Ashan 62, 710
"Eat."
Villoris' instruction was repeated for the third time while his daughter stared him down dubiously. The Naer's narrowed eyes portrayed the most emotion he had seen in trials from the girl since learning of her mother's death. Yndira was not in the slightest pleased to be within the same confines as the man that had robbed of a chance to watch her mother expire. It was not that he had killed her that infuriated the girl, but that he left her out of it. Her tantrum was something of a brooding silence that occurred only in his presence. She was sure it appeared as no more than juvenile misbehavior, but the matter was far more serious than that. And so it was that they found themselves at their current point.
Her father glowered at her from his spot across the table, hair askew and eyes somewhat wild. There was something to this, she knew. His displeasure with her existence was a fact of life she had little care for, but it had shaped much of her upbringing. Because of this, she found little recollection of ever once being graced with a meal with him. And yet, there he was across from her, giving direction to eat the nearly charred meat he had cooked. She dropped her gaze down to examine what he insisted she eat. It looked to be an attempt at steak, something someone more skilled could have made without mistake. The meager side of potatoes was dotted with an equally sorry smear of melting butter and a dash of pepper. Pathetic. What did he hope to gain with this?
Yndira's gaze returned to her father's face for a moment before she lifted her utensils to begin eating. He watched her closely, an unnerving act for someone who had previously waxed poetic about how much the sight of her made him want to gouge his own eyes out. She could only stare back for a moment before he urged her on. The steak, too tough to cut in one go, soon proved to be more distracting than Villoris' watchful gaze. A grimace took residence on her features as she struggled to cut through for a moment. Her first thought was to take the butter from her mashed potatoes and have it be of use to soften the meat. However, after a moment of toiling, she managed to cut it.
It was then that she shot half of her biological makeup a withering look. His staring was giving his intentions away. Part of her remained unsure of whether or not he intended for her to truly eat. He could have been goading her into some sort of confrontation. He could have decided that he would attempt civility between the two of them as father and daughter. However, every fiber of her being doubted the latter option. There was no chance of that in light of his treatment towards her. There was also no one who would have given enough of a damn to intercede on her behalf.
"Eat," he urged again, this time gesturing with his own knife for her to do so.
Yndira found that his meal was far more desirable. It had been clear that he had put consideration into it. The lentil soup steamed in its bread bowl container. He could not have made that; it must have been gifted. Roast beef slathered in gravy lay atop his own potatoes like a blanket, all of which floated in a lake of butter sprinkled with what smelled like rosemary. She would not admit the watering of her mouth at the sight of it. Nothing over the top, but elegant in its simplicity and sure to set the taste buds aflame with passion. Again she grimaced as she compared the quality of their respective meals.
Something was decidedly amiss.
Villoris' instruction was repeated for the third time while his daughter stared him down dubiously. The Naer's narrowed eyes portrayed the most emotion he had seen in trials from the girl since learning of her mother's death. Yndira was not in the slightest pleased to be within the same confines as the man that had robbed of a chance to watch her mother expire. It was not that he had killed her that infuriated the girl, but that he left her out of it. Her tantrum was something of a brooding silence that occurred only in his presence. She was sure it appeared as no more than juvenile misbehavior, but the matter was far more serious than that. And so it was that they found themselves at their current point.
Her father glowered at her from his spot across the table, hair askew and eyes somewhat wild. There was something to this, she knew. His displeasure with her existence was a fact of life she had little care for, but it had shaped much of her upbringing. Because of this, she found little recollection of ever once being graced with a meal with him. And yet, there he was across from her, giving direction to eat the nearly charred meat he had cooked. She dropped her gaze down to examine what he insisted she eat. It looked to be an attempt at steak, something someone more skilled could have made without mistake. The meager side of potatoes was dotted with an equally sorry smear of melting butter and a dash of pepper. Pathetic. What did he hope to gain with this?
Yndira's gaze returned to her father's face for a moment before she lifted her utensils to begin eating. He watched her closely, an unnerving act for someone who had previously waxed poetic about how much the sight of her made him want to gouge his own eyes out. She could only stare back for a moment before he urged her on. The steak, too tough to cut in one go, soon proved to be more distracting than Villoris' watchful gaze. A grimace took residence on her features as she struggled to cut through for a moment. Her first thought was to take the butter from her mashed potatoes and have it be of use to soften the meat. However, after a moment of toiling, she managed to cut it.
It was then that she shot half of her biological makeup a withering look. His staring was giving his intentions away. Part of her remained unsure of whether or not he intended for her to truly eat. He could have been goading her into some sort of confrontation. He could have decided that he would attempt civility between the two of them as father and daughter. However, every fiber of her being doubted the latter option. There was no chance of that in light of his treatment towards her. There was also no one who would have given enough of a damn to intercede on her behalf.
"Eat," he urged again, this time gesturing with his own knife for her to do so.
Yndira found that his meal was far more desirable. It had been clear that he had put consideration into it. The lentil soup steamed in its bread bowl container. He could not have made that; it must have been gifted. Roast beef slathered in gravy lay atop his own potatoes like a blanket, all of which floated in a lake of butter sprinkled with what smelled like rosemary. She would not admit the watering of her mouth at the sight of it. Nothing over the top, but elegant in its simplicity and sure to set the taste buds aflame with passion. Again she grimaced as she compared the quality of their respective meals.
Something was decidedly amiss.
