Owen didn’t need to seek his wife out, so much as he just needed to walk from the den to the kitchen. Despite his almost uncanny ability to find her wherever she may be, the chance of finding her in her favorite spot in the house was always very high.
She was seated on a stool in front of the island. Julianna always had the impeccable posture of a queen. She sat up, back straight like a rod with her feet tucked neatly into one of the rungs of the stool. Even her chin was high, eyes downcast to the task at hand. Upon the island a three-tiered cake towered over various baking and cake decorating implements that Julianna has spread out over the table.
Her back was the the alcove that lead from the hall into the kitchen, but she heard her husband approaching even before the click of ceramic on granite announced his presence. Her tail swayed back and forth gently where it hung off the stool and fell towards the floor. Her ears twitched once, but she waited for Owen to speak, hearing the audible intake of breath that meant he was gathering his thoughts. Silently, she continued to spin a decorating nail in slow circles between forefinger and thumb as she piped another delicate purple flower to adorn the cake that was already full of them.
It was unclear whether the cake was for an occasion or just because Julianna found the task fun.
“My daughter,” she emphasized after Owen had finished his rant. Julianna finally looked up from her work to the man who had rounded the island to stand in front of her as he spoke. “Why is she my daughter when she’s done something wrong?” With a bit of a huff, Jules pulled the buttercream flower off the nail with a pair of scissors and situated it carefully on the bottom of the cake. Putting her tools down, she instead picked up her phone and it only took a quick Google search to confirm what Owen was saying.
She hummed, displeased, as she scrolled through various headlines from gossips magazines and more “reputable” publications, who seemed more concerned with Celeste’s daringly short skirt, than her recent kidnapping attempt as they broadcast her evening all of the world.
“Well, that’s not good at all,” she observed, setting her phone down again. “Agent Barlena seemed like such a reliable guard.” Her tone and her words weren’t enough to reveal the ‘I told you so’ that she knew her husband would pick up on.
She wasn’t quite gloating about how right she had been. And it wasn’t that she had no concern for Celeste’s safety and well-being. They both knew that this stunt was merely a Celeste-way of informing them that she didn’t not like their guard choice for her. “I don’t know why she didn’t just tell us about the concert,” Julianna mused, licking icing off her thumb before picking up another piping bag, this one was filled with a dreamy blue buttercream.
Julianna leaned closer to the cake to pipe perfect rosettes directly onto the middle tier. “I assume you’re going to fire Barlena?” She asked, this time too sweetly, gaze flicking towards him before dropping towards his phone. It still sat upon the counter, but it had stopped ringing. An increasingly frustrated Celeste could be heard on the other end of the line complaining about being woken.
She was seated on a stool in front of the island. Julianna always had the impeccable posture of a queen. She sat up, back straight like a rod with her feet tucked neatly into one of the rungs of the stool. Even her chin was high, eyes downcast to the task at hand. Upon the island a three-tiered cake towered over various baking and cake decorating implements that Julianna has spread out over the table.
Her back was the the alcove that lead from the hall into the kitchen, but she heard her husband approaching even before the click of ceramic on granite announced his presence. Her tail swayed back and forth gently where it hung off the stool and fell towards the floor. Her ears twitched once, but she waited for Owen to speak, hearing the audible intake of breath that meant he was gathering his thoughts. Silently, she continued to spin a decorating nail in slow circles between forefinger and thumb as she piped another delicate purple flower to adorn the cake that was already full of them.
It was unclear whether the cake was for an occasion or just because Julianna found the task fun.
“My daughter,” she emphasized after Owen had finished his rant. Julianna finally looked up from her work to the man who had rounded the island to stand in front of her as he spoke. “Why is she my daughter when she’s done something wrong?” With a bit of a huff, Jules pulled the buttercream flower off the nail with a pair of scissors and situated it carefully on the bottom of the cake. Putting her tools down, she instead picked up her phone and it only took a quick Google search to confirm what Owen was saying.
She hummed, displeased, as she scrolled through various headlines from gossips magazines and more “reputable” publications, who seemed more concerned with Celeste’s daringly short skirt, than her recent kidnapping attempt as they broadcast her evening all of the world.
“Well, that’s not good at all,” she observed, setting her phone down again. “Agent Barlena seemed like such a reliable guard.” Her tone and her words weren’t enough to reveal the ‘I told you so’ that she knew her husband would pick up on.
She wasn’t quite gloating about how right she had been. And it wasn’t that she had no concern for Celeste’s safety and well-being. They both knew that this stunt was merely a Celeste-way of informing them that she didn’t not like their guard choice for her. “I don’t know why she didn’t just tell us about the concert,” Julianna mused, licking icing off her thumb before picking up another piping bag, this one was filled with a dreamy blue buttercream.
Julianna leaned closer to the cake to pipe perfect rosettes directly onto the middle tier. “I assume you’re going to fire Barlena?” She asked, this time too sweetly, gaze flicking towards him before dropping towards his phone. It still sat upon the counter, but it had stopped ringing. An increasingly frustrated Celeste could be heard on the other end of the line complaining about being woken.
I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true) and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you.
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Petite-Guard [Closed] - by megs - 10-12-2017, 09:08 PM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by megs - 10-12-2017, 09:13 PM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by saronym - 10-17-2017, 03:21 PM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by megs - 10-18-2017, 08:43 PM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by saronym - 11-22-2017, 12:35 AM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by megs - 01-05-2018, 07:36 PM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by saronym - 01-17-2018, 01:57 AM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by megs - 01-20-2018, 09:31 PM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by saronym - 01-21-2018, 12:40 AM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by megs - 02-02-2018, 05:05 PM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by saronym - 02-19-2018, 01:37 AM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by megs - 03-18-2018, 01:28 PM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by saronym - 03-21-2018, 04:28 AM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by megs - 03-25-2018, 01:51 PM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by saronym - 03-30-2018, 12:12 AM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by megs - 04-01-2018, 04:27 AM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by saronym - 06-02-2018, 09:09 PM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by megs - 06-04-2018, 04:29 AM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by saronym - 06-04-2018, 10:50 PM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by megs - 06-06-2018, 10:57 AM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by saronym - 06-07-2018, 07:14 PM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by megs - 06-27-2018, 04:53 AM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by saronym - 07-09-2018, 09:50 PM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by saronym - 11-18-2018, 01:36 PM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by saronym - 06-14-2019, 07:50 PM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by megs - 11-13-2018, 12:21 PM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by megs - 06-11-2019, 04:58 PM
RE: Petite-Guard [Closed] - by megs - 01-11-2020, 01:59 PM