#unctuous

[gooboogy]

Fun new drawing meme (for me personally)

I have a list of 265 words (so far) of various words I've found that I didn't know of (or am familiar with but don't actually know the definition) that I thought were interesting.

Send me a number 1-265 and I'll try to draw something based on the corresponding word on my list!

(You could even send multiple that I'll have to try to put together lol)

[fieriframes]

[UNCTUOUS AND JUST TASTES REALLY GOOD. YOU CAN'T DO ANYTHING ELSE TO ME. THERE'S NO WAY. DUCK AND COVER. THE VIETNAMESE BANH YOU, BANH MI SANDWICH.]

[fair-fae]

Entry #24: Unctuous

FFxivWrite2019 Prompt #24: Unctuous Words were a challenge. Words were a game. Words were a means to an end.

I’m so sorry to hear that. It’s so good to see you. Why, I had no idea. Yes, I’d love to. No, I would never. It’s no trouble, really. I’m fine, you needn’t worry.

Anyone could say the words; the trick was convincing others to believe them. She always won the game.

[songsofbloodandfire]

Prompt #24: Unctuous

“Oh, Lady Sha, please let me know if there’s anything, anything at all that I can get you. It’s so rare we’re grace with one such as yourself…” A’sana tuned out the rest of the merchants flattery, knowing the Hyur would go on for days if she let him. Most days, she let him flounder, finding amusement in the ingratiating gestures of the man, but today she had little patience for it. 

He didn’t need to know that she was uncomfortable and eager to get home. As much as she loved her son, the pain of engorgement was making her grumpy and ready to go home despite needing to finish a few more meetings. She’d been in a hurry to get out of the house so nothing that would have helped with the situation was done and so she was left dealing with the uncomfortable consequences. 

Thankfully, as far as the man knew, R’xhin Sha wasn’t a woman prone much emotion outside of controlled indifference and the occasional bit of sharp wit. The name was one of the few aliases that A’sana still used and was officially the name she used on the paperwork of the various endeavors she’d invested in. It was the name on the leases she held, technically making her a tenant in her own homes since as far of Ul’dah was concerned R’xhin owned the properties, but she personally did not live in them. Everything was done to keep the name A’sana Dorel as far from her home and income as possible since, technically speaking, A’sana Dorel still was a wanted woman, even if the law had long ago stopped looking for her. 

“...truly, none of this would have been possible without your generous…” He was still going and it was hard to think past the uncomfortable ache of her breasts. Breasts that he had no problem with sneaking what he thought were discreet looks at when he thought her attention was elsewhere. Apparently the high collared top did little to dampen his imagination when it came to his gaze roaming her body. 

Any other day, she would have taken it in stride and used that against him. Her body and her looks were a weapon she was well versed in using against men like him, but today was not that day. Her bad day was about to become his. 

“Enough.” The single word was spoken just slightly below conversational tone. She’d found the softer timbre effective when coupled with a portrayal of absolute confidence and subtle dominance in keeping attention more than yelling could. It fit R’xhin much better than her normally verbose, rapid and slightly louder style of talking. “I did not come here expecting such obsequiousness. You are behind, Mister Travers, and you know how I loathe having to remind you of your dues.”

The man’s eyes were a bit wide, his first attempts at speaking lost to sputtering. “O-of course, I apologize Lady Sha…”

Her attention was on the rambling ‘Mister Travers’ enough to pick up the key points of his excuses for being late in ensuring the payment he owed her for her monthly share of his profits got to her. She knew in the end it was greed and he would pay rather than risk losing a patron investing in his business. If the man weren’t so good as a jeweler she’d drop him in favor of less annoying prospects. It was going to be a long meeting. 

[chocoblep]

Entry #24: Looking Down the Barrel

It had been a long time since Y’lydi had handled a gun, but here in Foundation she’d found a reason to do so. The Machinists’ Guild was little more than a man and his own gun, and though he was originally excited to potentially take Y’lydi on as a protégé, he’d quickly learned that her interests lay elsewhere; namely, in the creation and maintenance of such weaponry.

As the pair sat together next to a large wood stove, Y’lydi dabbed a bit of cleaning solution on a bore snake and went to work cleaning out the inside of the barrel of a particularly old piece. She was careful with it, as she always was with finely crafted mechanical weaponry. This wasn’t magitek. It didn’t have glowing bits or any sort of flash, really; it was just a normal mid-sized handgun. Perhaps that made it better than magitek. It relied solely on mechanism, and not some half-mad magical science voodoo that she really couldn’t place. A simpler gun had a process that she knew from beginning to end with no question.

It wasn’t unusual for her to get lubricant on her hands as she went through the various moving mechanisms. This one had a trigger that felt like it was grinding on something. “What’d you do, bury this one in sand?”

“I wouldn’t know,” the elezen man replied. “That one’s been sitting around for nigh on a decade and hasn’t seen any use.”

Y’lydi stopped, her ears slowly laying back as she raised her head to give the elezen a deadpan look. “A decade.”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve not so much as picked it up to disassemble and clean it?”

“That is correct. I found it a week ago, stowed away with a bunch of supplies that had been sealed away in a safe for just as long. I assume, at least, that no one else has picked it up in that time.” The man watched her with an equally deadpan, don’t-you-try-to-scold-me-about-this-I’m-not-an-idiot look before going back to his own piece.

The irritation faded for the moment. “You must be glad I came along, then, so you don’t have to try and get all of the dried-up gunk out of this thing,” she observed, bending once more to task.

“Oh, you’ve no idea. Now if only you’d be amicable to shooting it, too.” The man clearly knew what he was doing as he looked over at her with a half-smile on his face; she was growing attached to this gun already as she explored its inner workings.

“You won’t take no for an answer, will you?” she asked, amusement coloring her tone.

“My dear,” he replied casually, “I take no for target practice.”

That made her smile.

[throneoflevin]

Prompt #24: The Serpent’s Tongue

“Of course that dress looks wonderful on you, Mrs. Volther.”

The words were spoken in a tone of utmost sincerity, even if there wasn’t the slight bit of sincerity behind them. The forked tongue of the Wolf worked to draw those around him to him. Closer. Ever closer. He laughed and smiled and gave compliments with the best of them, so well that he fit right in with the upper class of Ul’Dah in one of their fancy parties. The stuffy clothes strangled him and made him feel more awkward then he cared to admit, but none of that broke through the performance that Ketsuchi was putting on.

“Oh you are far too kind U’shen.” The woman in her mid-40s laughed and waved her right, gloved hand back and forth to dismiss away his comment, even if she had all but been begging for him to give it to her.

“I am only as kind as you allow me to be.” The Seeker made his way past her, giving the woman a gentle pat on her shoulder as he did so. She smiled, and he returned the gesture.

Fat bitch wouldn’t look good in a damn thing.

The line was kept in the back of his head, the smile never leaving his face as he wandered over to another patron to speak with. Just like all the others the conversation was filled with superficial words and compliments that meant nothing. Words were nothing but air, after all. These pathetic people took in every last word he said without a shred of doubt. How easy they were to flatter and flush.

For Ketsuchi this was all just a waiting game. Finding the one person in the crowd who was the most vulnerable took time, conversation, and more patience then the male possessed. On this night though he had a particular mark, one that needed to be drawn away from her escort for the night. Her husband was the real target, but he had to come to understand that his actions had consequences. For some, targeting their partner may not have been a punishment, but in his case this was the most efficient way to make him fall in line.

He had never dealt with Ketsuchi and wouldn’t recognize him, or at least he was unlikely to do so. As time passed and the party began to thin it was finally time to make his move. With a drink in either hand, and her guard a bit preoccupied, he made his way toward the woman in her long red dress.

“Good evening.” Ketsuchi gave a slight bow as he extended his hand and one of the glasses out toward her. “I have to say you are the most beautiful woman in here. I’ve been wanting to share a drink with you all night but you have been rather...” He glances toward her guard, then back to her, “let’s just say under lock and key all night.”

The woman smiled and took the glass, taking a short sip before focusing her eyes on the Seeker who had offered it to her. “Yes, it has been a bit difficult to stretch my legs this evening. I’m afraid your flattery will get you nowhere though, mister...?”

“U’shen, Miss. Pleasure to meet you.” Ketsuchi took a small sip of his glass, downing the vile wine as fast as he could. He had no love for the flavor, but these folk sure did.

“U’shen, the pleasure is all mine.” She nodded her head. “Elizabeth Moruben, wife to —“

“Gregory Mourben. Yes, I am quite aware who you are. Your looks stick out like a sore thumb in this room full of those who dress to impress to masses. You don’t need to do such a thing though, as a simple dress such as that puts all the others in here to shame.”

The woman stared at him as he took another drink, his eyes narrowed in on her over the rim of his glass. Her face softened as his intense gaze wore her down. How simple it was to make people crumble and fall apart if you knew just how to work them. Her husband was always too wrapped up in his work to pay her compliments or share the bed with her, so targeting that was child’s play for the Seeker.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to take a walk under the moon with me?”

Of course he could. Of course she did. The Wolf with the tongue of a serpent led the woman away from the party, never to be seen by her husband or any other again. Not in one piece, at least.

[lettersnorth]

Prompt #24: Unctuous

Music theme

At night, after the sun had set and the desert air grew cool, it was a tradition in Little Ala Mhigo to gather around a cooking fire and share stories while some unctuous piece of meat simmered in a great pot of whatever else had been managed to be foraged that day. The stew varied from thin and watery one day to thick, oily fare that would stick to the ribs the next. It all depended on the luck of the hunters. What never changed is that everyone received a portion, no matter how meager. 

Sitting in the glow of the fire, skin and hair scrubbed clean for the first time in nearly a month, a bowl of something warm and filling in her lap, Aislinn finally felt hyuran again. It was such a simple thing and as the people, her people, gathered close together to hear an elder’s story, she wanted to cry but knew better. So instead, she sat quietly and let the stories and chatter around the fire wash over her.

The elders seemed to understand and respect her need for space in a way a few of the young ones did not. She couldn’t blame them for their curiosity. In the aftermath of Dalamud breaking like an egg she had been the only traveler they’d seen and she’d been brought in slung over the shoulder of one of the hunters with a pair of racing chocobos and a dead body in tow. There was obviously a story there.

She answered their questions as best she could, which was to say haltingly and sometimes circumspect with the details as she stirred a spoon through her oily stew. But when it became obvious she was growing uncomfortable with the attention, an elder would bap the adolescent lightly upside the head and that would be that. They’d leave off and turn their attention elsewhere. 

When her spoon scraped the last bits of the meal from the bottom of her bowl, Gundobald rose from the old crate he had been sitting on and motioned for her to follow him. As he had promised the other day in the tent, he led her to her father’s resting place.

He’d be laid in the shadow of the mesa that sheltered Little Ala Mhigo, with the others the camp had lost. They were all buried facing Gyr Abania so they could always see their way home, the way Gundobald told it. 

“Wha’ was his name?” He asked as she stared numbly down at the freshly turned rock and sand. 

Aislinn glanced briefly over her shoulder. “Jorund Ironfist” 

He made a low noise of acknowledgement in his throat. “A strong battle-name.” 

“He was a strong man.”

And he was. When she was young, her father was a tall tower. A wall no one could breach. She never worried about monsters under her bed at night because what monster could stand against such a man? She used to marvel at how her little hand could fit wholly in one of his wide, calloused palms, even with all her fingers stretching as wide as she could make them. He used to laugh at her efforts. The memories of her life with him began to slip through her mind like oil through her fingers though she tried hard to freeze and study each one. 

He hadn’t been the perfect father. Nymeia knew he had his faults. But he had been hers. She knew she’d never been a part of the plan and he’d tried the best he knew how. All her life, it had always been the two of them. And now it was just her. In her mind she seemed a pitifully inadequate figure left to stand alone. Much like the now pock-scarred world there was a giant crater in her life where her father once stood. It was one loss too many in a life of losses. 

Her shoulders shook with the effort it took not to cry. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t embarrass him by any un-Highlander outpouring of emotion. She was tired. She was just so damned tired and all she wanted in that moment was her da. 

From over her shoulder, Gundobald spoke, watching her struggle.

“I’ve seen men twice yer size fall t’ their knees an’ bawl like newborn babes. There ‘r times there’s nothin’ left t’ do but th’t. I’m thinkin’ fer you, lass, this is one o’ those times.” he said, his gruff voice low. His heavy hand came down to rest atop her head a moment and then he turned and made his way back to the fire glow of the small camp. 

She knew now why he brought her out here at night. So no one would see her in her private grief as sorrow overcame her and tears forced their way out through the cracks in her bedrock in messy, wracking sobs.

He was a wise man.

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

[sayattheexplorer]

Quince marmalade and feta mousse, on our winter Sultan's Brunch menu, join us for a festive brunch, every Saturday. Link in bio or here www.eatfeastly.com/lauraandsayat #sfbrunch #istanbulmodernsf #quince #feta #breakfast #vegetarian #cheese #brunch #bayarea #unctuous (at Istanbul Modern SF)