Pairing: Waka!Sin and Child!Ja’far
It just keeps staring at him.
Sinbad sighs, attempting without success to ignore the tiny figure perpetually lurking in or just beyond the corner of his field of vision. It’s exceedingly difficult, however, when he can virtually feel dark eyes boring into him and twitches involuntarily.
This had been going on for…was it two days now? Yes, he was supposed to have died two nights ago, had managed to avoid his death by pint-sized assassin, and now it seemed that same tiny assassin had taken to following him around. The kid had stayed at all times exactly twenty steps behind him, pausing when he paused, running when he ran, and had kept up admirably, an impressive feat considering he was approximately half of Sinbad’s height.
Still, that did nothing to alleviate the general strangeness of it all. Periodically he had stopped walking through the day to turn around and see the child, he was still a child, wasn’t he? a short distance behind, watching him with an impassive expression and refusing to move a muscle until he had turned around to continue on his way.
It wasn’t like he was in much danger of losing his life at the kid’s hands, he had taken his weapons after he realized the boy, having failed to kill him, intended to kill himself with them instead. Strange weapons, though. Who on earth used wires? But he had spent two nights setting up shelter as he headed for the next city and falling into an uneasy sleep and waking up to find the child standing a short distance from the entrance to his makeshift tent just staring. And now, having set up for a third night, he’s decided he’s had enough. Sitting outside the entrance to the tent, he spies the silhouette of the boy’s figure in the darkness.
“Oi…” He stands with a sigh, crossing over and kneeling down in front of him so that their eyes are at the same level. He’s met with a deadpan stare, as the child neither moves nor blinks. “Have you been eating?”
“Have you been sleeping?”
“Do you want something to eat?”
At last, the child makes a motion, if only to pull his ragged cloak up about him, but remains stubbornly silent. Sinbad’s arms fold in mild irritation, it was like carrying on a conversation with a rock, before he reaches forward and scoops the child up. And suddenly, the tiny figure bursts into action, kicking and flailing as he attempts to free himself, but two days of travel and no food and little rest has had an effect on him after all and he finds he’s exhausted after no more than a few seconds of struggle. With little effort, Sinbad carries him underneath his arm and sets him on the edge of his sleeping mat before pushing a pouch of drinking water to his lips.
In keeping with his unyielding demeanor thus far, the child purses his lips so that a dribble of water runs down his chin and drips into his lap rather than entering his mouth, but it’s touched his lips and he’s desperately thirsty, his body has registered that this is water and overrides his mind that refuses it, mouth opening of its own accord as he gulps the liquid down. Watching the child, the corner of Sinbad’s lips quirk in a smile. It seems like he’s won this battle, at least. Turning for a brief second, he rummages further through his bag, extracting a bundle containing half a loaf of bread from which he tears off a piece to place in the tiny assassin’s hands.
The child looks down at the piece of bread in his grasp as if it was something new to him entirely, before bringing it up to his lips to take a cautious sniff.
“It’s not poisoned.” Sinbad sighs in exasperation, “see? Look.” He tears off another piece of bread and bites into it, the assassin watching intently as he chews and swallows and finally, having assessed that there was no risk, takes a small bite from his own piece. Extraordinarily tired, Sinbad steps around him to lie down on the mat, arms folded behind his head, and closes his eyes for a brief moment before a quiet voice forces them back open.
“Oh hey, you can talk.” Sinbad smiles as he waves the thanks away with a gesture of his hand, “What’s your name, kid?” No need to introduce himself, he assumed that if the kid had been trying to kill him, he was already well aware of his name.
Dark eyes immediately drop at the question and the child looks away, drawing his knees up to his chest to curl into a tiny ball as if trying to minimize his presence.