(no subject)
Molasses #15. The Usual Suspects
Story : knights
Rating : G
Timeframe : 1263
Word Count : 313
“Lyssa!”
Lyssa ambled into the kitchen, only to regret heeding the summons at once. There stood her sister, hands on hips, eyes narrowed, brows furrowed. Pudgy little legs splayed on the floor before her, Mara sat munching on something. Showers of powdery crumbs spilled over the toddler’s front, and loud smackings and incoherent declarations of pleasure issued from her tiny lips.
“What?” said Lyssa.
Mara offered up the mass of thoroughly mangled and chewed upon brown substance with an equally messy grin. “Cookie!” she said.
Ski turned her icy glare from the child to her sister.
“What?” said Lyssa again.
Ski’s jaw dropped. “What do you mean, what? Surely you are old enough to know that an hour before diner is no time to be plying the child with sweets.”
“Of course,” said Lyssa, rolling her eyes as the baby resumed stuffing her face. “Of course, I would be the one to give her cookies.” She bent to scoop her from the floor. “Maybe Mother gave it to her?”
“Mother would not be giving her cookies.”
“Of course,” she said, arms folding around Mara’s middle, “the corruption of little tummies takes irresponsibility of the caliber only I can manage.”
The last bits of cookie disappeared into Mara’s mouth with a loud chomp, while Ski continued to glare.
With another roll of her eyes, Lyssa sighed. “I swear I didn’t give her a cookie,” she said.
“Well it most certainly did not come from me,” said Ski.
“You think,” she eyed the crumb encrusted, smiling form in her arms as her body took up its instinctive rock from foot to foot, “that maybe she got it herself?”
Ski pointed and Lyssa and Mara followed the gesture to a shelf overhead where the cheerily painted ceramic pot perched. “No,” she said. “I do not.”
Mara jabbed a chubby finger at the jar. “Cookie!” she said.
Story : knights
Rating : G
Timeframe : 1263
Word Count : 313
“Lyssa!”
Lyssa ambled into the kitchen, only to regret heeding the summons at once. There stood her sister, hands on hips, eyes narrowed, brows furrowed. Pudgy little legs splayed on the floor before her, Mara sat munching on something. Showers of powdery crumbs spilled over the toddler’s front, and loud smackings and incoherent declarations of pleasure issued from her tiny lips.
“What?” said Lyssa.
Mara offered up the mass of thoroughly mangled and chewed upon brown substance with an equally messy grin. “Cookie!” she said.
Ski turned her icy glare from the child to her sister.
“What?” said Lyssa again.
Ski’s jaw dropped. “What do you mean, what? Surely you are old enough to know that an hour before diner is no time to be plying the child with sweets.”
“Of course,” said Lyssa, rolling her eyes as the baby resumed stuffing her face. “Of course, I would be the one to give her cookies.” She bent to scoop her from the floor. “Maybe Mother gave it to her?”
“Mother would not be giving her cookies.”
“Of course,” she said, arms folding around Mara’s middle, “the corruption of little tummies takes irresponsibility of the caliber only I can manage.”
The last bits of cookie disappeared into Mara’s mouth with a loud chomp, while Ski continued to glare.
With another roll of her eyes, Lyssa sighed. “I swear I didn’t give her a cookie,” she said.
“Well it most certainly did not come from me,” said Ski.
“You think,” she eyed the crumb encrusted, smiling form in her arms as her body took up its instinctive rock from foot to foot, “that maybe she got it herself?”
Ski pointed and Lyssa and Mara followed the gesture to a shelf overhead where the cheerily painted ceramic pot perched. “No,” she said. “I do not.”
Mara jabbed a chubby finger at the jar. “Cookie!” she said.