Chapter Text
“Bull-shit.”
It was nearly midnight by the time Arthur rode back into camp and dismounted his horse, and he was halfway through making his way across camp to get to his wagon, when he heard a quiet, ongoing conversation from the campfire.
Arthur stared at his welcoming cot, illuminated in the lamplight, then looked back to the campfire with a sigh, where he spotted Bill, Sean, Lenny, Uncle and Ouma. Ouma seemed to be the center of attention, as he so liked to be, perched on a log like a bird.
“No, it’s completely true. It’s called mitsu-toro-yoko-bashiru in Japan,” Ouma stated, putting up his small, pale hand, a lit cigarette lodged gently between his pointer and middle finger, “hand to God, or whatever you fellers say.”
“Mitsu-toko-basha… shit.” Bill began to try to pronounce the long word, while Uncle raised his whiskey bottle and laughed.
“Oh yeah, mizu-yoro-dinku-takishiku, I remember that from the time I washed up on the shores of the Philippines! They have that there, too, right Ouma?” Uncle said, “It’s right next-door to Japan, after all.”
“Oh yeah, mhm, right next door!” Ouma responded cheerfully.
“So, let me get this straight—” Lenny started, running a hand over his measly stubble, “you’re claiming that in Japan—”
“Yes, in Japan, men can get pregnant,” Ouma swiveled his arm around and, suddenly, pointed directly at Arthur— Arthur hadn’t even realized he’d been staring, “Isn’t that right Arthur-chan?”
Ouma’s smile was wide as the rest of the men turned to look at him. He took a drag of his cigarette.
There was silence for a moment, as if they were waiting for Arthur to answer, but Arthur was stunlocked by the utter nonsense of the gesture and conversation topic.
“... Wait, Oumer, why would Arthur know?” Sean piped up from his lounging position on the ground.
“I have no earthly idea what you lot are even yapping about,” Arthur finally responded after taking a moment to process “but whatever it is, it’s probably just another one of Ouma’s lies.”
“Arthur-chan-Morgan-chan I am very hurt that you say I’d lie about such a sacred topic as miso-teko-baki-mahiru!” Ouma crossed his arms and puffed his cheeks, glaring at him.
“Wasn’t it mitsu-something—” Sean started.
Ouma snapped at him in Japanese.
“Oh, uru-say yourself, Oumer.” Sean took a swig of his whiskey.
Lenny looked at him pleadingly.
“Arthur, he’s been trying to convince us that men can give birth in Japan—”
“—and the Philippines!” Uncle added.
“—and every time I try to bring up anatomy, he and Uncle just say it’s different overseas.” Lenny lamented.
Arthur stuck his thumbs in his pockets, then shook his head.
“And what am I supposed to do about this?”
“Well, I think I’m just gonna strangle him if he keeps lying,” Bill flexed his fists, before leaning forward and closer to Ouma, a genuine note of curiosity in his voice, “you are lying, right?”
“Yep!” Ouma responded, chipper once more.
“Of course you’d say— …” Bill trailed off.
“Anyway, I don’t have the anatomy for it, only half the men over there have it— so no testing it out, got it?” Ouma wagged his finger at the other men, and they all made faces.
“Eugh, wasn’t planning on it.” Sean shivered.
“You’re not my type, anyway.” Uncle waved a hand and took another swig of his bottle.
The jabs turned into soft murmurs of side conversation as Arthur finally decided he’d had enough, and went to retire to bed.
As he finally made his way over to his wagon, breathing in the crisp night air as the noise grew quieter, he heard the soft sound of grass crunching.
Arthur turned around to see Ouma, hands laced behind his back, staring up at him with big, black eyes. Arthur narrowed his.
“What is it.” Arthur grumbled flatly, like it was a statement and not a question.
Ouma remained silent for a few beats, just looking up at him. Arthur froze, unsure of whether to tell him off or not.
After a few moments, the man spoke.
“Play along the next time I call on you. Kay?” Ouma said to him quietly, a smile creeping back onto his face as he raised his hand up high and flicked Arthur upside the chin.
Arthur jerked in surprise, feeling a small sting, but before he could refocus on Ouma and give him a shove, he had already run off, leaving only a small patch of dented grass where he last stood.
Arthur put his hand to his chin, where Ouma’s fingers had made contact.
He was too tired for this.