Oh, there were certainly tales she could tell, but Gemina was in no mood to bask in the chaos of her past. She lifted her cup to him with a smirk, blood openly hid behind tainted glass, and then knocked it back with as much gusto as she could. “Alice,” Gemina gestured to the woman still standing beside her with obvious concern, “do fetch Taran a drink. The poor man can’t go on without a proper breakfast.” She rested her glass down and smiled weakly across the table at her friend – well, her accomplice, she would suppose. An accomplice on friendly terms.
“How about you, Taran? Tell me the tales of an old bastard. Whatever happened to your marriage?” It wasn’t surprising to find out he’d been married once before. She’d have been more shocked if he told her he was still married and she’d want to know what woman was looney enough to stay with a man so crass. “-And what leads a man to choose a life such as yours?”
an accomplice on friendly terms. that would suit the poor, old fool to know. imagine having an accomplice who didn’t somewhat tolerate you ?? terrifying.
taran waits patiently for alice to return . . . . and she does, with a glass of mulled wine and a meager plate of assorted breakfast meats and sliced fruits. before she leaves, a wide, calloused hand grips a tiny wrist and brings her close enough to place a rugged kiss to her thin bicep. her giggle was a much needed comfort before he gets down to the nitty - gritty. clearing his throat, the smile falters. ‘ a dainty whore’s meal, ’ he muses to himself as emerald gaze settles on the plate before him, ‘ well, there’s no sense in being too fat. this’ll be a long one. ’ after silently compromising with himself ( and inhaling the mulled wine ), taran finally decides to appease her.
“ oh, you should’ve seen me as a young man, ” a girthy chuckle, “ i was a poor girl’s dream . . . . and her nightmare. ” he doesn’t take to a woeful tone but the words still evoke the sentiment. “ married a poor farmer’s daughter. the old fool had the unfortunate luck of being neighbors with my father . . . . with me. let alone being married to his daughter. it’s by the gods’ good graces my presence alone didn’t kill the poor bastard. ”
roughly does he scratch at his temple. no, his father - in - law liked him. liked him a lot. even if he was blind and partially deaf, his former father - in - law spoke fondly of him. it makes him a bit sick thinking about how he broke his promise to the old man; rest his soul. “ our marriage was a bit like ownin’ a farm: when the harvest fares well, you’re livin’ large, but when the drought hits . . . . well, it’s best to pack up and head to the city. ” he pops a quarter of a fig into his mouth, continuing to speak as he chews. “ as you can tell, i’m not a gentle man. she needed a gentle, hard - working man. not a lazy boy who wanted to stir - up trouble. ” erupting into a fit of laughter, as if he has told some horrid inside joke, he comes to the conclusion that it was best to end the story there. “ last i heard, she married a gentle farmer and has a whole brood of her own. happy, i presume. and i’m here, in good company, happy as i can be. ”
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