Aemiiee

Kinich pays in exact change and leaves with his paper bag of buns with little fanfare. Only after Kinich has left the boundaries of the Scions of the Canopy, Ajaw decides it is finally late enough in the morning to make his presence known. 

“Ughh, Mini Asha Pockets again? Is that all you eat? Bread Girl was right, you gotta start trying more things—or at least things that aren’t old… Then again, maybe you’ll catch food poisoning and finally kill over, haha!”

Kinich does not deign to respond. He instead stuffs the last pastry into his mouth with one hand while crumpling up the bag with the other. He heads towards the meeting area of the day’s commission, mentally calculating how much he should charge for the travel fee.

“Shit—you really saved our skin, Malipo! We’d be seriously screwed without your help. We’ll double—no, triple your compensation as thanks…”

It has been a while since Kinich’s pockets have been so full. The mora is a heavy weight on his hip as he returns home through the Huitztlan market. He considers what he could spend the unexpected bonus mora on, drowning out Ajaw’s own ridiculous suggestions being shouted in his ear.

Perhaps Kinich should take a vacation. With this amount of mora he could afford to take several days off from hunting to rest or enjoy some cliff-diving, maybe even purchase some new climbing gear if the price is right.

As he frequently does when he finds himself with a decent amount of money, Kinich unwillingly remembers his father.

He remembers the “good” nights when his father stumbled through the door laughing, boisterous and flushed with alcohol as he offered a colorful box of chocolates to a young Kinich and a sweet-smelling bouquet of roses to his mother. 

Back then Kinich had been too naïve to understand why his mother would see those pretty flowers and immediately start to cry.

“—a fuckin’ steal! That’s like two week’s worth of bread for only a thousand mora!”

Kinich’s pace slows as he watches two middle-aged men exiting the tent just a few meters ahead, their arms carrying burlap bags stuffed full of baked goods. Even without a logo Kinich recognizes their origin. The cute, puffy shape gives away your iconic Mini Asha Pockets. The sight alone causes Kinich’s mouth to water, a convenient reminder that he has yet to eat dinner. 

“I can’t believe that story worked! You’re one hell of an actor.”

The two men erupt into laughter, shoulders knocking against each other as they all but skip down the street. Kinich stands frozen in place, eyes glued to the familiar shop sign ahead. 

“Oiii—are you even listening to me, lizard brain? How dare you disrespect your Almighty Demonlord, K’uhul Ajaw—oh, is that the bakery? It smells good—hey, why don’t you put some of that shiny new coin to good use and feed me, you stingy bastard!”

To Kinich’s dismay, Ajaw was onto something. It seemed your bakery was having some sort of sale, a bag full of bread for only one thousand mora? That was a ninety percent discount, he would be a fool not to take advantage of such terms.

With that thought, Kinich enters your shop for the second time today while ignoring Ajaw’s animated celebration featuring confetti and a noisemaker he most certainly does not need.

Inside, Kinich half expects to see the shelves completely barren with brightly colored signs announcing some sort of clearance sale or everything must go. Thankfully, your stock is more or less how it usually is at this time in the early evening, limited but not bare, and there is no indication of an imminent permanent closure. 

As he reaches the back of the shop he spots you at the counter, handing a bag of colorful Saurus Crackers to a small child. The child hands you a few coins in exchange and even from a distance Kinich can tell the amount is insufficient. He expects you to point it out, perhaps make one of those clever jokes you seem so fond of that subtly clues the child in on the missing mora. Or perhaps you will opt for directness, something you tend to do with particularly new customers who may not understand your sense of humor yet, kindly pointing out that the payment is short so the child can rectify his mistake.

To Kinich’s disbelief, you do not even bother to count the mora in your hand. Your warm eyes remain on the young customer, bidding him a cheerful farewell as he returns your smile with a toothy grin of his own. Shouting out a cheerful “thank you, miss baker,” the child turns on his heel and runs out of the shop with excitement, clutching the bag of treats to his chest tightly.

Kinich watches, mildly appalled, as you simply put the unknown amount of mora in a glass jar and turn back to review some paperwork on your counter. 

“Heeey—are we getting some snacks or are you just gonna stare at Bread Girl all day? I’m starvin’ here!”

Ajaw’s voice—earsplintering as always—startles you into looking up. Your wide eyes flicker between the floating dragon and Kinich before flickering with recognition that has your shoulders visibly relaxing. 

“Hey, Ajaw,” you greet with a smile before shifting your attention to him. “Kinich.”

Your expression shifts into something still positive but slightly less sweet than what you had offered Ajaw. He has noticed it several times before but he is reminded yet again that you seem to regard him differently from your other customers. The distinction makes his chest twist in a way he can not quite identify. 

It tends to be easier to read your emotions than his own.

To his left, Ajaw has already started spouting some backhanded praise towards you for acknowledging his presence first, something he claims should be common sense, but neither of you pay him any mind. 

 “It’s quite unusual to see you in the afternoon,” you continue, “have you finally grown tired of eating day-old bread?” 

“I heard rumors of a sale,” Kinich explains, stretching the truth only slightly, “a bag full for only a thousand mora.”

Your brows furrow in confusion, head tilting as you seem to parse through his words. Kinich’s gaze flickers down as your lips move, seeming to form the beginning of a question before you pause. Something seems to click then because you are suddenly smiling again, eyes dancing with mirth. Privately, Kinich wonders at how effortlessly expressive you are, a direct contrast to his stolid tendencies.

“Oh, the two men from earlier?”

He nods and your expression changes yet again to something much softer, almost forlorn as you sigh.

“Those two—archons bless them—were recently injured on a dangerous commission. I just wanted to help them out a little while they're unable to work, no one should go to bed hungry.” 

Kinich recalls the two lively men in his recent memory, playfully jostling each other and chattering about which beer goes best with bread. They seemed to be far from recently injured and unable to work. He is beginning to have a sneaking suspicion…

“What about the one just now,” Kinich presses, “he conned you out of a few mora for those cookies.”

Your sympathetic expression melts back into more of the teasing amusement he is used to before you give him a brief lookover, hands raising to rest on your hips. The pose conjures up fuzzy memories of his mother, an exasperated but fond tone calling his name and lightly scolding him for staying out to play just a little too late. Kinich is not sure but he suspects that you and his mother would have gotten along.

“That was a child, Kinich. He didn’t con me, he probably just miscounted.”

For the first time since he has known you Kinich finds himself slightly irked in your presence. Your nonchalance towards something as important as mora is off-putting, conjuring up memories of people he would rather forget. The sneaking suspicion has become a full on red alert.

“But that means you’re short by several thousand mora today,” he attempts to explain patiently. “What if someone comes in tomorrow claiming that they are sick? Or that child tells all of his friends to come here for the same price?”

You simply wave him off, shaking your head with a smile like it’s nothing. It frustrates him more than he thinks it probably should.

“That’s fine,” you say, “mora isn’t everything, y’know?”

“Ha! Seeeee, Kinich? I've been tryin’ to tell this stingy bastard that for years–!”

Kinich has concluded that you are simply incapable of reading people. 

It is ironic, really, considering you seem to have read him so well. While most tend to confuse his muted expressions and blunt dialogue for boredom or annoyance, you never seemed to have such premonitions. You seemed to have a knack for knowing when Kinich was in a particularly positive mood—those were the days you allowed the friendly banter to linger a little longer. Likewise, on the days that were darker, when the haunting memories and expectations seem to have finally caught up with him, you distract him from his thoughts. You could read Kinich—the man notoriously rumored to be cold-blooded and pragmatic to a fault–like an open book and yet it seemed even the most obvious of liars could get over on you. 

Kinich has found himself in your bakery at random times nearly every day this week. Last week’s large payout has freed him from the usual time constraints of daily commissions, allowing Kinich to visit your shop during the much busier lunch and evening hours. On every visit he has seen you interact with various customers and each time you have gotten ripped off.

On Monday it was a small child, a little girl with curly pigtails and missing front teeth taking full advantage of her innocent face to ask if she could have some extra treats in her bag for her family’s “new puppy.”

You tossed several puffed grainfruit bars into the bag without hesitation.

On Wednesday it was an elderly woman who swindled you with a sob story about her grandchildren coming to visit for the first time. The grandmother droned on and on about how her children had all moved to other nations and started new lives, too busy to send more than a few letters a year and that she regrets missing the birth of her precious grandchildren.

Through teary eyes, you offered her a fifty-percent discount.

On Thursday it was a young couple. Newly engaged, they had said, constantly cuddling up against each other and stealing kisses in a nauseating display of affection. The wedding would be a small affair, only attended by their closest friends as neither family approved of the marriage.

You smiled sweetly and offered to make their wedding cake for free.

You listen to everyone without pretense, believe every impossible circumstance and unlikely scenario without batting an eye. He has never in his life met someone with so much disregard for common sense. 

Kinich does not understand it. Every time he has interacted with you, you seem to see right through him, eyeing him knowingly when his eye catches on the fresh batch of Mini Asha Pockets or insisting that he takes a few days of rest after a particularly challeging hunt. What about other customers made them so difficult for you to read? 

And even more concerning than your inability to read people is your inability to see the value in mora.

He knew your background—it was something you had shared with him on several of his visits. He knew that your family was well off and that they had sent you to the best mentors in Natlan to study maths and history. You spoke eloquently when you wanted to, he knew you were far from a fool. And yet you insist upon underselling your own goods at every turn.

“Mora isn’t everything, y’know?”

Except mora quite literally is everything. Mora is the water in the river, the meat filling your belly, the colorful box of chocolates that promise no more pain for tonight. Everything and everyone has a cost. How did you not understand that?

Kinich initially tried to let it go. The two of you were not exactly friends, barely even acquaintances, really. Despite how familiar and friendly you seemed to treat him you were simply the girl he buys his daily bread from and he was simply your customer. 

Then he found out about the papers.

It was not uncommon to find you hunched over a haphazard pile of papers during slow hours in the bakery. Kinich had not thought much of it—they were likely recipes or inventory order forms–standard fair for a business, he assumed.

But one morning he had approached the counter only to find you fast asleep. The sight was foreign, he had never seen you anything less than energetic even in the earliest hours. He had asked before—well, really Ajaw had asked but really it was the same thing–how you managed to be so peppy working at the crack of dawn. You had replied with a smile so bright it made the whole bakery feel several degrees warmer.

“Making my customers happy gives me all the energy I need.”

Yet here you were, slumped over and completely vulnerable in a way that made his chest feel tight. 

Kinich mentally thanks the archons that Ajaw hates early mornings too much to appear right now. 

He should wake you up, he thinks. Anyone could come in at any moment. If a customer comes in and sees you asleep you might miss out on a potential sale.

Or if a thief comes in…

That trail of thought ends abruptly. He is here so you are protected, he is Malipo Kinich afterall.

His attention is drawn back to the present when you softly murmur in your sleep, nuzzling your cheek deeper into the stack of papers beneath you. A small line of drool leaks from the corner of your mouth, catching Kinich's sharp gaze as it drips down and smears a bit of ink.That is when he finally registers what is written at the top of each page.

PAST DUE INVOICE – FINAL NOTICE

Kinich freezes as you begin to stir awake, yawning loudly before you notice the presence of another person and jolt. Your wide eyes meet his own before glancing down at the bag of discount Mini Asha Pockets in his hand then back up to the first few rays of sunrise peaking behind him. 

“Oh archons—I am so sorry,” you fluster, nearly tripping over yourself to open the cash register, “I’ve never fallen asleep at the bakery before but I haven’t been sleeping as much lately with the new hours and—ugh, now I’m rambling—your total is three thousan—"

“New hours?”

You pause and suddenly turn sheepish, avoiding eye contact to Kinich’s frustration.

“Ah, yeah. The bakery hasn’t been doing so well lately so I’m trying to stay open later to hopefully increase sales during the summer months.”

Kinich opens his mouth, not entirely sure himself what he was planning to say when Ajaw appears, startling both of you. 

“The Almighty Dragonlord, K’uhul Ajaw, grows thirsty and demands a cup of the finest fruit juice!”

You process Kinich’s purchase quickly after that and he pays in exact change, as always. He manages to leave the bakery only a few minutes later than usual, still plenty of time to reach his destination. Ajaw is momentarily placated with the promise of ample quenepa berries prime for juicing along their route. The paper bag of Mini Asha Pockets in his hands look and taste the same as always and yet the sight of the little yellow “30% off” sticker causes his stomach to roll with something unpleasant.

A hero may adopt many different roles within a community.

At least, that is what Kinich tries to tell himself when he is threatening a pair of grown men over a pack of Puff Pops. He stands tall, quietly staring down the two men cowering on their knees as they beg for forgiveness from the Great Malipo Kinich and promise to only pay full price for goods from now on.

Truthfully, Kinich has not really done much in the way of violence. His reputation as an experienced hunter and Ancient Name bearer alone tend to set an air of unease amongst those he meets for the first time, only amplified by his utilitarian approach to business. It is actually Ajaw who seems to do most of the work for him in this case, the abrasive dragon more than happy to spew creative threats involving various forms of ancient torture. Kinich chooses to disregard that most of Ajaw’s threats seem to begin with: “Once Kinich finally kicks rocks and I take over his body…”

In Kinich’s defense, this confrontation had not been premeditated. Kinich had not set out this morning with the intentions of threatening the members of his own tribe but he just happened to once again be visiting your bakery in the late afternoon when he spotted the two “injured” men from a few weeks ago in the process of delivering yet another piss poor sob story to you. 

“It’s been a real tough past few days with the wife sick and the kids strugglin’ to make friends–would really mean a lot if we could bring home some extra treats for ‘em, y’know? But the guild has been really stingy with commissions and you know I still have that issue with my hip–” 

Kinich nearly rolls his eyes at the balding man attempting to mime a broken hip, his friend beside him pretending to help him balance. His bored gaze shifts over to look at you behind the counter only to see you clearly eating it up. You star at the two men with pitiful, watery eyes, nodding along sympathetically. You are so unbelievably gullible. 

It is when you begin reaching under the counter for a box of expensive imported chocolates that Kinich decides he needs to intervene. With three large steps, Kinich physically cuts into the conversation, grabbing each man by the back of the tunic and pulling them away with the excuse of needing to discuss the details of an upcoming commission.

Following a stern reminder not to swindle anymore bake shops, punctuated with some very vivid threats courtesy of Ajaw, Kinich returns to your bakery with the pair of men looking unnaturally pale right behind him. You welcome the men back warmly but they suddenly seem disinterested in conversation and pointedly avoid eye contact as they quickly complete their purchases at full price with a generous tip. Once the men have left–practically tripping over each other in their haste to leave–you shoot Kinich a suspicious look to which he innocently shrugs.

The next few weeks progress similarly. 

Kinich finds himself feeling more and more like a security guard, silently keeping tabs on customers and “encouraging” any who attempt to take advantage of your bleeding heart for a discount. You seem oblivious to it all, cheerfully remarking that profits are higher than usual this month followed immediately by gratitude towards the archons for their blessings. Kinich merely nods along, taking his time to look through each item in your bestsellers section. 

That is perhaps the most obvious change. Kinich finds himself gravitating towards the slightly more expensive fresh pastries, much to your delight.

“You’ve finally had enough of the stale leftovers?”

“...something like that.”

“Haha, well since you’re my dear friend I’ll give you a discount–”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Kinich assumes all is resolved. Your profits are at an all-time high, the store has returned to its usual hours, and even his daily bread tastes better now that it is fresh.

That all takes a turn one Friday afternoon. 

Kinich is negotiating a deal for a rare Nagadus emerald necklace with a foreign merchant insistent on overcharging. He is calmly arguing, something about the abundance of emeralds in Natlan, when he happens to spot you exiting your shop out of the corner of his eyes. You’re holding a tote bag full of packaged pastries and happen to look in his direction. Once you spot him you shoot him a dazzling smile and enthusiastic wave. He watches as you make your way towards a group of small children playing in the dirt. You offer a loaf of bread and within moments the children all swarm around you in a circle, jumping up and down in excitement as you pass out pastries and rolls and cookies to each one. Kinich doesn’t realize he has stopped talking mid-sentence until the merchant chuckles, turning to look at you as well.

“That yer girlfriend? She’s a cute one ain’t she.”

Kinich bristles, shoulders tensing at the comment. He opens his mouth to say something–a correction or a threat, he isn’t sure himself–but before he can the man is already speaking again. 

“Kind girl, too. She’s always givin’ to those in need–saved my skin a few times when sales weren’t doin’ too well.”

Kind or foolish? A month ago the answer was simple to Kinich. Everything has a cost, from the meat that fills your belly to the canopy above your head. To willingly deprive yourself of things was insanity.

And yet as he watches you hand an Asha Pocket to a scrawny child who looks up at you with starry eyes, Kinich sees himself. Only six years old but already an adventurer, tanned skin littered in bruises and scrapes. He remembers his stomach would always hurt back then. On the days father came home drunk he would go to bed hungry, the aches in his stomach matching the throbbing in his swollen cheek. On the days father came home with succulent boar and potatoes and pita bread Kinich would eat and eat, stuffing himself so full his stomach ached because he could not be sure when his next meal would come. 

If he had met someone like you he wonders how differently things might have been. 

“Tell ya what,” the merchant suddenly says, startling Kinich as he drops the necklace right into his hands, “I’ll give it to ya—ayni wawqi—today for you, tomorrow for me. In exchange, I want ya t’ thank ya girl for me.”

The merchant nods before turning to leave Kinich to stare in mild shock at the necklace in his hand.

“What a steal–!”

Ajaw cheers, flickering in to examine the green gem more closely,

“This is a gem fit for even the Almighty Dragonlord, K’uhul A–hey, where are we going!?”

Your tote bag is half empty by the time Kinich reaches your side, Ajaw unwillingly dragged alongside him. Wordlessly, Kinich takes the bag from your hands and begins distributing treats to the remaining children. You nearly gawk at him but he pretends not to notice, focusing instead on handing a pack Mini Asha Pockets to a little girl. The girl receives the package with both hands, nearly reverent as she thanks him with starry eyes. Kinich stiffly nods and the girl runs off towards the other children who have already begun sharing their spoils amongst each other. 

“Well, well,” you begin with a teasing lilt to your voice, “never thought I’d see the day the stingy Malipo Kinich offers anything for free.”

Kinich spares you a glance, saurian eyes catching on the curve of your smile.

“It’s not free.”

Your smile falls and you blink at him with confusion.

“Huh?”

“It’s not free,” he repeats, fishing out another pastry from the bag, “these children…one day they will become the scholars and hunters and heroes of our tribe. They pay us by growing up and building a stronger Natlan.”

The explanation is very pragmatic, very Kinich. Your eyes crease as laughter bubbles from your lips, amused and touched all at the same time. He feels his own cheeks pull into a smile as he watches you, warmer and more dazzling than the desert sun. As he thought, everything has a cost…

But perhaps not all costs must be paid in mora. 

“Bleeegh, since when did lizard brain become such a sap!?”