She had not really been sleeping, but the sound of the argument, bouncing off stone walls and uncarpeted floors, woke her all the same. She laid in bed for a few minutes, half-heartedly attempting to get back to the semblance of a dream she'd been in. When she'd come to the conclusion that it wasn't going to happen, she threw aside the blankets, rolled out of bed and dressed herself.
Her fingers were still a little clumsy about the unfamiliar fastenings on the new suit of clothing that Emissary Elenwen ordered for her. Dressing herself was a skill she had mastered far later in life than she cared to admit. Even after all these years, every change of clothes she went through felt like learning a new language.
Smoothing down her hair a bit before stepping out, she opened the door and peered down the hall towards the direction of the kitchen. Tsavani, the Khajiti chef, was hissing - literally hissing - at the hapless delivery man who appeared to have brought in a shoddy shipment of vegetables. She was making violent stabbing motions with some type of squash.
A hollow-cheeked Bosmer whose hair stood straight up hovered in the kitchen doorway, his arms crossed, the tiniest of smirks on his lips as he watched the confrontation unfolding before him. He glanced up as Iman took a step toward them, his smile fading as she moved.
"This one expects Tsavani to serve this trasssh to the jarls of SSSkyrim?" the khajit growled, her ears turned down as though she were ready to attack. "To ambassadors? Emisssaries will be dining tonight and you give Tsavani rotten produce!"
"I'm sorry m'am." the delivery man said dully, completely unfazed by the display. "The harvest this year is"-
He was cut off when she stabbed him several times in the chest with the squash.
Iman shook her head, chuckling under her breath. When she next looked up, the Bosmer was gone and the delivery man was walking out the door. Tsavani chucked the squash back into one of the crates propping open the kitchen door and stomped inside in a huff.
She decided that it would be wisest to take a stroll around the Embassy before attempting to fetch breakfast in the kitchen.
Preparations were underway all over the building. A host of chimney sweeps were hard at work cleaning out the soot in the guest rooms. Last night's snowfall was dutifully being cleared from the walkways. In the entrance hall, a Bosmer woman was on her knees, waxing the floor by hand. She looked up with a glare as Iman tracked her snowy boots inside.
There was a servant rushing through the halls with a basket of clean bedding and another putting together flower arrangements at a makeshift station. Iman stopped to smell them, reveling in their vibrant colors after she'd seen nothing but greens and greys outside for so long, before going on her way.
Some of the energy of the upcoming event was starting to rub off on her.
For just a moment, she wondered what it would be like to attend - to be surrounded by lords and ladies again, to make sparkling small talk, to drink expensive brandy in the company of expensive people.
And then she thought of all the far-flung faces who would catch sight of her and perhaps, sell her location for the right price. Her stomach gurgled, though she couldn't tell if it was from nerves or hunger.
Soon enough, she had made a complete circuit of the Embassy and found herself back where she had started.
The kitchen was calmer than it had been, though she could hear the snick of a knife and the quiet, familiar flick of an angry tail against the wall behind it.
Her stomach growled again and she decided to try her luck.
Notes:
This fic has officially gone 20k over my intended goal. 0.o
...holy shit?