08-01-2024, 09:39 PM
YOU WANT ME ON MY KNEES TO PRAY
Myranda started her day as she usually would. She rose from her lonely bed, washed, allowed her handmaidens to help her dress in a forest green shawl and a golden chain necklace with a chunky frowning sun pendant. Next, she went downstairs for breakfast, greeted her cumbersome husband, Lyonel, and her son, Vittorio, over a cup of peppermint tea and a plate of mushrooms, tomatoes, and avocado on fried bread.
Vittorio left first, as he oft did, no doubt off to find his friends before his training began later, and the kitchen lapsed into uncomfortable silence as Myranda steadfastly ignored the presence of her dull husband, who left next, though to do what she was unsure and didn't care to find out.
Myranda left the house next, shadowed by a beagle donning chainmail. He looked young and green, in her opinion, but she kept her opinion to herself and spoke to him politely as she lead the way down the cobblestones towards the Marketplace in the center of Fort Crom. It was a hustle and bustle as usual, but the liveliness was refreshing when compared to her loathingly quiet household back in the upper parts of the Fort.
Myranda made her way over to a booth tended to by an older lady, a frail looking maine coon, who scrambled to look a little more presentable at the sight of a customer. As for the feline's wares, she offered all kinds of cotton and wool. Most of it was dull and seemed scratchy, but there was a particular fur that stood out to her. It seemed to have belonged to a wolf before the creature was skinned for its pelt. The colour was a marvellous white, fading into blackened tips. "How old was the animal this came from?" Myranda queried, marvelling at the softness of the fur beneath her pawpads, her gaze flicking up to meet the maine coon's.
The old woman smiled back at her, some of her teeth yellow or broken, her eyes slightly glazed over with cataracts. "Six months, my Lady. Still a pup. Died of a sickness, it did."
Myranda hummed, her head tilting to one side. "And has it been washed thoroughly?"
The feline nodded quickly, seemingly rather excited, pleased even, that Myranda seemed so interested in her wares. "Washed with water and a drop of vinegar and some lemon, it has," a pause, and then a hastily tacked on; "my Lady," for pleasantries sake.
Myranda fell silent for a moment, looking over the pretty fur with a critical gaze. Finally, she gave a single nod. "I'll take it. I'll send a errand boy to pick it up later on." She motioned to the chainmail-clad beagle, who hastily stepped up to scoop a generous amount of coin from his satchel and drop it onto the counter.
The maine coon's eyes glittered, surprised and delighted by the amount of gold now littering her booth's table. "This is... Far too much!" She tried to say, but Myranda had already turned away, the smallest of smiles curling imperceptivity at the corners of her lips.
"Where to now, my Lady?" The beagle asked, his tail wagging frantically back and forth. Myranda momentarily entertained the thought that his energetic personality reminded her quite a lot of her son, Vittorio. "To the Gardens I should think, Ser."
Vittorio left first, as he oft did, no doubt off to find his friends before his training began later, and the kitchen lapsed into uncomfortable silence as Myranda steadfastly ignored the presence of her dull husband, who left next, though to do what she was unsure and didn't care to find out.
Myranda left the house next, shadowed by a beagle donning chainmail. He looked young and green, in her opinion, but she kept her opinion to herself and spoke to him politely as she lead the way down the cobblestones towards the Marketplace in the center of Fort Crom. It was a hustle and bustle as usual, but the liveliness was refreshing when compared to her loathingly quiet household back in the upper parts of the Fort.
Myranda made her way over to a booth tended to by an older lady, a frail looking maine coon, who scrambled to look a little more presentable at the sight of a customer. As for the feline's wares, she offered all kinds of cotton and wool. Most of it was dull and seemed scratchy, but there was a particular fur that stood out to her. It seemed to have belonged to a wolf before the creature was skinned for its pelt. The colour was a marvellous white, fading into blackened tips. "How old was the animal this came from?" Myranda queried, marvelling at the softness of the fur beneath her pawpads, her gaze flicking up to meet the maine coon's.
The old woman smiled back at her, some of her teeth yellow or broken, her eyes slightly glazed over with cataracts. "Six months, my Lady. Still a pup. Died of a sickness, it did."
Myranda hummed, her head tilting to one side. "And has it been washed thoroughly?"
The feline nodded quickly, seemingly rather excited, pleased even, that Myranda seemed so interested in her wares. "Washed with water and a drop of vinegar and some lemon, it has," a pause, and then a hastily tacked on; "my Lady," for pleasantries sake.
Myranda fell silent for a moment, looking over the pretty fur with a critical gaze. Finally, she gave a single nod. "I'll take it. I'll send a errand boy to pick it up later on." She motioned to the chainmail-clad beagle, who hastily stepped up to scoop a generous amount of coin from his satchel and drop it onto the counter.
The maine coon's eyes glittered, surprised and delighted by the amount of gold now littering her booth's table. "This is... Far too much!" She tried to say, but Myranda had already turned away, the smallest of smiles curling imperceptivity at the corners of her lips.
"Where to now, my Lady?" The beagle asked, his tail wagging frantically back and forth. Myranda momentarily entertained the thought that his energetic personality reminded her quite a lot of her son, Vittorio. "To the Gardens I should think, Ser."
OR PLAY SOME OTHER PLEASING ROLE
you want me to transgress ———
[ when I'm in my sunday best ]
[ when I'm in my sunday best ]
MYRANDA REDGRAVE — THE HORDE — TAGS