Feeling better!

“Open your mouth”

She did as requested, and he inserted the spoonful of cream onto her tongue with precision, watching her carefully to ensure that she didn’t spit it out. She noticed his look and grimaced up at him, swallowing the thick lump with difficulty.

“I ain’t going to gob it out,” she whispered bluntly, conscious of the infants sleeping above. His nostrils flared and he adjusted himself in the old armchair, shifting his mate’s weight from his bad knee. His unit had been doing exercises all morning; and he had overdone himself setting a good example. Still, he had hid his discomfort well (he believed), none of his soldiers were aware of this vulnerability in their impenetrable
leader.

“‘Gob’ it out?” he queried, slipping an arm around her waist and leaning her back against his chest. She nodded earnestly, twisting a strand of hair around her fingertip as she leant against him, legs dangling over the armrest. He reached up to remove the wireframe glasses he used for reading, folding the frames and placing them on the edge of a nearby crate. As he looked up, his reflection met his eyes briefly in the mirror propped beside the door. For a moment, he thought wryly, the candlelight made him a young man of five thousand again.

“Yes. We both know that I ‘ate the product from these eastern cow-beasts; but fat is what I need and this stuff is full of it. Hence the not GOBBING it out.” she explained earnestly, tapping her fingers on the battered velvet fabric.

He snorted, only half listening, and brought up a hand to rub the back of her neck, brushing aside the loose strands of hair that had escaped her braid. She closed her eyes, her fingers seeking out and twisting themselves against his.

“I am fed up with c-cream though,” she mumbled after a moment. “I ‘ave cream with berries in the morning. Cream in my soup at lunch. Cream in my meat sauce for dinner. Ain’t there nofing else that is cheap and fat-full?”

He brought her hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle in turn thoughtfully as he pondered; the creases in his brow deepening.

“You could eat more cheese. Stormwind brie is nearly all fat.”

“Hmmm,” said Leafsong; then “Ha!” as a small whimper, audible only to a parent’s ear, drifted down from upstairs. “Someone’s hungry.”

She extracted herself from his arms and the depth of the armchair; grabbing at the candleholder before she headed for the stairs. He was left sitting in the dark, wishing (not for the first time) that his wife’s strict economic policy allowed for more than one tallow candle to be lit in the evenings. He allowed himself a tight smile as he envisioned her outraged face, lips parting to inform him of the price of decent candles on the market nowadays.

She returned downstairs with a clatter, snagging her foot on a discarded saber doll partway down and having to clutch inelegantly at the bannister. Rather red-faced, she trotted back across the shopfront to where her mate was still slumped in the armchair.

“It was Flora. Greedy baby; she was only fed-what-an hour ago. We can’t afford another child with Analith’s appetite,” she informed him solemnly, fingers fumbling to button her shirt. He reached for her, reaching an arm around her waist and pulling her to his lap. “Don’t,” he whispered in her ear, squeezing the flesh around her belly as he slid his hands inside the cotton folds of her (actually, his) shirt. She smiled at him, her cheeks pink, letting the candle holder clatter onto the nearby crate.

“Mirae was babbling in ‘er sleep again,” she said thoughtfully as he pressed his face against her neck. “She talks more when asleepin’, than when she is awake.”

“Hm,” came her husband’s muffled voice, as he tried in vain to lull her into a more receptive mood.

“We should maybe get Analith a bigger crib too. He is takin’ up the whole space, squashing his sister.” she continued thoughtfully, oblivious to the attentions of her husband.

He abandoned his attempt at seduction and contented himself with holding his mate in an embrace, which she deigned to return enthusiastically.

“We could make a new crib out of that spare planking!” she breathed excitedly, her eyes alight with the prospect of saving some money. “You could hammer all the nails flat and scrape off all the jagged splinters. It’d be-”

“-Not happening” cut in her mate flatly, envisioning his firstborn son spending the night in a packing crate. “I’ll commission something tomorrow for the boy.”

She rolled her eyes, gleefully assuming the high-pitched, haughty tones she used exclusively when mocking him.

“OoOOhh I’ll just commission something tomorreeew. Because Ay am so rollin’ in gold coins that Ay can commission whate’er Ay want. Ay don’t have to buy it from a shop like a pauper. Ay wish for a ship. Ay commission a ship. Ay wish for a custom designed crib. Ay commission a custom designed crib. Ay am descended from the ‘Ighborne, y’see (a race of connoisseurs), and Ay get WHATEVER AY WA-”

Her sentence broke off in a squawk as she was forcibly manhandled back into the armchair, her husband bending over her and glowering, his greying beard brushing against her ear as he hissed.

“Yes, and at this moment, I want my mate. So stop jabbering, wench.”

She smiled widely up at him, the copper on her teeth glinting. Her hand came up to stroke his bristled cheek; as he reached to blow out the candle.

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1 Response so far »

  1. 1

    Aphel said,

    I’m so glad Leafsong is better. I’m so glad YOU’RE BACK! Muah <33333333333333333333333333333333333333333


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