firabo:
It’s not every day that you see a child working on such an odd contraption, attention solely focused on what he was working on while he paid no heed to the few people who stopped to look for just a few moments before going on their way. He stays to watch unlike the others though but he keeps a good distance away from him, afraid to break his concentration. It’s interesting to watch, to see how he puts things together.
And then it happens, his sleeve catches on fire and he’s up and flailing and swatting at it in an attempt to put it out. Sabo doesn’t have any idea what to do other than stand there and watch in horror for a few moments before noticing a nearby water fountain. It probably won’t help much, but he fills both of his hands full of water and rushes over to the boy, throwing it onto the sleeve of his shirt. It’s put out…thank goodness, seems like it was just enough.
❝ Woah, are you all right!? ❞ wait, his entire sleeve is soaked in water now. That’s not good either. ❝ Sorry–I just couldn’t find a better way to help and that seemed to be the fastest way! ❞
❝ Really, I’ll buy you a new shirt if you need one. That’s your last one, right? ❞
Making fire was easy, sure! Simple stuff, like a light switch. He’d gotten used to it after a while, and now it was a function just like breathing. But putting it out once things had caught fire...now that was a whole other ballgame. Why do you think he ended up with so much singed clothing? If he wasn’t concentrating, they were unsalvageable, something he’d ended up getting scolded for on multiple occasions.
It’s dying slowly, but the rapid pattings of oily hands aren’t doing too much to help. The warmth is radiating from it, but he barely feels anything else, and he seems to be ignorant to the fact people are more concerned for his own skin than his clothing like he is. And then there’s somebody else, somebody beside him, and there’s a cool splash on his arm which douses the flame instantly and sticks the singed, wet material to his skin. He picks up the burnt edges and lets them drop, running a sooty hand through his already dirty curls with a groan.
“If you can count looking totally lame in public as alright, then I’m absolutely, positively dandy! That’s the old people’s way of saying great, right?” He lets his hand drop to his hips, now giving the other his full attention.
“Nah, you’re good, man. Thanks for the life-saving efforts, I’ll be sure to include it in my will. Half my estate to the man who poured water on my sleeve.”
“It is, but I think a poor youth like me can scramble up five dollars for a pretty white t-shirt. Might take me a while, but hey, then I don’t have to hide this sweet bod from the public.” The grin on his face hides how frustrated he is at the lack of clothing he has left. Really, only one spare outfit? Couldn’t they maybe give the flammable kid like, 6? 10? A dozen?
















