Thread: One Man's Trash Is Another Man's Treasure [VIKINGS - boyo111 x Temptationist]

I am a valuable asset. I can not only sing, but I can dance, entertain... and I can shoot. Arrows, that was. Archery was one of my biggest strengths. I corrected this man, a mysterious ruler in my eyes. If this was the notorious Ragnar, which I assumed was based solely on his arrogance, I was not impressed by his quick judgement. Although he was correct in his assumption of my place in this Kentish world, he was premature in deeming my qualities. I felt immediately insulted. Although I had not completely admitted my servant status to you. Trying to uphold the white lie I had already started, I was defiant in my means, though still not disrespectful. I held my head high and my shoulders back as I spoke to the man in Old English. I am more than just a slave. Ragnar looked at me with narrowed eyes. My hand had already curled around your forearm, claiming what man was mine as you claimed me as your own. For a woman with such little knowledge of this culture, and such little time spent in the face of it, I had already heeled my loyalty to you, Rollo of Kent. That undying loyalty could be perceived both strategically and naively. As a petite female of foreign background, with her kingdom now seiged by Pagans, perhaps it was smart of me to have found someone to woo to my side. Feeding off the territorial needs of these men, I found myself a protector. Perhaps it was a naive loyalty, one that would result in another life of servanthood and slavery. There was no way to tell the outcome of my choice at this moment. But I had made my decision, and placed all my trust in you. As your arm returned my grasp, wrapping around me, I smiled warmly. Give me a bow and arrow and I can show you want I'm really made of. With challenging eyes focused on Ragnar, I acknowledged your inquiry for food and swayed my feminine form elegantly over to the table. Seeing a massive slab of cattle that had been recently purchased for the celebration of the defeat of the Norse people. The King of Kent was an arrogant man. I looked at the cow, which had taken two days to cook properly, He purchased this sacred meat, in belief that he would defeat you. I smiled, trying to fight back the urge to laugh at that notion. How I hated that man. Taking pieces of bread in my hand, I glanced briefly at Ragnar, wondering if he would respond to my tongue, and to that blasphemous statement. Most men here ate with their hands, but I was not endorsing that savage habit. Walking over to a glass cabinet unit in the corner of the room, I didn't so much as blink as men followed me with their eyes. Sighing lightly at the sight of all of them, dropping pieces of food on to the freshly cleaned floors, I shook my head. Opening the glass door, I grabbed hold of a stack of fine china and cutlery and strutted back over to the table. A plate, for efficient eating. I demonstrated, holding the plate up and placing the bread on it. I looked around the room and waved to other to follow suit, though didn't want for anyone to do so or acknowledge it. I had left the door to the cutlery and other dishes open, too, in case anyone wanted to take directly from there. Glancing at you briefly, I smirked and using a fork and meat knife, I cut chunks of the juicing meat and placed it on a plate. Grabbing some cheese, that had also been leftover from the escape, I decorated the dish nicely, like it was artwork. Striding back over to your side, I sat back on your lap, as you had motioned before. Moving the plate to you, I allowed it into your hands, wondering secretly how you would eat it. Unsure of what custom you were used to, I left the fork cemented in the center of the chunk of meat. Having only made one plate, I did not grab food for myself, except for a piece of bread, which I happily chewed on.