#if I'm not paying attention i WILL sing bad bad toy shiny boy with a price

[mystifiedmess]

happy third birthday lover, the hate you get is unjustified<3

[miceprincess]

Alright I'm translating more of my stuff here!

beta: @themenkhuslegacy (thank you SO MUCH)

rating: G

characters: Stakh, Artemiy, Lara, Grief, Isidor Burakh

this is pre-canon, also sorry if I'm not making the post right bc I'm still figuring out how to make it convenient to read! there also is a Community series reference haha

***

"A good knife you have, kid," said the man before Stakh, smiling with yellow teeth. "Got anything else?"

Stakh's skin crawled under his gaze. He didn't want to give away his knife, the blade sharp and solid, the handle carved by Oynon Burakh himself. It was a gift, not for work. They had a lot of knives for work: to cut grass, to draw lines on bodies, to cut bread -- this one was for love. This was the reason why Stakh cherished it so much: it was given to him for the sake of giving. It was for him to carry it on his belt, to brag to his friends about, to carve wooden figures with.

"I also got this," he said. "Hazelnut. Found it on the other side of river. A whetstone, see the symbol? It's for good luck, Erdene herself made it. Five fishing hooks, ten needles, a razor."

"Give me all of it," the guy said, his tone allowing no protest. He rolled the whetstone in his hands, as if assessing it. The words were like jabs under Stakh's skin.

"Are you serious, man...?"

"No exchange then?"

Rubin bit the inside of his cheek, handing the man all the treasures he had. It was was a pity to give the knife away, yes, and all the other things he could look or exchange for. But it was worth what he was exchanging them for!

He held his breath for a moment when he got his hands on the guitar. It was old and scratched, but it still made a good sound. Its pegs were beautiful: big, angular, made of shiny brass. He was craving for it for -- how long? Half of his life, probably, and he was already twelve.

It was late, so late, and scary to walk home from lamp to lamp. His head sank in his shoulders from the thought of Isidor's reaction; he gave his gift away, after all. But joyful excitement -- his dream came to life, finally! -- was stronger than any fear.

He crept into the house from the back door, careful to not attract Teacher's attention. He sneaked into his room, taking the guitar off his shoulder; the strings made a long, pitiful ring. Tema opened one eye, watching him with quiet laughter.

"You're a spy, eh?" he whispered. "Where'd you get it?"

"The Skinners," Stakh answered. "Traded with a guy."

He took off his jacket, threw his boots and pants in the corner, crawled in bed, and hid under the heavy blanket. He still had his shirt on, and Tema wouldn't stop laughing at him. "Get out, Cub," Stakh shushed him without bitterness, hearing Isidor's heavy steps. Then, just in case, he covered his face with the blanket. In his old house, his father would cuff his ears for this. Why should he expect any different from Isidor?

The older Burakh came in with a lantern, shadows dancing around him. He sat on the side of Stakh's bed and gave him a sad, serious look. "I wanted to go look for you, you know," he said, voice soft. "If you go somewhere, at least tell Temka -- understand? We worry about you".

Stakh gave a slight nod. It looked like he wasn't going to be yelled at. "Oynon Burakh," he said very quietly, "remember the knife you gave me? A beautiful knife... I gave it away".

It was important he confessed, for some reason.

"For the guitar?"

"It's not like I didn't want it," Stakh babbled, wanting to explain himself and not wanting to upset Isidor. "I feel bad for it. Really. But I also really wanted a guitar! You see?"

"I understand, little one. See how your eyes are sparkling. It's good that you regret it, though. You now know how it feels to pay a price". Burakh's gentle hand patted his hair. "I'm not mad at you".

These words made Stakh terribly want to cry. Isidor grumbled something like "what a bastard, took a child's toy" and left the room. Tema sat up on his bed as soon as his steps went silent.

"Who are you gonna study from, blockhead?"

"I'll find someone", Stakh answered.

"Let's ask Grief, eh? Maybe he knows someone? Dad can also be of help. You can show me the guitar tomorrow! Come on, dude. Did you really give everything you had for it? You're wild! At least he spared you your boots .... "

Stakh wanted to stay up and listen to Tema's excited babbling, but his eyes went shut and he drifted away to sleep.

When he awoke the morning after, he didn't seem quite as excited as during the night before.

"Man, it's ugly."

"So what? I'm not gonna look at it."

"It doesn't work like that. If you exchanged for it, you need everyone to go, 'Woah.'"

"So what do you propose?"

Tema did have a plan. They took red paint and varnish, and took off the guitar's strings. "This symbol is a guiding star," Tema explained. "It's for luck. This is a bull's heart, for strength. This is a hawk's eye, so they can't take their eyes off you. And this is a hare's ear, so they listen to you and can't listen enough".

Red lines wound along the guitar's deck, the designs tying into knots. It was beautiful -- and there was one thing Stakh didn't know. On the inside, with a nail, Tema scratched a special symbol for him: the wind singing in the Steppe.

Stakh wasn't a proper student with a teacher when it came to music. He picked up some things from kids, learned something from Isidor, and found an old book to study. He didn't understand much. Still, after several months, he was able to play decently -- Tema wouldn't even cover his ears.

"We need to show Gravel," he decided. The story with the guitar was kept a secret from Lara, for Stakh was a bit shy of the girl. They ran to the house on the riverside, and Tema shouted, "Hey, Lara Gravel!"

Lara's fluffy head showed up in the window.

"Confess now or hold your peace forever! Can you sing?"

"A little bit!"

"Come to our warehouse then and we'll see!"

They called Grisha Filin over, too. He brought a lantern with colourful glass and put it on the floor; red, blue and green sparkles shone on their faces. Stakh sat down on a big box, Lara next to him. "What do I play, though?" Stakh asked.

"Play a sad one that the kids sing, the one about a kitten and a puppy," suggested Tema. "You and Lara look a bit like ones."

"And who is, I'm afraid to ask, the kitten?"

"The kids believe all cats are girls and all dogs are boys," said Lara "So I am the kitten".

"Those kids are stupid".

"Never believed this nonsense".

Lara snorted and pushed Stakh's side to make him play; he placed his fingers on the guitar's strings. The song was an easy four chords, and Lara's singing was so pretty. Unlike Stakh's wacky, breaking voice, it was quiet and tender -- like glass bells ringing.

The echoes rose high under the warehouse's roof; the wind wept in the Steppe. The evening's cold came closer, the kids pressing close to each other like pups. They kept singing, trying to catch up with each other. Lara looked at him with fascination, and Grief with a soft smile. Tema looked so proud as if it was him who taught Stakh to play. And Stakh felt he wouldn't regret giving away ten knives for this.