“Aren’t you worried, I’m gonna get hurt or something?” Sylvain asked, trying another angle at getting out of work. “I might cut myself or fall into a soup or something.”
Ingrid scoffed, sending another gust of air straight at him. “The only way you’ll end up in the soup pot is if I throw you in there myself.”
“Harsh,” he commented as Ingrid lifted him over to her shoulder. He slouched down, grabbing a stray lock of hair to keep from falling. Although, judging from the slight bounce of her chest with each step, he wouldn’t mind “accidentally” slipping. The only thing that kept him from trying a stunt concocted by his other head, was the threat of being the main protein in today’s soup.
While Sylvain debated taking the plunge, Ingrid made her way to the Dining Hall, breezing past the usual line of students and heading towards the back kitchen. She pinched him and roughly deposited him on the counter before heading to the stock room and grabbing the ingredients needed for today’s special. With little regard for his safety, she dropped the bunches of vegetables needed to prepare the meal.
Sylvain backed away as an avalanche of nutrition came rolling towards him. A turnip rolled at him like a boulder down a hill, nearly running him over. “H-Hey, relax, Ingrid!”
“You’ll live,” she said back, grabbing the smallest knife she could from a drawer. She dropped it in front of him, the loud clang causing him to jump back. “Here, make yourself useful and slice up the turnips.”
Sylvain stared down at the knife that was several times as long as he was tall. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Don’t be obtuse,” she snapped. “I’m sure that silver axe you insisted our professor buy is much heavier.”
“You know I don’t use it in battle,” he countered. “Gotta keep it clean, so I can show it off to the ladies.”
Ingrid eyed the pot and briefly wondered what human tasted like. While she wasn’t really curious, the idea would make a good enough scare tactic to keep Sylvain in line.
Speaking of, Sylvain was struggling to lift the small knife, his balance thrown off as he lifted it over his shoulder. He awkwardly moved it around, trying to find the best way to hold it before dragging it off to the turnip and settling into work.
There was something adorable about just how small he was and how he was earnestly struggling to even accomplish basic tasks. If she wanted, she could have diced the turnip in a matter of seconds, but Sylvain needed the work.
Maybe this will humble him, she thought before immediately brushing it off. Who am I kidding? It’s Sylvain.
Ingrid focused on her own responsibilities, grabbing a Teutates Loach that was set aside for preparing the Spicy Fish and Turnip Stew. It was a dish she rather enjoyed and surreptitiously learned that Sylvain did as well when they were invited to eat with the Professor a few weeks ago.
With her own knife, she set to work, bringing it right down and severing the loach’s head.
Sylvain jumped with a start at the sudden impact. “H-hey, watch where you swing that thing! I’m down here.”
Ingrid didn’t respond, quickly cutting up the fish and removing its bones. Though, Sylvain could have sworn he saw the lightest of smirks on her face. He wasn’t all that surprised that she was having fun messing with him, but he could do without the giant knife. At the very least, he was glad that it was her rather than one of his many, many scorned lovers.
Once Ingrid was done preparing the fish and added them to the stew pot, she turned to Sylvain to his his output. He had only sliced half a turnip.
“Seriously?” Ingrid asked, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s harder than it looks,” he shot back, pulling the knife back by the handle as if he were a logger cutting a tree with a long saw meant for two people.
Ingrid pushed him aside with her finger, ignoring his protests as she took control of the knife. With deft hands, she quickly cut it into pieces and did the same with the rest of the pile of turnips. Sylvain, glad to not be doing any more work, simply watched. He found himself staring at her hands, clean and well maintained, skillfully do his assigned job with little effort.
“So…” Sylvain began idly. “You used me for chores. Shouldn’t I be growing back now?”
“Maybe the hex recognized how awful of a job you did,” she said as she cupped a handful of turnip slices and dropped it into the bowl. “Don’t worry, there’s more than enough chores to go around.”
“Hooray.”
Once the meal was finished cooking...
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author