peasant | SB INBOX.

He's not a puppy.

( says local woman who speaks of her husband like he's a puppy, entirely oblivious to the fact that he is, indeed, a lovesick puppy. )

There's this very rare invention. Have you heard of it?
I hear they call it a 'bed'. Built for the sole purpose of sleeping and ravishing. Fascinating.

Perhaps not physically, no.

[Alina, please, we're among friends here, you can say Paul's a sweet little puppydog.]

That's hardly celebratory. It's Christmas! Tis the season. [For what, exactly, she's unclear, but she feels like ravishing should be included.]

What, exactly, do you consider "celebratory" Christmas sex?

( — in hindsight, she's almost terrified of whatever inventive scenario alia will imagine. )

What everyone is doing under the mistletoe? And blocking doorways I need to get through?

No, not at all, that's perfectly normal behavior for this house. Celebratory Christmas sex lasts for twelve days and involves candy canes and holly wreaths, I think. Maybe snow. Maybe one of those funny red and white hats.

I don't want to know where you're imagining putting those candy canes, and I'm not sure I want to ask.

( only someone who hasn't fucked in the snow would want to fuck in the snow, alina nearly adds, before she remembers — it's not as though she has, either. )

I think I'll let you have the honor of celebrating that Christmas tradition yourself. I'm not the ravishing kind.

Nowhere THAT interesting! I care very much about the comfort of said interesting areas!! Though I feel Paul at least might enjoy it. I'll ask. I can't celebrate all by myself :( that's so boring :(

Please don't.
😮‍💨
You're meant to be on kitchen duty, not ravishing duty. Focus.

I looked up five whole recipes and they all take at LEAST twenty minutes to cook. That's plenty of ravishment time.

If you have time to ravish, you have time to learn a sixth recipe. And a seventh.

Seven???

It's a feast. Do five different recipes sound like a feast to you?
There's the kutya, and the kotlei. Obviously. Pryaniki. Varenyky. And the drinks. Paulican might be able to brew most of those.

( ..................... )

We need more desserts. A cake? We should make a cake.

Obviously the kotlei. Paulican can make the cake with his weird little feet. He can put designs in the frosting. If I make a cake we'll never eat, because I'll set the kitchen on fire.

His feet aren't weird. They're cute. Like little flippers.

( that's your brotherson :( alia please )

Oh.
Well, if you can't do it, I'll just ask Paul to make it. I'm sure he can follow simple directions.

Some of my favorite people have weird feet. Like Paul. I didn't say I COULDN'T do it. I could!! I could make it so well!!

[You'd think eventually that would stop working and yet...]

Paul doesn't have weird feet. They're cute, too. Don't be mean to your brother.

( no bias detected here )

That's alright. I wouldn't want you to worry about burning anything down.
Paul will have it perfectly handled, I'm sure. But maybe you could help him stir.

He has weird stinky boy feet, Alina, you know it's true. And they're so cold in the middle of the night when he sticks them on your legs. PAUL is going to stir!! Alina I'll come yell in your store if you don't promise he can only stir!

That just makes it cuter. I like that they're cold. I get too hot when I sleep.

( she's not even going to justify the boy stink part to a stinky muddy gremlin girl, so: )

He's going to stir for everything else. It's only fair you should give him a turn baking the cake while you stir.

Unless you want to bake your own, and see whose is better?

( hehe. two cakes for alina. jackpot. )

Personal icicles. He's going to give you pneumonia with his toes. I want to bake my own, yes. It'll be the best cake in the entire world and it'll sear the memory of Paul's and it's descendants from the sphere of the known universe, banish it to the greatest depths of Shai-Hulud's cleansing maw, forgotten as the ancient stars on the farthest reaches of the galaxy!

I'm literally the sun. And you already try to stick your cold, slimy hands down my pants when I'm sleeping.

( how did this cake ploy work so well, more importantly ... alia ... )

Strange. That's what Paul said about his. ( he most certainly did not. ) He told me yours doesn't stand a chance.

They aren't slimy! I wash them as you've dictated I must, despite there being no dirt at all. But they are so cold 😞 and your pants are so warm 😌 He has been wrong often before, there is little difference now.

They leave slime trails. Like a snail.
Can't you stick them down Paul's pants? It's only fair.

( equality, in love and war. )

I don't know ...
He's really clever when he puts his mind to something.

Because I'm making sure you know I was there. Snail trails to remember me by. Well. I have two hands. But you two cuddle in your sleep, so it's hard to get in the middle. NOT when it comes to CAKES. He's woeful and useless.

Scandalous.
Sorry, I claimed middle first. I like the middle. ( shocking no one, ever. ) But you have long arms. You can reach.

Really? And you've witnessed him make a woeful, useless cake?
Surely there's no such thing.

Hmph. Well, you have to roll over sometimes so I can be little spoon. I like the way your hair smells. Oh yes. The tales of Muad'Dib's woeful cakes are sang in sietch and city. And you can tell him I said so.

I know. You get your drool in it. I have to brush it out in the morning.

Interesting.
He said your cakes are made from sand, and they taste of it, too.

(no subject)

preborns - 2024-12-19 16:28 (UTC) - Expand