𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐲

𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐕

Back in Pilgrim World, Bianco and Yuki, dressed in their pilgrim outfits with their black hats, black shirts, white collars and gold buckles, were standing outside 'YE OLDE FUDGERY', holding wooden trays full of fudge samples, which tourists were eagerly gobbling up.

"Okay."

"This is good." they complimented.

"Delicious."

"You're welcome." Yuki replied.

Inside the wooden shop, Saturday was dressed handsomely in black pilgrim attire, standing in front of the counter holding out a wooden tray of fudge samples.

"Enjoy your "authentic" pilgrim fudge made with cacao beans procured by the oppressed indigenous people of the Amazon." he says aloofly in perfect German to the crowd of smiling tourists in front of him.

"What?" a man with wheat coloured hair and light blue eyes, asks, confused. The tourist was wearing a white polo with a dark blue shirt, on it a yellow design. He furrows his eyebrows.

"All proceeds go to uphold this pathetic whitewashing of American history." the tall, pale, black haired, obsidian eyed boy says coldly, in German, his deep voice laced with disdain.

An old man with white hair, glances nervously around, likely knowing what the young boy in front of him was saying. Blue eyes of the man with the wheat coloured hair dart around the small crowd in confusion.

"Also, fudge wasn't invented for another 258 years." he briefs coldly, continuing in smooth German.

The pilgrim behind the counter was too occupied to notice what the young boy was saying.

"Any takers?" Saturday smirks, content with his sales promotion, finishing his mini German speech and offering the large wooden platter to the tourists.

"No no no." there was a wave of discontented murmuring.

The crowd of German tourists all walk nervously away.

The boy's obsidian eyes dart around the crowd with the slightest of confusions.

He catches the blue eyes of the shrewd pilgrim guide, stops smirking and stalks off.

Outside, on an old, dark coloured wooden stage, Eugene picks up his second last piece of a thick block of chocolate fudge off his white paper plate, on a checkered red and white patterned piece of paper on his pink wooden tray, with a thin toothpick. There was another white paper plate for crumbs and used toothpicks.

The short, spectacle and braces wearing, black haired, tanned boy had chocolate smudges all over his face. He was also in a black pilgrim outfit with white collars, white sleeves and golden buckles.

"Ugh." he gives a sigh of discomfort- clearly haven eaten too much of his fudge, and replaces his braces or should one say Invisalign.

Suddenly, a strong pair of arms pick him up, so he was no longer sitting comfortably on the flat wood.

Eugene gasps.

A white round boy wearing the same pilgrim outfit as all the boys working in Pilgrim World, had forced him up.

"Check out this greedy little freak." smirks his friend; a tall skinny white boy, also wearing a pilgrim outfit.

The trio had one last member- the mayor's son, Lucas.

Eugene nervously adjusts his black rimmed glasses with his hand.

"Please, I need to get back to the..." he fumbles, the smudged chocolate on his tan face giving him the appearance of a greedy little piggy.

Eugene's stomach rumbles queasily, his mouth bloats...and he vomits a load of chocolate sludge all over the skinny white boy.

"Whoa, yuck!" cries the bully, trying to spit the vomit out of his mouth, Lucas quickly dodging out of the way, though he wasn't quick enough and some specks had managed to get on him.

"Yuck man." comments the round white boy.

"Come here!" the tall, skinny white boy grabs Eugene in a rage. The short boy flinches as the stronger, taller boy forces him into the black wooden pillory on the stage with a "Get in there!", Eugene's pilgrim hat falling to the ground in the process.

Lucas was also inspecting all the vomit over the upper part of his body.

Saturday stalks silently onto the small wooden stage, glare as cold as fresh ice.

"Howdy, Pilgrims." he says in a deep, silky voice with menace laced throughout his cold tone.

The tall white boy was about to lock Eugene in, but pauses.

Saturday forces his arm under the wooden apparatus with a cold, hard rage, his grip superhuman, his face emotionless.

"Let him go." Saturday orders.

"What do you want to end up in the stocks too?" the pilgrim taunts.

"Remember what happened the last time we did this dance?" Saturday inquires softly, menacingly. He was taller than all of them by at least a head.

The young pilgrim gives him a resentful look and lets go of the top of the cangue and shoves Eugene roughly to his friends, standing behind him.

He reaches a hand out to the taller, brooding boy to which Saturday grips hard onto his outreached arm.

His pathetic offensive kick was easily beaten to the side with a swift movement of Saturday's foot. 

The pilgrim falls to the floor with a hard thud.

The three, Lucas, Eugene in the middle and the round boy watch the fight with apprehension.

He quickly gets up and haphazardly swings an arm, aiming for Saturday's head. Saturday dodges quickly, black hair flopping, and he misses by a mile. 

"Get him!" eggs the round boy.

Saturday returns to his straight posture and stops an attacking arm headed for his pale face with his own strong, large white hand.

The tall brooding boy forces the skinny boy's arm down, cracking his opponent's bones violently.

Saturday uses his other muscular hand and grabs onto the shoulder of the pilgrim, forcing the skinny boy into the black pillory. He steps hard down on the black pedal, and the top part of the cangue crashes down onto the skinny bully, his pilgrim hat fallen, defeatedly, on the ground.

The prisoner grunts in frustration, head and both hands secured in the medieval device.

Saturday stands wordlessly and coldly towards the side of the device, victorious.

The prisoner looks desperately at his relentless captor. 

The victorious boy lifts his gaze to the three watching. "Are you two still here?" he asks coldly, disdain evident in his deep voice.

His prisoner turns his desperate gaze to his friends.

"I can't get into more trouble with my dad." Lucas says defeatedly to his round mate next to him, a spray of chocolate down one side.

Eugene, standing in front of them, looks at Saturday apprehensively, then back at the bullies, chocolate vomit and sludge all over around his mouth and on his chest.

"No, wait!" The boy in the stockade calls desperately to his gang members.

His friends walk off defeatedly without another word or sparring him another glance as if to say: "You started it, now figure it out on your own."

"Lucas." he pleads, to no avail.

Saturday looks at Eugene coldly.

"Let's get you cleaned up." he orders curtly, to a soft groan by the vomit covered boy.

☟☟☟