cause ah’ve got t’ polish my chaps and shoot mah guns’.”
“Oh, go t’ hell,” snapped Kid. “It’s better than yer ‘oh, golly gosh, I do awfully miss my daddy, and hope there’s a spot of tea ready on the veranda; tally ho, old chap.”
“What cast member of Downton Abbey have you been speaking to?”
“I could ask the same of yer wannabe cowboy routine.”
The two descended into bickering, without Seiuchin or Warsman to mediate. Bibimba hummed with a soft smile, as she vaguely remembered how Terryman and Suguru would argue, and focused on breaking the brownie into small pieces, while Mantaro stole odd sections. He would beam brightly at the taste, with his expression really coming alive. The walls were finally clean beside them, while Kid worked on the floor and Kevin the ceiling, and Mantaro looked at all the spread out ingredients, where he asked with a bright tone:
“So . . . how’d we begin?”
“You need fifteen millilitres of milk to every scoop of ice-cream, so with four scoops of ice-cream you need to measure out sixty millilitres. Just pop it into the blender, and add the chunks of brownies, but this time add the lid! We’ll blend it until it’s still thick, but all mixed together, and pour into some tall glasses. I think we’ll top it with whipped cream and sprinkles!”
“Sounds great,” chirped Mantaro. “Thanks, Mama!”
‘He’s such a mama’s boy,’ teased Kevin.
The chuckle from Kid turned her blood cold. Kevin clearly meant no cruelty from his words, but each time they spoke in English – always teasing and sharing small in-jokes – Mantaro would frown and stare downward with a slump of his shoulders. Bibimba took in a deep breath; she spun around with hands on her hips, as she glared at the two childish men, and proceeded to wag a finger at each of them in turn, as they stood to attention with embarrassed complaints. Bibimba turned to Kid first, before stepping aside so Mantaro could see them in their nervousness.
“You two are ones to talk,” chastised Bibimba.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, I happen to know that Natsuko still tucks a certain someone into bed,” said Bibimba. “I also know he gets his food cut into small pieces, his clothes folded and picked each morning, and he has to take his plush toys out of his bed to make way for any ‘visitors’. The last girlfriend he had refused to come back, as the sight of ‘Mr Teddy’ weirded her out too much.”
Kid blushed. Kevin laughed.
“And while someone else isn’t as spoiled, his partner let slip to me that he still can’t kill his own spiders and needs someone to kill them for him . . . not to mention the various sulks when things don’t go his way, his need for ‘time outs’, and how his pink shirts are only pink because of the one time that he tried to do his own laundry and left the colours in with the whites. I don’t think either of these two people have a right to tease or taunt my Mantaro.”
Kevin fell silent this time. They shared an awkward look together, before they abandoned their tasks to stand on either side of Mantaro with sincere smiles. Kevin refused to make physical contact, but Kid threw an arm around his shoulders and nudged him in his side, drawing a smile from Mantaro in turn. It was easy to see a hint of a smile in Kevin’s eyes, as he fisted his hand and nudged against Mantaro’s jaw in a playful manner, and the three friends returned to their usual dynamics, while Bibimba poured the ingredients into the blender.
“Sorry, Mantaro,” muttered Kevin.
“Yeah, sorry,” added Kid.
“Good,” said Bibimba. “Now you boys go back to the games room. I’ll bring the milkshakes in for you, along with a few nice snacks, and you can stop teasing one another! You’re all such good boys, but you’re young men now and not children . . . act like it, okay?”
The three of them chirped in near unison, in a mixture of languages: ‘yes, ma’am’. They rushed out much like children, especially when Kevin shouted ‘last one there is a rotten egg’, and stumbled and fought and scrambled with one another to get to the games room first. Bibimba shook her head, as she turned on the blender for a ten-second burst. A smile broke over her lips, while she relished in their laughter and shouts and jokes from afar, and whispered:
“Children . . .”