if you pay all the bills
It's been quite a while since I wrote any OC stuff lately. But out of boredom I was rereading my own stories today, and . . . well, it resulted in an extremely random scene featuring Emrys and Nghia, with a guest appearance and punchline provided courtesy of Winifred.
So this random snippet of silliness was inspired by an early part of the Cooking Radish and Painting Bamboo story that I posted back during May. It almost completely lacks the high levels of angst in its source material, though. Instead it has large quantities of snarky Emrys. I do adore snark.
Dedicated to lucifermourning, since she passed another year-mark just recently. Oh, and to subsiding_leaf, since she requested three things Emrys and only received one as of yet . . . perhaps this can count for two?
Emrys and Nghia: Washing Dishes
Nghia came to an abrupt stop in the doorway and stared, open-mouthed. The long sleeves of Emrys' robe had been tied back with a looped cord, leaving his arms mostly bare. The light of the setting sun gave the wet skin of his arms a golden tinge, a warmth uncharacteristic of his normally icy beauty.
And his arms were wet because-- Nghia blinked a few times, just to be sure-- because the wooden trough built out from the wall at which he stood was full of water, and he was washing dishes in it. He was in fact up to his elbows in dishwater.
"What is it, Nghia?" the Dragon Lord asked, without looking up from what he was doing.
"You're washing dishes."
"Yes."
"No. No. I mean, you're washing dishes."
That earned him a flat, narrow-eyed stare over Emrys' shoulder. "Did you want to wash them?"
"Um, no. I mean, I wouldn't mind, but . . . I mean, um. You are washing dishes."
"Nghia. Do the dishes need to be washed?"
"Well, I, I suppose-- yes?"
"Do you see anyone else here?"
"I-- that is, no."
"No one else who might, conceivably, be made to wash the dishes?"
"Well, no!"
"So. I am washing the dishes. It's possible that I might even dry them, after they're washed. Perhaps I'll put them away, as well. Do you object?"
"I don't, but . . ." he couldn't stop staring.
"If you're going to hang around, do something useful with yourself. Split firewood, or sweep out the main room while there's still enough light to see."
"I don't need light to see."
"And I can make my own light, should I wish to. That's not the point, Nghia. The point is that you stop staring at me. It's annoying."
"But I've never seen you do the dishes before!"
"Unsurprising, since I've never done the dishes before."
"I just don't believe it!"
There was a small and highly meaningful pause. Emrys was far too controlled to indulge in any outward manifestations of anger, like clenching his jaw or making a fist, but he could certainly make his feelings known if he wished to. "That you are incapable of believing something that's happening right before your eyes is somewhat worrisome. If you're still unable to believe it when I continue to do the dishes twice a day from here onwards, your relative levels of sanity will be in severe question. Fortunately, that's none of my concern, and it will concern me even less-- if you would kindly go away."
* * * *
Winifred stopped in the doorway to stare at the Dragon Lord as he leaned over the wooden trough in the corner. "He wasn't kidding. You're washing the dishes. I mean, you're actually washing them! I don't believe it!"
"Get out of my kitchen. Now."
So this random snippet of silliness was inspired by an early part of the Cooking Radish and Painting Bamboo story that I posted back during May. It almost completely lacks the high levels of angst in its source material, though. Instead it has large quantities of snarky Emrys. I do adore snark.
Dedicated to lucifermourning, since she passed another year-mark just recently. Oh, and to subsiding_leaf, since she requested three things Emrys and only received one as of yet . . . perhaps this can count for two?
Emrys and Nghia: Washing Dishes
Nghia came to an abrupt stop in the doorway and stared, open-mouthed. The long sleeves of Emrys' robe had been tied back with a looped cord, leaving his arms mostly bare. The light of the setting sun gave the wet skin of his arms a golden tinge, a warmth uncharacteristic of his normally icy beauty.
And his arms were wet because-- Nghia blinked a few times, just to be sure-- because the wooden trough built out from the wall at which he stood was full of water, and he was washing dishes in it. He was in fact up to his elbows in dishwater.
"What is it, Nghia?" the Dragon Lord asked, without looking up from what he was doing.
"You're washing dishes."
"Yes."
"No. No. I mean, you're washing dishes."
That earned him a flat, narrow-eyed stare over Emrys' shoulder. "Did you want to wash them?"
"Um, no. I mean, I wouldn't mind, but . . . I mean, um. You are washing dishes."
"Nghia. Do the dishes need to be washed?"
"Well, I, I suppose-- yes?"
"Do you see anyone else here?"
"I-- that is, no."
"No one else who might, conceivably, be made to wash the dishes?"
"Well, no!"
"So. I am washing the dishes. It's possible that I might even dry them, after they're washed. Perhaps I'll put them away, as well. Do you object?"
"I don't, but . . ." he couldn't stop staring.
"If you're going to hang around, do something useful with yourself. Split firewood, or sweep out the main room while there's still enough light to see."
"I don't need light to see."
"And I can make my own light, should I wish to. That's not the point, Nghia. The point is that you stop staring at me. It's annoying."
"But I've never seen you do the dishes before!"
"Unsurprising, since I've never done the dishes before."
"I just don't believe it!"
There was a small and highly meaningful pause. Emrys was far too controlled to indulge in any outward manifestations of anger, like clenching his jaw or making a fist, but he could certainly make his feelings known if he wished to. "That you are incapable of believing something that's happening right before your eyes is somewhat worrisome. If you're still unable to believe it when I continue to do the dishes twice a day from here onwards, your relative levels of sanity will be in severe question. Fortunately, that's none of my concern, and it will concern me even less-- if you would kindly go away."
* * * *
Winifred stopped in the doorway to stare at the Dragon Lord as he leaned over the wooden trough in the corner. "He wasn't kidding. You're washing the dishes. I mean, you're actually washing them! I don't believe it!"
"Get out of my kitchen. Now."