Thread: Playing the Game [ Chai & Razgriz ]

RE Playing the Game Ariamella Razgriz Colorado Springs, CO Early-mid November A soft groan could be heard from the living room as Stella rolled over on the couch, stretching her limbs and blinking sleepily a few times. It was nearly dark outside already the sun had disappeared behind the mountain, leaving only hues of indigo along with a spattering of the first stars across the night sky. God, what time was it? 5? Maybe 6? A dry cough coursed through her chest, forcing her to sit up. She hated sleeping or napping in the middle of the day precisely because when she woke, everything felt dry as a desert. Dehydrated, with a massive headache... just overall really shitty. Ric? she called out half-heartedly, more out of curiosity than to actually see if he would come. She wondered if having him as a bodyguard meant that she could have him at her beck and call. Could she order him to grab her some water and ibuprofen? When he didn't answer, she sighed and swung both legs over the edge of the cushions, somehow managing to find the energy to pick up her feet and carry herself to the kitchen. A yawn hit her and she rolled her neck twice, wincing as she did so the muscles there felt stiff, yet another consequence of having slept on the sofa. Small spaces didn't agree with her body--even though she herself was small--as far as sleeping areas went, no matter how plush and soft the cushions were. It didn't help that she was the type to frequently change positions while sleeping, and she knew she was that kind of person the one who went to bed laying down on her back and woke up with the sheets in disarray while she had magically moved to some spread eagle position turned 90 degrees to the right. But whatever. It was Ric's fault that her sleeping schedule was all kind of messed up. Why couldn't he have been placed in one of the North American prisons? He couldn't have been that special... that's what she told herself, at least. The young woman entered the kitchen and turned the lights on, her eyes immediately settling on the slumped figure resting on the granite-top island. For a moment Stella just stared blankly at Ric's resting form, unable to think of a reason why he had to crash in the middle of the kitchen. She distinctly remembered telling him he had a room , which was actually upstairs and not in the kitchen. Couldn't he follow a simple direc... Oh. The accusatory thoughts trailed off as she followed the line of his arm, which ended at a hand still gripped on whatever bottle he decided to intoxicate himself with. Idiot , she thought to herself as she walked forward, her annoyance spiking up even higher when she saw exactly what bottle it was that he had decided to polish off. What to do, what to do...? Ah, yes, she knew. Grabbing the neck of the empty Lambrusco, she forcefully knocked it out of Ric's hand, causing it to fall near his head and clatter loudly against the light-colored stone. Simultaneously, she muttered, Lumino, and her right hand lit up a bright, off-white champagne color, which she prompty turned toward the warlock's face. Oh god, she exaclaimed a little louder than what was appropriate after she could see Ric starting to stir. Sleeping on the job already? Wait, no, not sleeping. Voluntarily inebriation despite agreeing to protect me. The princess. I could have died or something, Ric. I can practically feel the undying loyalty coming off in waves. The last sentence was saturated with so much sarcasm that it was impossible to miss, but Stella paused for a couple seconds just to make sure he heard her next statement I don't think daddy Durante would be too happy about this, would he? she hissed, displaying a surprising amount of sass for such a small body. She wouldn't actually have called her father for such a ridiculous reason. In fact, she really couldn't have cared less if Ric wanted to get so drunk that he was reduced to crawling and moaning all over the floor. Who didn't want to get hammered from time to time? What she did have a problem with was that he drank her bottle of Lambrusco. Her specially ordered, magic-imbued, very expensive Lambrusco. It wasn't so expensive that it broke her bank to lose it rarely anything was too expensive for Council families anway, but she had waited a long time to have that particular bottle of wine. It came from a specialty vineyard in Emilia-Romagna, a region close to her native Tuscany, where each step in the wine-mkaing process was gradually imbued with magic so as to create the smoothest, yet strongest, variety of Lambrusco known to anyone. Even the grapes were grown with a hint of magic to ensure the perfection of the flavor the earthy, fresh tone with a subtle dash of sweetness. She had waited a year to get that bottle. One whole year, and now it was gone without a drop of it touching her lips. I needed that Lambrusco, Stella said coldly when she stepped back and turned off the light on her hand. Not that you woud know anything about quality entertaining, but that was meant for a really important dinner party in the coming weeks. But obviously whatever you needed it for was way more important than what I needed it for. Her stomach grumbled audibly, and she rounded the island to get the fridge it was only then that she noticed the hunger and thirst clawing at her. Opening the door, her eyes fell on the large, wrapped rectangle of cheesy baked pasta, and the pan she had baked it in nowhere in sight. After reaching for the small plate and slowly turning around, she shut the fridge door and set the plate on the island beside Ric. Stella brought her hands together and to her lips, inhaling deeply as she brought her eyes to the ceiling, trying to suppress the growing urge to strike him with magic. Then when they settled on the warlock once more, she used her clasped hands to gesture to the remaining square. I guess we're going out for dinner tonight. What happened to my lasagna? she asked. Honestly she didn't know why she even asked the question at this point if he could finish an entire bottle of wine, obviously he could finish an entire pan of lasagna. 'Have at it' certainly meant that she invited him to eat, but she hadn't expected him to raid her kitchen. That was just... common manners, wasn't it?