User blog:Moritzva/Ashur ‘Ashur’ Ashur

“...Ashur, did you jump in your food again?”

A hotdog bun-footed kid stood on the top of the table, leaping up and down without a care, ketchup and mustard splattering across the antique, wooden table. Happy squeals and cries erupted as he realized oh-so-suddenly that he had been caught, scrambling around to find a place to hide. Ultimately, he fell down on his butt, cowering with a stupid grin on his face, covering his eyes because naturally, if you couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see you.

“Ashur! This is the second time this week!” A lady no older than thirty ran up to Ashur, picking him up and holding him upright in her arms. Dressed in a nice, white fur coat, Clarisse couldn’t help but smile as she looked into his cute, clueless eyes, staring forward with undying spirit and playfulness. “No!” He exclaimed as a retort, gleeful as can be. Ashur’s mouth took the shape of an O, his eyes wide open as he reached up and started poking and pulling at her short, vibrant red hair with all of his young might.

“Hey, stop that!” She laughed, feeling his soft yet dedicated scrapple with her hair. Eventually, she won and managed to pry him away, carrying him over to the counter next to the sink. “It’s so messyyyy!” Ashur pouted, still attempting to claw and ‘fix’ her hair, despite it being just out of range. He was so close! “Now, Ashur, no messing with people’s hair! And especially no jumping in your food!” Clarisse held up a finger and waggled it in front of him, which in Ashur’s mind, meant she was challenging him to a sword fight.

“Hi-YAH!” He took his hand and chopped at her finger with fury, refusing to fail after being challenged to ordeal by combat. “Ashur, focus!” Her finger retreated, which was very much a win to Ashur. He giggled a bit. She took to the procedure of removing the buns from his feet, scraping them into the garbage, which he allowed.

“So why did you step in the hotdogs this time?” “They tasted bad!” He said with a grumble, crossing his arms and looking away, moods swinging rapidly. Clarisse sighed, washing the ketchup from his feet.”

“Ashur, you can’t solve everything by destroying things. That hotdog tasted bad, but now that you destroyed it, it’ll never taste good. It’s squashed and split and ruined.” She scraped the pieces into the trash, Ashur’s face scrunching up in sadness. “...but if you add the right amount of spices and sauces, lathering it and preparing it finely, well, you’ve got a tasty hotdog, now don’t you?” Clarisse looked at the far happier Ashur, reaching forward and patting him on the forehead. She responded with a look of pure joy, looking into her life’s creation, pure and ready to take on the world with a hard head and tough fists.

“You know, Ashur, you’re going to grow up to be like my pa. You’d be a great Valev...”