02 | CLOSED

[shri]

WHO: Lakshmi, Marcoulf & Magni
WHAT: A Comedy of Errors: Dinner Date edition.
WHEN: A Time When Things Aren't Happening
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Only Embarrassment, probably.

It's small mercies at the moment that she doesn't share her room with someone else. That lets her do this with such ease. Pushing back the few pieces of furniture with ease to place her table in the space. The rest was a matter of spending time in the kitchens, taking up as little space as was possible there, but making plate after plate - not sure what they would like if they even would like it. No, there wasn't everything she liked to use, but she could make do. Lived in enough dire straights to be able to substitute to make something more than decent. Nice even, to just put her hands to one, long familiar task that she can do without thinking after so many years preparing meals.

Everything else after that is merely dressing it up. Arranging each plate to look as good as possible. Mix of lighter things, dishes from Bundelkhand, to the rich, creamy, sweets out of Jodhapur that her husband delighted in. Hoped it was all of it, enough. (It was, definitely, definitely too much. ) Arranging the room to be neat, the more expensive candles so there wasn't the reek of tallow in the room. Dressing herself like - home. This was for them, of course, and their enjoyment ( - hopefully, hopefully, and most importantly, their enjoyment with each other ), but she ought to be pleasant as well. Not like reasons otherwise presented themselves in recent years, falling out of dreams into foreign lands aside. Gladly fixing long ropes of flowers into her hair where she twisted it high up onto her head to pin it in place. Dressing in bright blues, greens, and that weight of gold that was less than the Queen she'd arrived as, more than walking down the street. The heavy flat disk of gold that was her tikka, laying along her hair part to the middle of her forehead. Roping back to the ornaments over her ears, same style as the necklace around her neck.

And as many flowers around her hair as there was laid on the table, around the candles and gladly scattered about. Thankful again that no one else shared with her for the brief interlude, or to how the whole space now smelt thickly of Masala ( or as close as she could get it ). No one to be bothered with the strange rifter and her odd preparation. Carefully scattering them about, fiddling with the table arrangement when she's waiting for the knock on the door.

Comments

[villieldr]

Thank the Mountain Father that Lakshmi feels like explaining, because Magni has hit her full quota of spoken words for the month and it's tiring. And perhaps also thanks to him that Lakshmi was not there to witness all, because while it was an epic match of the best across the lands, and Magni isn't exactly a creature of pride when it came to combat—

well, she isn't sure why it bothers her now that she did not perform better.

Those pastries are intriguing. The food is crafted into flowers, and earn something of a smile from her, because she can appreciate a skilled hand. (Don't.) She doesn't speak, just points to one of them and looks to Lakshmi, brows raised in a silent question. You did this?

[esquive]

He's careful to move the bottle out of the way, carefully wedging it in a more convenient patch of the table so she can go about her business of decking the rest of it with a frankly baffling number of dishes. Thank the Maker for the business of discussing the sword; he's not sure what he'd do with himself otherwise and questions of steel are at least-- well, navigable.

"Do you carry a second blade to parry with?" A whip thin sword couldn't be any good for blocking assaults and he can all but feel the heavy ring of Six's greatsword reverberating up the length of his arm into the knot of his shoulder.

But it's an absent question, really; his hands have migrated back from the table into his lap as Lakshmi sets the last dish on the overflowing table. He regards them with mute fascination or horror or-- "You should have said more. I would have brought a second bottle."

[shri]

"I did. ... A wife, even of... my position, is expected to know how to cook for her husband." Gently, gently, gently. Easing around the topic of what that rank is if only for Marcoulf's sake. ( And at least, some, for hers. She has no want to let that cut apart the conversation. ) "And my husband... had varied tastes. Even if they weren't always to my taste that I took pride in accommodating. So there is a little of many places. Punjabi, Marathi, Rajputana, Bengal."

She shakes her head - at his concern, a little, but the smile is there are least to take the bite out of it. "No, please, for my people - a guest in your house is as if God has visited, and we treat them as such. We take pride that they want for nothing while they are with us. All you need to do is enjoy yourself like you were my family itself. So I have more to drink, also." And she gives them both, firmly, a look. Stop fussing, the both of you. "So for Goodness sake, you should both eat. As much of it as you want. If you don't leave here sick with eating too much, I have failed and my heart will break." And her hand waves on, eat already.

[villieldr]

I took pride in accommodating, she says, and Magni has to do her utmost not to cough. Accommodating, indeed. She doesn't comment, but let it be known that she doesn't comment. Perhaps Marcoulf will telepathically understand her heroism and sacrifice.

But also: husband?

Not that it was surprising, really, but here she is. Magni, the Surprised. It might be perceptible from the faint twinge in her brow, a whole couple of millimetres, or so.

She processes said surprise by loading up her plate with food, perhaps in amounts that could verge on alarming, and sets to methodically working her way through it. Never let it be said that she's one to break a lady's heart.

[esquive]

Her husband who was some kind of king, presumably. The difficulty in navigating that conversation in any way resembling comfortable or natural is probably the only reason he doesn't ask. So you're welcome, Magni. His extreme desire to avoid putting his foot in mouth has just saved you from living through an off-center exchange where he might have otherwise asked after the health of--

On second thought, no there's a whole list of reasons why it's better not to ask. The last time he'd made some polite inquiry after Lakshmi's family, they'd ended up dead. 'Had varied tastes,' she'd said. Not has.

"Of course. Apologies." Maker, stop setting the bar so high Magni. He shoots her plate a sidelong glance, and carefully follows in her footsteps - or at least in that general direction, carefully picking bits and pieces from the sea of small plates until his own looks reasonably crowded.

[shri]

She damn near beams at them both as they begin to pile up their plate - she has little reason to smile when it comes down to it. But this comes like a warm bath like maybe she never stopped. Taking a second just to be glad that they were doing so, before she goes about putting food on her own plate.

Perhaps even, as she moves, and no words she would say out of her own mouth, enough to say that she looks happy, and - damningly enough for any royal - earnestly so.

"As for before - we use a small round shield in the off hand. Primarily for deflection and blocking." She fishes for the serving spoon in one dish, hovering as she piled the food on. "Sometimes a dagger, yes, or a long knife will be the preference."

[villieldr]

"Marcoulf has a preference for long knives, I think."

She looks up from the food, and raises her brows at her friend, entirely straight faced. She holds the dinner knife in her hand, and demonstrates (without disturbing food, wine or the table, because she is a professional and not an animal, )

"Better reach with the lunge and thrust."

[esquive]

Marcoulf makes a low noise of agreement, consumed by the process of carefully shifting a flowering vegetable from its small plate to his own. It seems safe - mostly the bright bursting color it should be without a preponderance of flecked spice covering it.

"About this long," he says absently, gesturing to the length of his forearm and hand before he gets as far as glancing up to catch Magni's raised eyebrows.

He stuffs the vegetable flower in his mouth.

[shri]

It is, mercifully, just a carrot, a very elegant carrot - but a carrot.

"Do you dual wield them? Or perhaps keep to another weapon?" Said between her own mouthfuls, careful still in how she covers her mouth when she speaks. Another pause, as she reaches for her wine, to take a deep mouthful of it to chase down the food. "I've often used two swords - but primarily when I am riding the cavalry line."