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English
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Part 3 of Fictober 2020
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Published:
2020-10-03
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1,074
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1/1
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Pop-Up Chop Shop

Summary:

Chopscotch hated it whenever people in the village talked to her like that. Like they thought she was stupid or something.

Notes:

Hi! Computer was having problems so I’m uploading this via phone, fuck it. Happy October 3rd everyone.

Seeing as this was October 3rd, one would think that I would be writing something for Fullmetal Alchemist, Madoka Magica, Mean Girls, or The Room, because it’s a significant date for those fandoms. But nah; the muse goes where it wants to go.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

“Hey there, Chopscotch,” said a sweet voice from behind her, “what are you doing?”

Chopscotch turned around to see Quietus, the village sweetheart, behind her. She trotted towards her, waving and smiling. Her round purple eyes fixed on her. Usually, Quietus ignored Chopscotch if she ever came up to talk to her. And at this time of the day, she would usually be busy working at her parents’ jewellery shop. That was strange. Why would she leave her shift in the middle of the day to go to the outskirts of town? Or maybe she had the day off?

“Good afternoon Quietus, what a surprise,’ she put down her huge battleaxe and trotted towards her. “Usually now you’d be busy selling supplies.”

Quietus laughed. All rather sharp, quick laughs. “Yeah, I know. But I’m on break now, so I thought I’d go and find you.” She walked up to her, eyes big and curious. “You know, I always wondered where you’re always heading off to in the morning. Since I know that… you can’t find work.” She walked up ahead, tossing her braided pink hair to the side, the way a lot of girls in the village were currently doing. Chopscotch didn’t really get the whole trend of pink braids. Her hair remained purple and tied up in a ponytail. But hey, if they liked it, she supposed they could do what they wanted with their hair.

She inspected the area, looking at all the dozens of chopped logs around them. It was true, Chopscotch couldn’t find work in town. Everyone knew her as the strange little girl growing up. She was peculiar and atypical, even for Undead standards. And everyone, even her own parents, thought that she could not possibly be suited for working. 

So instead, Chopscotch decided to try and find another alternative way to be useful. Since young, she had developed an interest in battleaxes. She read dozens of books about them, stuck pictures of them to the walls of her room, and eventually when she saved up enough pocket money as a child, she bought a large silver battleaxe from a travelling merchant who frequently came to their village. Every day, from that day on, she practiced using that axe. 

After years of swinging it around, she had to admit, she had gotten rather good at it. Great even. Though she really had no one else to compare herself to, since most in her village were not fighters. But her skills at axe swinging could be used for other purposes besides combat. And one way which she knew she could utilise her skills was in chopping wood.

Most of the Undead tended to stay away from fire. To put it rather bluntly, fire’s bad for their health. But there were a few reasons when fires were absolutely necessary, and most of the logs Chopscotch ended up chopping went to those places. Those logs went to the restaurants and the bakeries mostly. The buildings were equipped with Undead-safe fireplaces, and she delivered her logs to those places for half a gold coin per log.

Most of her logs went to those places. But she also delivered to some of the craftsmen in their village. They made such beautiful wood carvings. Of other villagers, of creatures from the surface world, even of famous scenes from folktales. Those were her favourite people to deliver her logs to. And she always made sure they were the last in her route, so that she could spend the rest of the evening watching the artists work. Turning an ordinary piece of wood into a work of art.

She would have explained all of that to Quietus, but unfortunately, Chopscotch was never the best with saying things plainly like that. “Right now I’m currently chopping wood. It’s for delivery around the neighbourhood.”

Quietus chuckled when she said that. “Oh, I see. With your big axe?” She asked. Quietus pointed to a log. “You did this?”

Chopscotch nodded yes. “Oh come on Chopscotch. It’s rude to not say anything to someone asking you a question.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I never would have guessed. But if that’s the case, then my answer is yes.” Quietus snickered even louder, which puzzled Chopscotch.

“Ah, sorry about that Chopscotch. I just heard a funny joke earlier.” She flashed her trademark charming smile at Chopscotch. Ever since they were children, Quietus had learned how to use that smile of hers to get whatever she wanted. All she needed to do was look sweetly at someone, and she could get away with doing pretty much anything. “So, you’re really going around town after this? And…” she gasped. “Oh… are you really going to be tugging around all these logs around town with that little red wagon later?”

Chopscotch nodded her head again. “Yes I will, later in the day. That’s actually how I earn my pay.”

At that, Quietus laughed even louder still. They were all short, sharp giggles. Like someone had just done something hilarious in front of her, but she was trying hard not to laugh. “Oh, okay. Sorry Chopscotch. It’s just that… you’re so funny, you know? That’s something about yourself, you’re just… you’re so funny. Never change.” It sounded like teasing. But teasing disguised as friendliness. Chopscotch raised her brow, unsure about how to respond to that.

“But anyways, I do have to head back now. Thanks so much for taking the time to talk, Choppy…” Choppy? Chopscotch didn’t really like nicknames, and Quietus wasn’t even a close friend. Why would she even call her that? “Love you, and I’ll be seeing you!” She ran off, waving at her, and then giggling to herself.

Chopscotch was not stupid. She knew that her behaviour had been fishy and suspicious. And usually, when people acted like that, they were planning on making fun of something she was doing. But what she hated most was that whenever it happened, whenever someone snickered and looked at her like that, was that she could never ever tell what exactly she was doing that was supposed to be so funny to everyone else. And it certainly did not help when someone was obviously mocking her, yet was also trying to come off as all cheery and friendly either.

She knew that everyone in town saw her as childish, innocent and strange. But did they really have to go out of their way to do all that?

Notes:

I don’t trust people who use freaks as a derogatory term and are glad that they’re ‘normal’. In my experience, it’s usually used to shame a lot of neurodiverse people and survivors of abuse.

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