The curse word wanders up his back like a spider. That kind of language was very much not accepted at home, and he has no intention of changing that.
"Yes, magic," he says. He is magic, but not with flowers, not the way they're thinking. Kubo doesn't bother correcting, doesn't really speak to them while he works. He moves with practiced efficiency like he knows what he's doing, which is true.
He also looks into the way they speak, informal and untamed and rough and lilting. A feral cat, like they are. Unlike the formality of which his mother spoke, the voice by which he learned to speak, the example he lived by. A former goddess' tone, squashed in with the informalities of Kameyo and Hashi and the other villagers.
He misses home.
Kubo wonders if Chara does, too--if they ever even had one.
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Date: 2016-11-28 12:51 am (UTC)The curse word wanders up his back like a spider. That kind of language was very much not accepted at home, and he has no intention of changing that.
"Yes, magic," he says. He is magic, but not with flowers, not the way they're thinking. Kubo doesn't bother correcting, doesn't really speak to them while he works. He moves with practiced efficiency like he knows what he's doing, which is true.
He also looks into the way they speak, informal and untamed and rough and lilting. A feral cat, like they are. Unlike the formality of which his mother spoke, the voice by which he learned to speak, the example he lived by. A former goddess' tone, squashed in with the informalities of Kameyo and Hashi and the other villagers.
He misses home.
Kubo wonders if Chara does, too--if they ever even had one.