Their stutter was so bad they could only call the being "teuf". They would get to the f and the stutter would stop them from saying the full word Teufel. The being allowed the normally rude partial word because they understand the person couldn't help it, and helped them get their farm cleaned up and fixed regardless. At least the person was trying. -- Anon Guest
The woman in the straw hat and too-big boots had a jerky way of walking and an odd twitch to one hand. She was heralded by some jeering teens imitating her jitters and cheering, "How's the weather Fffff-florence? Is it fffff-fair?"
"Ss-sod off-fffff," growled Florence.
Travail knew at once that some disease or injury had done this woman no favours, and she had difficulty with sibilants. Thus making her a target as much as he was. He judged her as a fellow outcast as a crowd of bloodthirsty sadists gathered to watch what the Hellkin would do to the cripple.
"You lookin' t-to work?" stammered Florence. "G-got a k-kettle of mm-mm-meat and peas. Nn-not a ll-otta coin."
"You gotta call him what he is, Fffff-florence," jeered a young teen.
They knew exactly the sort of trouble they wanted to happen. They wanted to see a Hellkin stab a cripple and get hanged for it. Or burned, which took longer. Travail stole their fun by saying, "And what can a Hellkin do for you, ma'am?"
"Back home. I g-got ww-weeds-sss. Needs c-clearin'."
"Then I will do what I can for you." Travail would remember the faces of the meanest, but for now, he set off. Offering his elbow to Florence like a gentleman of the city might. "Lead on, Miss."
She turned back the way she came, and Travail was happy to keep her pace. "Heard your k-kind get vv-vicious-sss with the ww-wrong ww-word. Th-th-thank'ee fffff-for ss-saving me fffff-from ss-saying it."
"I wouldn't have aimed any wrath at you, nohow," said Travail. "They already told me you couldn't help it. When there's no choice, there's no sin."
As they walked together, Florence's jitters eased. She spoke a little clearer, but the stammer never left her. By the time she was back at her home, she was hardly twitching at all. Her story came out along the way. A bad fever in childhood left her with a stammer and tremula that left her unwanted and reviled by her town. And unable to get much in the way of help.
As far as she was concerned, the rest of her town was waiting to see how she'd die. And some were laying cruel bets.
That ends today, thought Travail. But first, there was sorting out her farm. Pulling up the weeds and hoeing the ground by hand. Finding anything at all useful in the mess and setting it aside. Travail worked up a sweat and an appetite. All the while thinking of what he could do to the people in the town.
What Florence needed, he decided, was a pet devil. They were both outcasts anyway, and if they did not fear the consequences of their actions... they would come to fear the consequences of him.
Florence was not idle, either. She had not only sewn the fields, but also milked the goat that had been eating the weeds all day. It was when he sat to a stew and the fresh milk that the idea solidified in his head.
"I think I'll stay a while," said Travail. "You need the help and you make a good meal. And I will see what I can do about your tormentors."
The deal struck, he slept by the fire every night until she asked him to sleep with her in her bed.
The next time she needed to go to town, he was escorting her as a gentleman might. Again, the teens catcalled her, but this time, things were going to change.
Travail let his anger surge into his shadow, knowing that it would cause some eldritch shapes to form around him. He pointed at the group mocking Florence and said in Voulspeak, "You grew from a wart on your father's ass, and you eat horse apples every meal."
They looked horrified because Voulspeak sounded horrific to the uninitiated. "What did you just do to us?"
Travail let his fangs show as he smiled. "The next time something bad happens to you, you will remember everything you've done to my Florence, and regret it."
"Your Fffff-florence?" quavered Florence.
"I'll tell them all you fed me meat and milk, and that's why I'm yours. If you want to keep me."
"I th-think I might," said Florence. "Did you really curse th-them?"
"I don't have that power. It's just a head game. They'll be begging your forgiveness in a month at the most."
"I am sss-certainly keeping you," decided Florence.
[Photo by Jasmin Schreiber on Unsplash]
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