Prompt: A moment of pounding

He strode down the path, chewing on his baked potato. This was the only thing he could find to eat. While peeling the skin off, he accidentally burnt himself. Swearing, Hamlet dropped the thing; he stared at it on the ground in disbelief. 

"Gosh, damn it."

It was beginning to look like a bad day. Cursing his luck, he kept walking on the same path, hoping to come across more food from somewhere. Meanwhile, his stomach kept complaining. He thought about sneaking into someone's backyard to steal some produce but decided against it. Maybe convincing them that they should hand it over would be the better option; plus, it would be less pathetic. Sighing deeply, he kept ruminating over his lost breakfast. If Hamlet worked, then maybe he wouldn't be scrounging for sustenance. Except he deemed that he was too good for any job and refused to work. Most of his money was made from selling found items. He was also too proud to pick up the stupid potato from the ground and eat it.

Just as he rounded the corner on the street, he heard some heavy breathing and groaning. Hamlet was not surprised, it was Burrowgatory after all. He definitely did not want to see buns having a good time. Perhaps he should go in the other direction. But then again, perhaps they're distracted and there is food to be found...

Sneaking over to where the sounds were coming from, he could also hear some sort of pounding. Geez, they are really going at it. Just as he was about to peek over the fence, he felt somewhat of a conscience. This seems like a poor idea, it said. His stomach disagreed, loudly. He has seen many buns in the act, and this would not be any different. Peering over the wooden dividers, what he saw was not what he expected.

It was a buff succubun slamming some sort of mallet onto a table? No...it was more of a bowl. A table-bowl. The bun was sweating and huffing and puffing. The hell is he doing, thought Hamlet. Some sort of white substance seemed to be the focus; it was sticking to the hammer head with each pull.

Dan stopped pounding to take a break. He wiped the back of his paw over his brow and took a deep breath. Grabbing the water behind him, he took a swig of it; that is when he spotted the peeking bun. "Hey there!"

Hamlet froze. Shit, looks like he had been spotted. It crossed his mind if he should run for it, but why run? He was not doing anything wrong, right? 

"Want to give it a try?" Dan mused.

Hamlet frowned. "Try what, exactly?"

"Pounding mochi."

Is that what that is? He rounded the fence and walked into the yard where the action was. The place was covered in what looked like flour, or maybe it was starch. He was not entirely sure. Looking back at Dan, who was smiling politely at him, hand on hip, Hamlet shook his head. "No. I think I am good."

"That's alright. It is hard work after all."

Hard work? What, is he challenging me? Hamlet did not appreciate Dan's comment despite the fact it was merely a simple comment. How hard can it be? Mochi is soft and easy to rip. He's had a few in his time; mostly found left on tables as leftovers, but they did not seem that special. "I doubt it's that difficult." He turned to leave.

"Oh? Then why don't you give it a try?" Dan challenged him this time. 

Alright, wise-ass, I will show you. Picking up the mallet Dan had held out for him, he looked at it and then at the mochi sitting in front of him. Hesitating, he was actually not sure how to proceed.

"Try lifting the mallet over your shoulder and slamming it down on the mortar where the mochi is."

"I know what to do," Hamlet lied. As per Dan's instructions, he lifted the mallet, but not too high. This thing is heavy. Wobbling a little, he tried his best to lift it higher. Before he could fully control it, it fell forward and a splat could be heard and the mallet met with the mochi. They both stared in silence at the food. "I was testing it," he lied again.

Winding up again, Hamlet tried to use all his strength in lifting the thing. Okay, this time, slam it down hard. He swung and missed his target completely.

Dan tried not to laugh too hard. "Whoah there, wise guy," he chuckled, grabbing the mallet. "Let me show you."

Hamlet would not let go. "No, I got it, alright."

"Fine. Try again."

Hamlet huffed up his chest, and lifted the tool, slamming it down onto the mochi this time. Feeling proud, he smirked and turned to Dan. Part of him was expecting loud applause but the mochi-making bun just looked at him with a dead-pan face. 

"You need to hit harder," came Dan's response.

Hamlet wanted to punch him in the face. Harder?! He felt like his arms were already sore. How much harder? He tried not to let his emotions show. Dan did not wait and grabbed the mallet out of his paws this time; he began pounding the mochi with such might and force, that the dough was moulding and sticking to both the hammer and the bowl. After a few rounds, Dan stopped and stuck the mallet out again to Hamlet, waiting silently.

He was not about to let this guy show him off. Over the course of the next thirty minutes, the two exchanged few words. But Dan patiently guided Hamlet when he was willing to listen that is. 

"Let's stop here," Dan said. Hamlet dropped the mallet and keeled over, breathing hard. Dan stepped over and looked down at him. "Name's Dan," he held out his hoof.

Hamlet took a few more moments on the ground and then got up on his own, waving Dan's hand away. "Hamlet." 

"Nice to meet you. Now, how about we do something about that growling," Dan smiled and began walking into his home.

Still out of breath, Hamlet frowned. "That's why I struggled with the pounding," he lied, yet again, following Dan inside.