Post by Bobbie on Sept 16, 2023 14:25:10 GMT -5
Since Yoshi washed up on the shore of Flat Farm Island on his stolen row boat, he quickly found himself a refugee on the island. Having already seen a poster with his face on it and his bounty for the murder he was framed for on The Fountain, he knew that he couldn’t venture into the centre of the island - at least, not just yet. He had no money or any of his belongings other than the clothes on his back.
He was determined, instead, to survive long enough on the outskirts to collect as many offerings as he could in order to last until he could seek out more comfortable lodging and, most importantly, get himself a ticket off this island. He needed to redeem himself and clear his name, set the record straight and clarify that he never killed anyone.
Such a task proved to be more difficult than he anticipated to get started, but it seemed that once he got the ball rolling, he felt quite welcome among less up-to-date citizens on the outer perimeters of the island’s communities. Yoshi learnt from a young age to use his talents to his advantage, and that was exactly what he did, singing in the streets and accepting generous donations from passers-by, until he had to move on to a new area so as to avoid the risk of being recognised by anyone who had seen the most recent newspapers.
While most of the people he encountered seemed to enjoy his beatboxing and singing, there were a few people who didn’t and took a less respectable approach of making their distaste known, throwing items at Yoshi to shut him up and keep the musician quiet from creating his racket. Little did they know, Yoshi thought, that the tomatoes thrown his way were as welcome a donation as money - the ones that he could catch before they splatted on him, that was.
Only on day two, the yellow-jacket music artist appeared to have hit the jackpot! A group of workers were lazily and unenthusiastically dragging their feet on their way to the fields early in the morning, as Yoshi was waking up from his slumber in the outdoors, huddled up in his scarf. Immediately recognising the dirt on their attire as a clear indication of a manual labourer, Yoshi sprang to his feet, grabbed the little pouch he’d put together to be his coin purse, and he hurried after the group. He kept his distance, unsure of how friendly they were and started to beatbox a rhythm that matched their gait perfectly.
“In the fields, in the land, we beat our hands - in the ground, in the earth, we plough the lands,” he started to sing, hiding his nerves behind a feigned confidence. It took more concentration than he was prepared for to provide a beat that would synchronise with each left step, maintaining a natural rhythm that most individuals would be inclined to resonate with.
When they slowed down, puzzled as they heard music that seemed to follow them, Yoshi slowed down as well, prepared to run if he needed to but he sang on.
“To feed our kids, and to feed our wives, we go in burning sun,” his song took on a faster rhythm, perhaps subconsciously mimicking his own racing heart as he wasn’t sure if he was about to have a cheery audience or black eye soon. “And tire-less-ly we go!”
The silence that followed was awkward to say the least as both parties stood still, watching each other. To Yoshi’s relief, that silence was soon broken as the group of workers started laughing and nudging each other before they all started clapping their hands to the rhythm Yoshi had just been beatboxing. They got the words all wrong, and half of them were out of tune, but the gang tried their best to mimic the catchy tune, gesturing for blond to walk with them.
No words needed to be exchanged - they didn’t care where he came from, but could recognise a vagrant when they saw one; and he didn’t care what these men did, but knew workers in need of motivation when he saw them.
All the way to the field that belonged to a widowed woman named Mrs Bentley, the group sang like a marching band, stamping their feet instead of dragging them to walk with double the energy they had moments ago. Occasionally, one patted Yoshi's back, which made the young lad recoil from their touch, but they never seemed to notice, and the action was repeated.
He was determined, instead, to survive long enough on the outskirts to collect as many offerings as he could in order to last until he could seek out more comfortable lodging and, most importantly, get himself a ticket off this island. He needed to redeem himself and clear his name, set the record straight and clarify that he never killed anyone.
Such a task proved to be more difficult than he anticipated to get started, but it seemed that once he got the ball rolling, he felt quite welcome among less up-to-date citizens on the outer perimeters of the island’s communities. Yoshi learnt from a young age to use his talents to his advantage, and that was exactly what he did, singing in the streets and accepting generous donations from passers-by, until he had to move on to a new area so as to avoid the risk of being recognised by anyone who had seen the most recent newspapers.
While most of the people he encountered seemed to enjoy his beatboxing and singing, there were a few people who didn’t and took a less respectable approach of making their distaste known, throwing items at Yoshi to shut him up and keep the musician quiet from creating his racket. Little did they know, Yoshi thought, that the tomatoes thrown his way were as welcome a donation as money - the ones that he could catch before they splatted on him, that was.
Only on day two, the yellow-jacket music artist appeared to have hit the jackpot! A group of workers were lazily and unenthusiastically dragging their feet on their way to the fields early in the morning, as Yoshi was waking up from his slumber in the outdoors, huddled up in his scarf. Immediately recognising the dirt on their attire as a clear indication of a manual labourer, Yoshi sprang to his feet, grabbed the little pouch he’d put together to be his coin purse, and he hurried after the group. He kept his distance, unsure of how friendly they were and started to beatbox a rhythm that matched their gait perfectly.
“In the fields, in the land, we beat our hands - in the ground, in the earth, we plough the lands,” he started to sing, hiding his nerves behind a feigned confidence. It took more concentration than he was prepared for to provide a beat that would synchronise with each left step, maintaining a natural rhythm that most individuals would be inclined to resonate with.
When they slowed down, puzzled as they heard music that seemed to follow them, Yoshi slowed down as well, prepared to run if he needed to but he sang on.
“To feed our kids, and to feed our wives, we go in burning sun,” his song took on a faster rhythm, perhaps subconsciously mimicking his own racing heart as he wasn’t sure if he was about to have a cheery audience or black eye soon. “And tire-less-ly we go!”
The silence that followed was awkward to say the least as both parties stood still, watching each other. To Yoshi’s relief, that silence was soon broken as the group of workers started laughing and nudging each other before they all started clapping their hands to the rhythm Yoshi had just been beatboxing. They got the words all wrong, and half of them were out of tune, but the gang tried their best to mimic the catchy tune, gesturing for blond to walk with them.
No words needed to be exchanged - they didn’t care where he came from, but could recognise a vagrant when they saw one; and he didn’t care what these men did, but knew workers in need of motivation when he saw them.
All the way to the field that belonged to a widowed woman named Mrs Bentley, the group sang like a marching band, stamping their feet instead of dragging them to walk with double the energy they had moments ago. Occasionally, one patted Yoshi's back, which made the young lad recoil from their touch, but they never seemed to notice, and the action was repeated.
Post: 1
Yoshi: #b4ff38
Yoshi: #b4ff38
