A Twist of the Knife (March 3010) [Avila, Darelle]
Mar 13, 2018 21:49:01 GMT -5
Post by Wynfled on Mar 13, 2018 21:49:01 GMT -5
Wynfled slid the coaster just slightly to the right, stepping back momentarily to look upon the table. Three places set evenly. Though they were on only the cusp of spring and no flowers yet bloomed, a clear vase was set to the center of the table, dried stems of lavender from the summer past settled within it. They were yet beautiful and fragrant, and had been some expense at the market for the time of year, though Bjarr did not mind. At least, he never said he minded.
“Bjarr,” Wynfled hummed to her husband who was seated upon the armchair, feet up on the stool in a doze. He had been out since before sunrise making the most of the weather at the training grounds, after spending a week assisting his Captain, Ceolmund, in adding on a room to their home. He merely groaned and shifted on the chair.
“Bjarr!” Wynfled hissed this time, and the young man bolted upright, eyes wide over clean shaven face, and copper hair falling over his shoulders.
“What is it, Wyn?” he asked looking around in panic. His eyes flashed toward the hearth, fearing the chimney had caught a blaze, or perhaps the roof. He looked upward; yet everything seemed to be in place.
“What in Eorl's name are you doing. Of all things under the sun. Darelle is on her way. You can't just leave a dagger sitting out like that. Get it. Get it out of here, quick.”
The young man's eyes turned to the table next to the chair where he had, indeed, set his dagger; just five minutes previous when he'd returned home hoping for a slightly peaceful nap. It appeared five minutes was enough, and he sighed, reaching for the silver blade.
Now bustling out of the kitchen, Wynfled had a wooden crate she often used for such purposes. All her kitchen knives, the choppers. She snatched the dagger from Bjarr before he'd had a moment to return it to his belt; letting it clatter into the pile of metal within.
“The fire poker, Bjarr,” she reminded.
“Oh, I nearly forgot that one,” he shook his head, sighing, as he re-stoked the fire, shifting the coals about before taking up the long iron and moving it into the back of the house; tucking it carefully into the closet in the spare room.
Bjarr and Wynfled had been married for two years, and Bjarr had still not caught on to the eccentricities of Wynfled's friends. Darelle, was of course, one of her closer ones, and one of the stranger ones, though he'd barely been around her; the way Wyn shooed him out of house and home the moment she and Avila were on their way made him nervous. If the house were to catch ablaze while they were over; well, it would not surprise him.
“Should we keep the fire burning at all?” he wondered, his voice a near whine. “Is she likely to pull coals out for any reason?”
Wynfled pursed her lips together. “Not with her bare hands at least. I'd hide the coal shovel as well, Bjarr.”
It was after at time that most objects of impaling qualities had been removed from the room. Two single delicately rounded spreaders for the butter and preserves were set out.
“What of the vase?” Bjarr asked nervously. “It would shatter to a thousand pieces against the wall. Hadn't you to try putting out one of those wood turned ones we have?
“She hasn't done that in a few years,” Wynfled shook her head. “She's beyond those days, I think. The glass is prettier with the lavender,” she reasoned. She hoped she was being levelheaded in the matter, for she would hate to lose her prettiest vase to a temper tantrum.
“Is the water boiling?” Wynfled asked, looking to her husband, then sighing. “Nevermind, I'll do it myself,” she muttered, heading back into the kitchen after depositing the crate full of knives carefully away in the closet and latching the door.
“Is your sister going to be here too?” Bjarr asked.
“Of course, you think I'd not invite my sister?” Wynfled answered quickly. “She'll want to hear all the news as well.”
“I'm not sure the Captain wants talk of his party spread around town,” Bjarr tried. “Runa was really upset at the end and--”
Wynfled's cheeks tinged pink. “I know she was upset, and I've already told you, it isn't my fault the place was full of drunks. The women were the worst of it too. Wynfled had never realized what a horror Runa's friends were. Of course, she had never been able to spend much time around Runa at all. Not after Avila had nearly killed her some years back, and then took her on as something of her greatest enemy.
She sighed. And now she'd off and married. Of course, it sounded like it was an arranged affair. Wynfled knew she should not have been so upset with her over the matter. Hardly her own fault, and Wynfled could not imagine she wished to be in the predicament she was in at all. Her eyes shifted to Bjarr. She did not exactly fancy her own predicament. Maybe they had something else in common now.
“All right, that's enough,” she told Bjarr. He'd been scanning the room for any stray sharpened objects that had been missed in the first few go-overs.
“Now you get on out.” Wynfled looked to him pointedly. “You smell of the training grounds,” she groaned.
“Can't I stay for some tea at least? I haven't eaten all day,” Bjarr remarked.
Wynfled's brow furrowed. “Do you see four settings at the table?” she asked the man.
“No,” he responded slowly. “I could just stand in the kitchen and--”
“Nobody is going to stand in the kitchen. Darelle and Avila and I have things to discuss. Now out. Don't come home before supper.” Wynfled waved her hands at him in dismissal, and Bjarr's shoulders slumped as he made way for the door.
“All right,” he muttered.
"Out, out!" Wynfled shooed him. There were plenty of things to speak on which men's ears need not hear. Theodred, Ceolmund... Runa. Seeing Ceolmund with Runa had been a twist of the knife to Wynfled. The color rose to her cheeks for a moment as she straightened the chairs and checked the mantle for dust one last time.
“Bjarr,” Wynfled hummed to her husband who was seated upon the armchair, feet up on the stool in a doze. He had been out since before sunrise making the most of the weather at the training grounds, after spending a week assisting his Captain, Ceolmund, in adding on a room to their home. He merely groaned and shifted on the chair.
“Bjarr!” Wynfled hissed this time, and the young man bolted upright, eyes wide over clean shaven face, and copper hair falling over his shoulders.
“What is it, Wyn?” he asked looking around in panic. His eyes flashed toward the hearth, fearing the chimney had caught a blaze, or perhaps the roof. He looked upward; yet everything seemed to be in place.
“What in Eorl's name are you doing. Of all things under the sun. Darelle is on her way. You can't just leave a dagger sitting out like that. Get it. Get it out of here, quick.”
The young man's eyes turned to the table next to the chair where he had, indeed, set his dagger; just five minutes previous when he'd returned home hoping for a slightly peaceful nap. It appeared five minutes was enough, and he sighed, reaching for the silver blade.
Now bustling out of the kitchen, Wynfled had a wooden crate she often used for such purposes. All her kitchen knives, the choppers. She snatched the dagger from Bjarr before he'd had a moment to return it to his belt; letting it clatter into the pile of metal within.
“The fire poker, Bjarr,” she reminded.
“Oh, I nearly forgot that one,” he shook his head, sighing, as he re-stoked the fire, shifting the coals about before taking up the long iron and moving it into the back of the house; tucking it carefully into the closet in the spare room.
Bjarr and Wynfled had been married for two years, and Bjarr had still not caught on to the eccentricities of Wynfled's friends. Darelle, was of course, one of her closer ones, and one of the stranger ones, though he'd barely been around her; the way Wyn shooed him out of house and home the moment she and Avila were on their way made him nervous. If the house were to catch ablaze while they were over; well, it would not surprise him.
“Should we keep the fire burning at all?” he wondered, his voice a near whine. “Is she likely to pull coals out for any reason?”
Wynfled pursed her lips together. “Not with her bare hands at least. I'd hide the coal shovel as well, Bjarr.”
It was after at time that most objects of impaling qualities had been removed from the room. Two single delicately rounded spreaders for the butter and preserves were set out.
“What of the vase?” Bjarr asked nervously. “It would shatter to a thousand pieces against the wall. Hadn't you to try putting out one of those wood turned ones we have?
“She hasn't done that in a few years,” Wynfled shook her head. “She's beyond those days, I think. The glass is prettier with the lavender,” she reasoned. She hoped she was being levelheaded in the matter, for she would hate to lose her prettiest vase to a temper tantrum.
“Is the water boiling?” Wynfled asked, looking to her husband, then sighing. “Nevermind, I'll do it myself,” she muttered, heading back into the kitchen after depositing the crate full of knives carefully away in the closet and latching the door.
“Is your sister going to be here too?” Bjarr asked.
“Of course, you think I'd not invite my sister?” Wynfled answered quickly. “She'll want to hear all the news as well.”
“I'm not sure the Captain wants talk of his party spread around town,” Bjarr tried. “Runa was really upset at the end and--”
Wynfled's cheeks tinged pink. “I know she was upset, and I've already told you, it isn't my fault the place was full of drunks. The women were the worst of it too. Wynfled had never realized what a horror Runa's friends were. Of course, she had never been able to spend much time around Runa at all. Not after Avila had nearly killed her some years back, and then took her on as something of her greatest enemy.
She sighed. And now she'd off and married. Of course, it sounded like it was an arranged affair. Wynfled knew she should not have been so upset with her over the matter. Hardly her own fault, and Wynfled could not imagine she wished to be in the predicament she was in at all. Her eyes shifted to Bjarr. She did not exactly fancy her own predicament. Maybe they had something else in common now.
“All right, that's enough,” she told Bjarr. He'd been scanning the room for any stray sharpened objects that had been missed in the first few go-overs.
“Now you get on out.” Wynfled looked to him pointedly. “You smell of the training grounds,” she groaned.
“Can't I stay for some tea at least? I haven't eaten all day,” Bjarr remarked.
Wynfled's brow furrowed. “Do you see four settings at the table?” she asked the man.
“No,” he responded slowly. “I could just stand in the kitchen and--”
“Nobody is going to stand in the kitchen. Darelle and Avila and I have things to discuss. Now out. Don't come home before supper.” Wynfled waved her hands at him in dismissal, and Bjarr's shoulders slumped as he made way for the door.
“All right,” he muttered.
"Out, out!" Wynfled shooed him. There were plenty of things to speak on which men's ears need not hear. Theodred, Ceolmund... Runa. Seeing Ceolmund with Runa had been a twist of the knife to Wynfled. The color rose to her cheeks for a moment as she straightened the chairs and checked the mantle for dust one last time.