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Coyote heaved the doe’s limp body through the castle halls, dropping it onto the dinner table with a grunt. She let out a deep breath, pulling back a chair and flopping into it, feeling the softness of the cushion. Her muscles burned after her hunt, and that doe definitely did not give her time to relax during the long journey home.
“Throw it harder next time,” Mihawk grumbled sarcastically with a scowl, not even bothering to turn to look at Coyote’s grand entrance. “Maybe you will finally break the table in doing so.”
“Always so grumpy,” Coyote laughed, watching Mihawk’s back as he continued to cut up some vegetables for a salad. “Why can’t ya just be happy that I hunt for the both of us?”
“You hunt, but you do nothing else,” he muttered, wiping his hands. He set his knife down hard and turned to look at the ruggish woman sitting behind the doe. She picked at her grimy nails, flicking the dirt out from under them before locking eyes with him. His eye twitched at the sight of it. “You do not skin, prepare, nor cook the animal. How does a woman of 35 know not how to cook?”
“I’ve survived this long without knowin’, why should I learn now?” She quipped with the roll of her eyes. “Why don’t you cook it, n’ I’ll clean up after ya?”
“You never clean,” Mihawk grumbled. “I’m always left cleaning up after you. I do not mind doing so, but please do not offer something you know you will not follow through with.”
The couple had this discussion at least once a week, yet it never went anywhere. Their opinions were both set in stone, and neither of them wanted to budge. Why should they? They're both good at their respective trades. Mihawk sighed, his furrowed brow relaxing. There was an acknowledgement within himself that Coyote was too stubborn to even consider changing her ways. How she was still alive was beyond him, but he accepted that it would probably stay a mystery.
“What do you want me to do with this beast,” he inquired, his eyes shifting to the adult doe that was sprawled on his mahogany dinner table. The hocks had lots of sinew, but if left to cook for most of the day they make a good stew. The round and flank always made the best jerky—according to Coyote, anyway—which he could make pounds of for his hearty eater of a wife. The loin would make a good steak, but he would have to make it first if he wanted it not to go bad…
“Bwaaahh,” Coyote groaned, “ya know I love anythin’ you cook.”
That was not helpful.
“This is a disturbing amount of meat,” Mihawk groused. “Even if I were to use half of it to make jerky, we still would have too much for it not to go bad. Hunt smaller animals.”
“Then, maybe we should just get more people to live with us,” Coyote suggested, eliciting a groan from Mihawk. She chuckled, “This castle is huge, ‘nd we got too much food anyways…”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It is not happening.”
“We’ve got too much food n’ too much space.”
“I like my space.”
“I like your space too.”
They looked at each other for a moment. Mihawk sighed.
“Coyote.”
“Mihawk.”
He gritted his teeth. This woman is infuriating. Was she always like this, or has she gotten worse since they got married? There was a conscious effort for him to relax his jaw.
“I like how much space there is,” he said, quieting his tone. “There is nobody to invite to live with us, in any case.”
“The hell there ain’t,” Coyote scoffed, “we got Vana—”
“I do not like your nephew,” Mihawk interrupted with a glare, “and he does not like me.”
Coyote frowned. She knew that the two didn’t get along—they were polar opposites. Mihawk was put together, formal, and diplomatic. Vana was loud, audacious, and unmannerly. The two were different by nature, and she knew they could never get along. She knew, she knew… But who was Coyote, if not the embodiment of stubbornness?
“Y’all can get along!” She insisted. “Plus, I’ll be there to keep tension low between y’all.”
“Tension is already high between you and I,” Mihawk asserted. “You have never been known for your problem-solving.”
“Well,” Coyote mumbled, trying to scrape a counter-argument together.
“Additionally,” Mihawk continued, his voice smooth and unwavering, “you are hardly home. When you go on those trips of yours that last months, what will happen then? I cannot co-exist with him.”
“You can co-exist with me,” Coyote claimed, “he n’ I are the same!”
“No, you are not,” Mihawk insisted, “he is not my wife.”
“That ain’t the same,” she grumbled, inadvertently accepting defeat for now. Maybe it’ll work the next time that she brings it up. For now, she’ll go back to picking at her nails and being a general nuisance to Mihawk as he makes use of this enormous animal.