“but there’s still so much food left on your plate, glenn,” ingrid grins, pointing at the remnants of lasagna left unfinished. with utmost grace, ingrid polishes off the pan of pasta, shamelessly licking tomato sauce off her fingers — ah, what a delicious victory.
and now, what to claim as her prize?
oh, the options are endless. of course, she could request glenn to oversee her stable duties for a month, but unlike most people, she enjoys tending to the horses. deep in thought, she yoinks glenn’s sweet bun, claiming half with a playful hum. “go to my dress fittings for a month? i’d love to see what the ladies try and do with your hair,” she teases, half-joking, but genuinely curious.
“why, sometimes, i think you’d make a prettier bride than me.”
though glenn rodrigue fraldarius was often the absolute picture of composed arrogance, he did, indeed, pout at the sight of half his sweet bun being taken away. he supposed he couldn’t complain entirely. he’d given up and he knew that licking his plate clean wouldn’t sate her appetite either. glenn reached for whatever remained of the bun anyway and nibbled at it.
of course, that could not compare to the horror that washed over him at the sound of what he was to do for losing their competition. glenn would give her credit for creativity, but that was it. it was so entirely awful that he wished he’d had a second stomach because he felt like he was about to cough up his first.
❛ s - seriously ? ❜ he stammers, voice cracking. the knight has to clear his throat and start over. he made a concentrated effort to make it sound deeper. ❛ seriously ? you’d have me do that ? that sounds like lightwork ! i could do that for a month and more. are you sure ? ❜
glenn, you fucking dolt ! stop running your mouth !
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