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

[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."