Honey Drunk (March 3010) {Adelais}
May 14, 2018 15:16:06 GMT -5
Post by Adelais on May 14, 2018 15:16:06 GMT -5
Swithin’s blithe remark about stopping his thoughts from pondering her sheer dress there in the street and rain rang out brighter than Adelais felt she could stomach, and she grimaced. “Then stop quieter,” the woman grunted.
It must have run in the family, all the shouting. The healer pitied their neighbors, once more lifting a hand to press against her head. Nightmares for everyone.
“Nightmare… well, you only sleep for so long. Then you wake up. I don't think Runa enjoyed the party either though…Bjarr's wife made a mess of it. Cap was so drunk… I'm not sure he realized… I need to go have a talk with him about that… after I drop you off.”
That elicited a groan from her. The party. Bjarr’s wife—she hardly remembered. Was it the blonde with the pinchy face and scowl? Wynfried? Wynsomething? “Gods was anyone not drunk?” Adelais grunted to herself. If Runa had been having a hard time at the party, it was likely she was waking up just as worse for the wear as she had herself.
“It's not… it's not so bad. And well… we noticed before we got you to work. Oda wouldn't have… no. And the men at the hall. No, we don't want them to see you like this. Lets get you dressed proper and we'll have no more trouble today, all right? We can forget it even happened?”
“I would like to forget it, but you keep talking about it,” Adelais grumbled, for a moment glaring at the redheaded male as she treaded heavily beside him. She just needed her dress, and to slip out without the attached male escort. She could not show up to work with him in tow; what would the girls think? She had been solely devoted so long, to mess it up now…
Her face paled and she shuddered beneath the heavy cloak, feeling the cling of her suddenly sheer dress against her skin.
They had not made it as far as Adelais would have liked, for it took very little time to once more get to the doorstep of Swithin’s house. She nearly gagged at the smell of cooking grease and meat, for whatever bacon the captain was making was nearly filling the street with its scent.
Swithin led her right into the door before she could ask if he would simply bring the dress to her there. The last thing she really wanted to do was see his family again, and if Heruthain offered her bacon one more time, she was going to vomit.
Again.
“Perfectly crisp!”
“Oh, dear, you forgot your dress. Let me just go get it. Had a bit of stain on the knees I was trying to get out last night. I'm sure from falling down… never understood overindulging in that drink.”
“Indeed, she did. Good on an empty stomach, Ad. Crisp and salty!”
Of course it was bacon right as she walked into the door. “I don’t want bacon,” the young woman grumbled. She tried to move for the dress Katla was extending, but Swithin’s long arms and legs reached it first. She did not know why the gods were cruel, but it seemed they held no end to their machinations in her life.
“I'll pack yeh some fer the road! Got a whole new pan frying just now… 'bout ready ta take it off.”
Adelais’ stomach rolled, and she managed to lift her eyes up to look at the ruddy-haired captain with a frown. “Your son wants it,” she said. Maybe Heruthain would keep Swithin here this time while she went off to work. “I don’t want any bacon.” How many times was she going to have to tell them? Especially not bacon named after a mother in law. She had heard it, plain as morning, from the kitchen. What was wrong with this family?
Swithin was urging her into his bedroom once more, and the woman could have wept to have been returned to it.
“Bedroom… here. Lock it. Lock the door.”
She took the dress and crumpled it tight in her hands as she stepped into the bedroom and shut and latched the door behind. If she ever made it to work, it would be a miracle of bacon-surviving, noise-flooding proportions. With a grumble, the young woman shed the wet cloak and slipped back into her dress.
The wet cloth beneath felt wretched on her skin now, for it hugged tight and seemed to be trapped against her with no breeze through. “Son of a warg, I’m going to be late,” the woman growled to herself. She quickly turned, leaving the cloak upon the ground, and unlocked the door. If she could slip out quietly, maybe Swithin would be stuck eating copious amounts of pig named after a mother-in-law.
Still, she did not think anything could be quiet in this house, let alone an exit.
“Your cloak’s on the floor,” she grumbled to Swithin, who had apparently felt the need to stand at the doorway like some kind of blockade. “Enjoy your bacon.” And with that, she moved to the door in quick strides.
It must have run in the family, all the shouting. The healer pitied their neighbors, once more lifting a hand to press against her head. Nightmares for everyone.
“Nightmare… well, you only sleep for so long. Then you wake up. I don't think Runa enjoyed the party either though…Bjarr's wife made a mess of it. Cap was so drunk… I'm not sure he realized… I need to go have a talk with him about that… after I drop you off.”
That elicited a groan from her. The party. Bjarr’s wife—she hardly remembered. Was it the blonde with the pinchy face and scowl? Wynfried? Wynsomething? “Gods was anyone not drunk?” Adelais grunted to herself. If Runa had been having a hard time at the party, it was likely she was waking up just as worse for the wear as she had herself.
“It's not… it's not so bad. And well… we noticed before we got you to work. Oda wouldn't have… no. And the men at the hall. No, we don't want them to see you like this. Lets get you dressed proper and we'll have no more trouble today, all right? We can forget it even happened?”
“I would like to forget it, but you keep talking about it,” Adelais grumbled, for a moment glaring at the redheaded male as she treaded heavily beside him. She just needed her dress, and to slip out without the attached male escort. She could not show up to work with him in tow; what would the girls think? She had been solely devoted so long, to mess it up now…
Her face paled and she shuddered beneath the heavy cloak, feeling the cling of her suddenly sheer dress against her skin.
They had not made it as far as Adelais would have liked, for it took very little time to once more get to the doorstep of Swithin’s house. She nearly gagged at the smell of cooking grease and meat, for whatever bacon the captain was making was nearly filling the street with its scent.
Swithin led her right into the door before she could ask if he would simply bring the dress to her there. The last thing she really wanted to do was see his family again, and if Heruthain offered her bacon one more time, she was going to vomit.
Again.
“Perfectly crisp!”
“Oh, dear, you forgot your dress. Let me just go get it. Had a bit of stain on the knees I was trying to get out last night. I'm sure from falling down… never understood overindulging in that drink.”
“Indeed, she did. Good on an empty stomach, Ad. Crisp and salty!”
Of course it was bacon right as she walked into the door. “I don’t want bacon,” the young woman grumbled. She tried to move for the dress Katla was extending, but Swithin’s long arms and legs reached it first. She did not know why the gods were cruel, but it seemed they held no end to their machinations in her life.
“I'll pack yeh some fer the road! Got a whole new pan frying just now… 'bout ready ta take it off.”
Adelais’ stomach rolled, and she managed to lift her eyes up to look at the ruddy-haired captain with a frown. “Your son wants it,” she said. Maybe Heruthain would keep Swithin here this time while she went off to work. “I don’t want any bacon.” How many times was she going to have to tell them? Especially not bacon named after a mother in law. She had heard it, plain as morning, from the kitchen. What was wrong with this family?
Swithin was urging her into his bedroom once more, and the woman could have wept to have been returned to it.
“Bedroom… here. Lock it. Lock the door.”
She took the dress and crumpled it tight in her hands as she stepped into the bedroom and shut and latched the door behind. If she ever made it to work, it would be a miracle of bacon-surviving, noise-flooding proportions. With a grumble, the young woman shed the wet cloak and slipped back into her dress.
The wet cloth beneath felt wretched on her skin now, for it hugged tight and seemed to be trapped against her with no breeze through. “Son of a warg, I’m going to be late,” the woman growled to herself. She quickly turned, leaving the cloak upon the ground, and unlocked the door. If she could slip out quietly, maybe Swithin would be stuck eating copious amounts of pig named after a mother-in-law.
Still, she did not think anything could be quiet in this house, let alone an exit.
“Your cloak’s on the floor,” she grumbled to Swithin, who had apparently felt the need to stand at the doorway like some kind of blockade. “Enjoy your bacon.” And with that, she moved to the door in quick strides.