[hider=Encouragement] “Twen…ty…three…” [i]-flip-[/i] “Twent…went…y….f…fffour…” [i]-flip-[/i] “Tw-mghhhh…uhhh…tw…twentyfive…mrrrr…” [i]-flip-[/i] “T…t…tttttt…ha…haaaa…g…one…I, almmmmosssttt…” “You can’t count anymore, Cutie. Let go.” [i]“Bwaaaaaaaaaaaa…”[/i] “Well done. You counted so many tips, and yet, there’s still so many to go. You made so many people happy you can’t even count the number. Not to worry; I will count the rest for you. All you have to do is feel how [i]good[/i] you did.” [i]-flip-[/i] “Mgghhhhh!!!” “Numbers aren’t your job. You can’t remember numbers that high. You’re too silly for that. And a silly boy might do something so [i]foolish[/i] as compare today’s number to yesterday. He’d worry so much if the number was lower. When all he needs to know is it’s so, [i]so[/i] much. How much is it, Cutie?” [i]-flip-[/i] “S-sooo…soooo much…” “That’s right. A number so big you can’t say it. Can’t remember it. Try it. Once more. Tell me how much it is.” [i]-flip-[/i] “Ss…so…thrrrrrrrrrmmmm……” “Good boy. Good Cutie. Trying so hard for me.” [i]-flip-[/i] “Heeeeeeeeeeeee” “You’re tired, Cutie. You’ve given me so much. You’ve done such a good job.” [i]-flip-[/i] “Haaaa…?” “Your body [i]wants[/i] to rest. Your legs are so [i]tired[/i]. You cannot move them. Go ahead and squirm. You cannot resist. You cannot hold all this [i]tension[/i] any longer.” [i]-flip-[/i] “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh~” “Your arms [i]want[/i] to be held. They have made so many people happy. You have nothing more to do with them. You want to give them to me. You want to [i]let go.[/i]” [i]-flip-[/i] “H-haaa…aaaa…” “You cannot fight anymore. You cannot try anymore. You’ve done [i]so[/i] much. You feel snug. Trapped. [i]Helpless.[/i] Nod with me.” [i]-flip-[/i] “Uh…….huh…..” “You’re going to sit still for me.” [i]-flip-[/i] “Uhhuh” “You’re going to listen to me.” [i]-flip-[/i] “Uhhuh” “You’re going to feel [i]good[/i] for me.” [i]-flip-[/i] [i]-flip-[/i] [i]-flip-[/i] “Uhhh…uhhuh…....” “There we go. There’s my good Cutie, counting up so much. Now. I will let you talk. But I will not let you speak.” [i]-fwump-[/i] “Mmph!” “We still have Alcideo’s notes to go over. In detail.” “M…mmmrrr…” “I will not let you contradict him. You’re going to pay attention. And you will not. Miss. A [b]word[/b]” [/hider] "I will?!" His hands fly to his mouth. Too slow to contain the squeak. "Um. I mean. No, no, you’re good, it’s, that, ah, that’s, that is a good spot, you didn’t. It’s just. That. It’s. Very nice of her. T-to. Be so, concerned, about my. Um. Work. And. Yes." His detailed explanation finished, he buries his face in Alcideo’s shoulder. Flustered. Embarrassed. A silly little deer, hardly able to think about the perils of Yaz’s [i]Encouragement[/i] without falling to pieces where he stood. Alcideo must already see him, at the end of his shift, muddling through his good-byes and good-job-today’s before obediently trot-trot-trotting his silly little butt up to the clutches of Miss Yaz. Just like he was told. (It’s a little easier? It’s a little easier with Encouragement being a sometimes food. There’s no schedule to it, Miss Yaz must be busy. She can’t spare a half hour every day. And it’s not like he’s doing that good of a job every single day. He.. Well, he has a little trouble remembering exactly how good he does day-to-day. How did Miss Yaz know he was counting his tip money that closely? Anyway! Point is, a good bit of the surprise is real every time, and so’s the melting into his seat. He’s not. He’s not [i]asking[/i] for encouragement. Yaz just. Knows that it helps. And she enjoys. Um. Encouraging sillyheads who can hardly talk straight. Which is all to say, Alcideo laughs at shy, useless sillyheads too.) “Drink service!” He says, totally composed. “Yes! I mean! No! I mean, we served drinks, but just soda and juice and things like that. Not a lot of mixing going on. Though I did learn how to mix up a mean hot chocolate.” That’s right; this is the silly grin of an expert cocoa brewer! Took him weeks and weeks of experimenting to nail it down. The tricky bit was, when you’re making cocoa for somebody else, you can’t sip it partway through to see if it’s come out right. Mmm. A hot cocoa would be [i]so[/i] good right now. A quiet lounge. A hard day’s work. A good couch to sink into. A better friend to hug you close and work magic on your poor ears. Distant music, sneaking in softly from the cafe. Yes. Two mugs of cocoa would make everything perfect. Warm bellies, to match their hearts. (He hasn’t [i]really[/i] thought of the Hunt in days. There’s danger Outside. Inside, there is warmth, and laughter, and friends, and good days ending in cozy nights. He could stay here forever.) “Thank you,” and he curls up, nestling into Alcideo’s side, as if he’s trying to smile with his whole body. As if the scrunched-up face pressed into Alcideo’s soft fur is nowhere close to good enough. “I couldn’t be doing any of this without your help. You’re looking out for me, showing me the ropes, [i]and[/i] knocking it out of the park at six tables at once. I just. You’re [i]so[/i] good at this, it means a lot to hear you say that.” As if somebody could look at someone like him and say, yeah, we’ll start that cat on coats. On coats! Unless he’s been working here for so long he was too young to do anything but coats. Hrm. “I’ll let you know if I need anything. Thanks. Again.” “...but seriously, [i]why[/i] put the tip money in our pants?”