“Not my fault if you forget to take me off the wall when you do your…private exercises.”
I didn’t daresay what these aforementioned “private exercises” consisted of, lest I crush Elely’s inaccurate, albeit enviable, presumption that she, along with every other baby that had ever been born, probably, was delivered to their preselected parents via a stork with a cloth bundle in its beak in which the infant slumbered; like an insect beneath my feet.
Well, whenever I used to have feet to squash insects with, which I never did nowadays, ever since Percedal and Evangelyne exchanged their once-unabatingly unordinary lives, abounding in unremitting action and merciless foes, for one that was unabatingly…well, ordinary; and so much so that oftentimes I found myself wondering whether my wielder furtively yearned to be a warrior once more, yearned to slay enemies alongside Evangelyne, Yugo, Amalia, and, occasionally, Ruel; all while wielding me, of course, his trustworthy Shushu.
He was still a warrior, of course. Although being a father had softened him pronouncedly, he still possessed that idiosyncratic, unshakeable spunk of his, and had even passed it on to his daughter like an inherited illness.
He used his spirit elsewhere, now, and in the bedroom, no less; and, as luck, or rather, lack thereof, would have it, I was their resistant spectator every. Single. Time. Sure, perhaps they were worthy of a little unwinding every now and then considering they had rescued the world from the clutches of evil innumerable times, but even so, it could, at the very least, occur to Percedal to resettle me elsewhere.
But alas, when in the throes of passion, not much else crosses one’s mind besides the passion itself, I suppose, and, unsurprisingly, my wielder was no exception to this unwritten rule. Granted, it had been some time since they had last partaken in their “private exercises,” on account of the fact that Evangelyne’s belly was on the brink of bursting like a balloon once it’s pierced with a needle, a concerningly sharp fingernail, or some other sharp object; that she was mere days away from bringing yet another Iop (or Cra) into the world, the same world his (or her) parents would protect for perpetuity, or, at the very least, as long as their lifespans would allow.
Perhaps they would postpone their “private exercises” until the infant no longer interrupted every moment they had alone with a wail that was consequential of its empty stomach, or perhaps they would even abolish them altogether after having ascertained that three children was plenty. But, as they say, a Shushu can only hope.
It wasn’t that I was resentful of my wielder’s contentedness, or that I regarded him undeserving of it, no; it was just that I could no longer withstand witnessing another “private exercise” firsthand, as I felt that by doing so I was encroaching on an otherwise intimate occasion. But then again, Percedal was the one at fault, not me; for he was the ignoramus who would constantly neglect to extract me from my usual whereabouts against the wall, which is also where he and Eva would sometimes shove each other against, an aspect I was immensely appreciative towards, for whenever they did so I would plummet from my mount and clatter facedown—or, to be more exact, eyedown—to the floor, where I would then see total darkness as opposed to body parts of my wielder I had never wanted, and would likely never be accustomed to, glimpsing.
Even Evangelyne, who was ordinarily so, well, sane, would renounce her rationality the instant she was unclothed, or even half-clad in her typical attire. Not that I complained, of course; I may be nothing more than an obstinate Shushu imprisoned in a sword for perpetuity, but even I can admit that the woman is tantalizing. I never told her so, obviously; lest she rob me of my eye and therefore future opportunities during which I could ogle her more intently.
On second thought, perhaps observing my wielder and his lover’s “private exercises” wasn’t as insufferable as I spent the better part of two pages suggesting. Love was, after all, the least Percedal and Evangelyne deserved after all the adversities they had endured since joining the Brotherhood of The Tofu, and besides, their children were delightful. If anything, I’d encourage Dally and Eva to produce even more of them. As rapidly as rabbits, even.
But in the meantime, I might as well revel in the infrequent interlude during which no such “private exercises” were occurring, because who knows when—or if—it’ll be like this again.