Topic: And so it begins. Kind of. This chapter at least.

Mara · Date: 2005-08-28 20:23 EST

"Surely I can cook!" She managed to look offended as the man eyed her from the crown of her dark head of hair to the tips of her battered leather slippers. Mara drew herself up to her full height, puffing up like an indignant bantam.

"Huh," his expression was thoughtful and he sucked in a breath. "Fine then, fine we'll have you on trial. But mind, if you're not suitable it's out you go."

She was too grateful at hearing the 'we'll have you' to really pay a great deal of attention to the rest of it. You know, the out you go and 'on trial' portions. It was a job, and one she sorely needed. That it included room and board and even a modest (tiny) income for clothing (we adhere to a certain standard of dress and behaviour here.) That, in fact, the man handed over to her and suggested a shop right there in the town centre that might (might, he stressed) carry something .. suitable.

There was that hint of doubt again. As if, she muttered to herself as she hurried back along the path that led through ornate gates and to the dusty road that led to the town, "as if I can't be trusted to dress m'self. Can I cook" She sounded mortally offended still.

Several hours, five silver, a meal and a pot of ale later she was hoping that her luck had changed finally. A job, two new gowns -dark, plain but well made- and a meal as well as a room that while not palatial was hers for the time. Simply furnished, it had the bare minimum. Bed, chest under the window, washstand with a bowl and pitcher, a dish for soap, a hook for a towel and a mirror that had only a little crack in it. It was enough. It was a start.

Luck was smiling on her. Or at least she hoped so. The housekeeper had been quite gracious, giving her firstday as her day to tend to her own personal business. Which meant she could keep the other job at the Inn. Which meant she could continue adding to that tiny nest egg and maybe someday book passage back home.

Hey.. a girl could dream.

Mara · Date: 2005-08-29 11:56 EST

She threw herself into her work. An easy enough thing since she enjoyed (mostly) what she did. Cooking was comfort, was creation to her. The raw ingredients came into her kitchen (and it became HER kitchen within hours of her assuming the position of cook) and tantalizing, good food left it on trays, platters, in bowls and heaped up on trenchers.

The kitchen underwent a minor transformation, too, over the weeks of her tenure there. The once dark room was lightened. A bit of whitewash over the plastered walls, the tables scrubbed near bone white and the flagstones revealed, the dirty rushes swept out and simply NOT replaced.

"But Cook.. why?" one of the stable boys turned scullery help had goggled as he came back from lugging out another reeking armload of half rotted rushes, reeds, straw and only the Gods knew how much wasted and spoiled food and herbs that had been meant to sweeten the noxious things.

"Because they stink," she'd turned from the roast that was being turned slowly over the coals in the great hearth. "They harbor fleas and I for one, have no desire to have my ankles bit by the nasty vermin. It just means scrubbing the floors," she glanced at one of the kitchen maids as the girl groaned under her breath. "With boiling water and sand."

And she'd seen it done, winning a grudging respect as she did some of the scrubbing herself, not just ordering it done. In fact that had been a winning point with the kitchen staff. She worked as hard as she expected those under her to work. She was the first one in the kitchen in the early morning, setting the bread for the day and starting the sweet, citron, honey and cinnamon scented and flavored rolls that the Lord of the house preferred to break his fast with; and off to bed late, helping bank the fires and get things ready for the mornings work.

All in all it was hard work, tiring work, but she liked it. She liked the coins that were added to her small horde. Liked it when she went into town and purchased another dress, in a dark, heavy fabric. A dark red linen that swished around her ankles in a very feminine, heavy swirl when she turned quickly.

In the afternoons after the nooning had been done with and the preparations for dinner were well underway, and the Housekeeper had gone to inspect the cellars, Mara would take herself out beyond the kitchen garden to the edge of the cliff that looked out onto the sea, drinking in the salt-tang of the breeze and closing her eyes, letting that breeze ruffle her hair, tug at the heavy skirts she wore. And for a moment she imagined she was on a ship. On her way home.

Mara · Date: 2005-08-30 08:43 EST

She woke heavy eyed and almost late. Maybe it was that, that set the tone for the day, that feeling of being not wholly in control, not all there. Dreams had bound her in sleep, after she had slipped into her room.

Snippets of conversation, of things seen. The lovers smiling, whispering, their heads close together as they exchanged loving words, a joke that made the woman giggle, the mans smile deepen. The way they left, arms wound warm about the other. Posessed and possessing.

Possessed of a great many things, and that had made her sigh as she turned in the narrow bed, bunching the blankets up over her shoulder as she turned her face to the wall. IT wasn't fair, but then life was far from being even handed, and whinging wouldn't change that. She knew it. Knew it well. But still.....

.. and on that thought she'd drifted off to sleep, her dreams filled with romantic stuff and nonsense. Fluff, girlish dreams of some dashing sweet man who would sweep her off her feet, whisper those self-same affectionate words, strum some multi-stringed instrument and croon words that were enough to make a girls knees weaken, her resolve turn to naught.

... until some bright haired/eyed, curly haired, curvaceous confection showed. Or a dark and brooding beauty. Or .. a Llama? Righ then, no more wine, not even a taste of it before bed.

"Bossy awd bitch," was the name given her the next day as she chivvied and scolded her helpers to greater effort. The small pantries stripped bare and scrubbed within an inch, the churns scalded and set out to bleach in the sun; and that all in addition to the usual days work in the kitchen. No help at all, that His Lordship had guests in to dine that night, which had meant more courses to augment the fish, fowl, bread and cheese that had started.

On the upside though, it meant that she was too tired to do more than ease off her shoes, her gown, and into the plain cotton shift (a luxury, that fine, soft fabric) that night once the last pot had been burnished and set in its place, the fires banked and the pantries locked for the night.

An hour. Then two, and still she couldn't sleep, a restless parade of thoughts, figures and nebulous 'what ifs' parading before her eyes.

It was a ghostly figure, swathed in a dark cloak then over the bedgown, that made its way down past the kitchen garden to the cliff that overlooked the restless sea, the waves near glowing in the moonlight as they rolled in and back across the rocks and sand below. Hypnotic. Soothing.

Mara · Date: 2005-09-04 10:25 EST

She was bright eyed and smiling, despite the mild headache that she'd woke with. The whiskey, she was sure. She'd never drank it before. Not like that, certainly not been kissed like that either. And to think, she'd pined after a nebulous.. someone.

The pirate was so much more than a nebulous figment of imagination. Real, down to the warmth of his lips against hers, the tang of the whiskey on his breath. And oh, oh, oh the feeling it'd given her, having someone look at her like that. like a hungry cat seeing a baby mouse

So sweet, that flattery, the attention. Sweet enough that she'd gone back the next night, truly in the hopes of seeing the Mystery Pirate there Mystery? what mystery.. he told you his name.... James 'Blood Bath' Black.. remember the wanted posters? Think, girl... She'd been disappointed in that. He'd not showed even the tip of feather plumed hat, that second night. And she'd stuck to the tea that Alysia made.

Alysia. OH she envied that calm, the bright wit and cool humor. Envied and sometimes emulated. When she remembered. As best she could.

So she'd gone again, though the hope wasn't quite as bright that Mr Mystery would be there. There'd been a decent amount of people there in the common room, some faces she remembered quite well, others newer, but very much welcome. That meant that she'd be able to keep her job, add to the small horde of coins that grew, week by week. And who knew what else life would bring?