Guilty Pleasures...
I thought quite a bit about what Yevide's guilty pleasure might be before I reached my conclusion: almost all her pleasures these day are guilty ones. Therefore, rather than write you a lot about just one pleasure, I have written a little about several. I hope this fits the bill! Much of Yevide's guilt stems from the knowledge that she must not only become a High Reaches local, but appear to be as well; Igenite indulgences must be banished if she wishes to fit in.
... She closes her eyes, fingers curving slowly around the mug. This is not one of G'thon's cups and saucers, but a large, chunky vessel; it holds more, a comforting weight in her hands. She lifts it a little, lowering her face so she can draw a breath in through her broad, flat nose. The steam is scented with the herbs of home; the smell recalls a thousand memories; the heat prickles her face, drawing a hum of pleasure with its welcome warmth.
... She sinks down into the bath, one hand coming up to pull at the gauzy scarf that holds up her hair in that haphazard tangle; the movement that tugs the fastening free is extravagant, the strip of fabric cast away across the bathing chamber as she allows her hair to tumble down her back, fanning out across the water as she sinks deeper. Her hand goes out then to the jar that rests on the rim of the bath, fingers curling in to take up a handful of herbs. She scatters them with a laugh, slipping underwater as the scent begins to suffuse the air. At last, just for a little, some warmth in her bones.
... She watches Essdara as she departs; the girl still has a slight limp, and Yevide's lips press together as she observes this. Then her gaze drops to the tray before her, and she leans forward in her chair to make her selection. She should be in the living cavern, to see and be seen, to talk and to listen. Instead, she indulges herself; she claims a pastry, leaving the sweeter of the pair for G'thon when he returns, in case this should tempt the man to eat. Kicking off her slippers, she props her feet up on the edge of the low table as she leans back into the sofa.
... She sweeps one calloused hand across J'cor's sandtable, smoothing away his notations until the surface lies flat. Her palm rests there for a moment as her lips move; next, that hand comes up, and her other moves in to cast a handful of small stones across the surface. She leans in to observe them, the corners of her eyes crinkling to a smile as her lips curve up. A child's game, a nomad's game; she looks at the future the stones predict, and laughs as she begins to gather them up. One, darker than the rest, earns a playful scowl; it's tossed away across the room to rattle into a corner. Who wants dark predictions?
... She runs the long, gauzy strip that will bind her hair up through her hands, smiling at the feel of the fabric on her skin. Her movement is practiced as she binds her curls away from her face, and one hand comes up to steady the towel knotted just above her breasts as she pads across to the wardrobe to pull open the door. Her blue eyes linger on the sturdy High Reaches fabrics with which she has been provided, and she dutifully pulls out a heavy shirt, a long skirt. Her hand hovers then, indecisive for a moment; it's with the impish smile of a woman half her age that she reaches for a sisal petticoat, light, gauzy, Igenite. They'll never see it underneath.
... She reaches over to claim an extra pillow, pulling it behind her head so she can prop herself up to watch J'cor as he dresses. Her lips curve to a slow smile, blue eyes narrowing as she hums her pleasure, the sound a quiet echo of a recent, much louder demonstration. She arches her back, stretching like a cat, half-purring in the back of her throat; she knows it will draw an indulgent smile from him, and her hand comes up to touch his cheek as he relents, and crosses over to lean down and kiss her.
... She turns over in bed to widen her eyes in the darkness, peering until she finds G'thon's tall, lean silhouette. She is sleepy, but she rolls over onto her back, humming softly as a signal that she does not yet sleep, despite the lateness of his homecoming. She arches her back, stretching like a cat, half-purring in the back of her throat; she knows it will draw an indulgent smile from him, and her hand comes up to touch his cheek as he relents, and crosses over to lean down and kiss her...
... She closes her eyes, fingers curving slowly around the mug. This is not one of G'thon's cups and saucers, but a large, chunky vessel; it holds more, a comforting weight in her hands. She lifts it a little, lowering her face so she can draw a breath in through her broad, flat nose. The steam is scented with the herbs of home; the smell recalls a thousand memories; the heat prickles her face, drawing a hum of pleasure with its welcome warmth.
... She sinks down into the bath, one hand coming up to pull at the gauzy scarf that holds up her hair in that haphazard tangle; the movement that tugs the fastening free is extravagant, the strip of fabric cast away across the bathing chamber as she allows her hair to tumble down her back, fanning out across the water as she sinks deeper. Her hand goes out then to the jar that rests on the rim of the bath, fingers curling in to take up a handful of herbs. She scatters them with a laugh, slipping underwater as the scent begins to suffuse the air. At last, just for a little, some warmth in her bones.
... She watches Essdara as she departs; the girl still has a slight limp, and Yevide's lips press together as she observes this. Then her gaze drops to the tray before her, and she leans forward in her chair to make her selection. She should be in the living cavern, to see and be seen, to talk and to listen. Instead, she indulges herself; she claims a pastry, leaving the sweeter of the pair for G'thon when he returns, in case this should tempt the man to eat. Kicking off her slippers, she props her feet up on the edge of the low table as she leans back into the sofa.
... She sweeps one calloused hand across J'cor's sandtable, smoothing away his notations until the surface lies flat. Her palm rests there for a moment as her lips move; next, that hand comes up, and her other moves in to cast a handful of small stones across the surface. She leans in to observe them, the corners of her eyes crinkling to a smile as her lips curve up. A child's game, a nomad's game; she looks at the future the stones predict, and laughs as she begins to gather them up. One, darker than the rest, earns a playful scowl; it's tossed away across the room to rattle into a corner. Who wants dark predictions?
... She runs the long, gauzy strip that will bind her hair up through her hands, smiling at the feel of the fabric on her skin. Her movement is practiced as she binds her curls away from her face, and one hand comes up to steady the towel knotted just above her breasts as she pads across to the wardrobe to pull open the door. Her blue eyes linger on the sturdy High Reaches fabrics with which she has been provided, and she dutifully pulls out a heavy shirt, a long skirt. Her hand hovers then, indecisive for a moment; it's with the impish smile of a woman half her age that she reaches for a sisal petticoat, light, gauzy, Igenite. They'll never see it underneath.
... She reaches over to claim an extra pillow, pulling it behind her head so she can prop herself up to watch J'cor as he dresses. Her lips curve to a slow smile, blue eyes narrowing as she hums her pleasure, the sound a quiet echo of a recent, much louder demonstration. She arches her back, stretching like a cat, half-purring in the back of her throat; she knows it will draw an indulgent smile from him, and her hand comes up to touch his cheek as he relents, and crosses over to lean down and kiss her.
... She turns over in bed to widen her eyes in the darkness, peering until she finds G'thon's tall, lean silhouette. She is sleepy, but she rolls over onto her back, humming softly as a signal that she does not yet sleep, despite the lateness of his homecoming. She arches her back, stretching like a cat, half-purring in the back of her throat; she knows it will draw an indulgent smile from him, and her hand comes up to touch his cheek as he relents, and crosses over to lean down and kiss her...