Spilled Wine - Yarti/Snakestone

At days end, our travels brought us to a warm little tavern along the north shore. We were dressed lightly, all things considered. Stepping inside, we were at once greeted by the most welcoming fire. I began warming my hands while Snake tended to our drinks. Just to my right he spoke with a Dunmer lady, perhaps 10 years older than I. She might have assumed that her thoughts were her own, but I knew her type. Even from ten feet away I could see her undressing him with her eyes. The throaty giggles, blush in her cheeks. That caked-on makeup. She was on the hunt. Not today, harlot.

Briskly, I crossed the room and placed a gauntlet between her and my love. Snake had just received his drink by the time I butted in.

“Actually, that will be two drinks. His WIFE would like one as well.” I barked.

My words, as sharp and potent as Snilla-Nilyn. Her expression alone said more than enough. Caught red handed. Her weak claws grasped at a filled goblet, fumbling, wobbling, quickly thrusting it my way. I took it to my lips, taking a single drink before letting my arm fall limp. The wine splattering to the floor beneath us.

“Oh no. I’m terribly sorry. Tired from our travels, I suppose. You should clean that up before someone gets hurt.”

It trailed off into a growl. The last word lingering deep in my throat. My eye contact, unwavering. I peered into her core, her soul, if she had one. I take it she caught my meaning as her demeanor instantly changed. That sultry look about her eyes, gone. She nodded and sat her tray atop a display case behind her and sat about to scrubbing up the spilled wine. I tossed some coin onto her tray as payment and joined Snake back at the doorway. He saw my growing smile and shook his head, as he always does.

We found a dimly lit, romantic corner. Far from that woman’s prying eyes, we relaxed for an hour or so. Just enjoying the other’s presence, thoughts from the passing day, the kids. They were up at the college having their yearly classes. Just the basics. We rent a little cabin over at Amol for these times of year. It always felt wrong to stray too far.  We spend many a night there but sometimes we just feel the need to make ourselves useful in these parts. Good mercenary work is hard to come by.

Beginning to doze in each-others arms, we finally slid our chairs back beneath the table. A rented room upstairs awaited us.