I don't know. I should get my rear in gear and write things for stories that already exist. I can't bring myself to do it. And I've been away from writing for quite some time, but I miss it.
So, without further adieu, here's a little drabble I shouldn't be writing.
"So, then...the answer is sixteen?" Denzel asked, peeking up at Tifa through his messy bangs.
The brunette shook her head. "No, were you listening to what I was saying at all?" She chided, not at all angry with him. She was just a little peeved that he asked her for help on his math homework and then tuned out what she was explaining to him.
"Of course I was listening, you said something about apples and...uh, watermelon?"
"You weren't listening in the least. If you want my help, you're going to have to work with me." Tifa smiled and went back to explaining it again. "If you have eight apples in a basket, and you are carrying eight baskets--"
"I don't think I could carry two baskets."
"That isn't the point," She deadpanned.
"Well, I'd have to leave at least six baskets behind, so that would change the answer."
"Okay, you have a truck with you. And you put the baskets in the back of the truck so you don't have to carry them--"
"But I can't drive either." He pointed out. "Can they pull you over in an apple orchard?"
"I think they can pull you over anywhere, but that isn't what I'm trying to explain to you." She muttered, rubbing her forehead. "Alright, you just leave the baskets of apples in the orchard. There are eight baskets with eight apples exactly in each of them. How many apples in total do you have?"
"Two thousand."
Tifa raised both of her eyebrows. "Uh, how do you figure?"
The boy shrugged his shoulders, looking up at her. "I figured that there are about a hundred trees in your average apple orchard and each of them could probably yield twenty apples, give or take."
"Well, I suppose that could be right, but the question is asking how many apples are in the baskets. So, how many apples are in a basket?"
"Eight."
"And how many baskets are there?"
"Eight."
"Right, so. How many apples are in the baskets?"
"...eight?"
"No, all of the baskets."
"Eight! You told me there were eight apples in the baskets!"
"There are eight apples in one basket. You have eight baskets. That means that there are..." Tifa trailed off, hoping that he would finish her sentence with the correct answer.
"Still a bunch of apples to be picked from the trees, and I should stop worrying about these measly eight baskets and get to work!"
A quiet laugh came from the other side of Tifa. "If I have eight guns, and each of them contains eight bullets, how many bullets do I have?" A deep voice rumbled.
"Well, sixty-four."
Tifa looked from Denzel to Vincent and then back again. "That's the same exact thing that I said!"
Denzel rolled his eyes. "No, you were talking about apples and baskets and trucks. Thanks anyway, Tifa. I'm going to go to bed, now. I'll ask Vincent for more help tomorrow." He smiled at the man and then said goodnight to the both of them.
Tifa turned to Vincent, shaking her head. "That kid just told me an apple tree yields twenty apples. Yields! And he can multiply one hundred by twenty, but he can't take eight times eight."
"Maybe it's because he was just messing with you a little." Vincent smiled softly, leaning over and kissing her temple. "I don't think I've ever seen someone get so upset about apples.'
The bartender crossed her arms over her chest as the ex-Turk pushed himself up and started towards the stairs. "When you're done sulking, come to bed." He told her, rather amused with the situation. He began to ascend the stairs, then turned back towards her.
"Oh, and maybe I could help you with your math someday, too. Say, a private tutoring, perhaps? Fractions are especially hard."
Tifa moved to look at him, her arms still crossed. She tried to keep the angry expression on her face, but couldn't. A smile spread across her lips and she shrugged. "You be the numerator and I'll be the denominator?"