Word Count: 1,803
Daily Reward: A movie, Arrival
Entry a day late because my friends turned up to go to the movie pretty much the moment I hit my daily word count, so I didn’t have time to make the post, but yep, achieved my goal! Again, a bit of a slow start and I probably got a little too evocative with the food … but, I had to try and work the picture above into the story somehow. So yeh, turned out that what Kataryna thought was going to be a romp in the rose bushes turned out to be a picnic in a gazebo. So, aside from getting a wee bit over-sensual with my food descriptions, a bit of conversation was worked in and yeh, that was my day.
The movie was Arrival and it was pretty good. One movie where the aliens truly were alien.
Also, I should note that I was also rather ill yesterday – I went home sick on Thursday – hence my short and somewhat depressing blog entry – spent the evening looking up morbid stuff on the internet (I hope no-one decides to look into my browser history and gets concerned), then finally, gratefully, fell asleep. Anyway, I’m much better now, although still not 100% health wise, I am feeling generally more positive in other ways.
“Aye,” he laughed. “I agree. And that’s why I prepared us a wee picnic.” He drew his heat away from her, gesturing at the interior of the gazebo. A picnic rug — the same tartan as his kilt — covered the stone floor, and beside it, rested a straw basket, a very large straw basket. “I dinna know what ye might like to eat, so I may have got a wee bit carried away.” He added.
A wee bit carried away indeed! Kataryna took her seat upon the rug, and watched, somewhat in awe as he unpacked enough food to feed a small hoard: a loaf of crusty bread, tiny sausages, cheese, and dozens of tiny tubs containing sundried tomatoes, olives, pickled mushrooms, boiled eggs and more. She could not imagine that so much food could fit into the basket — and it was a very large basket. “Did you leave anything in the kitchen?”
“Possibly some potatoes,” he said with a rueful smile. “I canna say I’m fond of potatoes.”
“What are you fond of then?” she asked, plucking a grape from one of the many tubs and popping it into her mouth, relishing in the rough tension of the skin, before the wet POP filled her mouth with sweet juice.
“Och well, I am something of a carnivore,” he replied. He sat down, cross-legged — giving her a nice glimpse of his well-toned legs, but, perhaps thankfully, no higher — opposite her. Then proceeded to slice a chunk of bread and balance a strip of streaky bacon upon it. “So I suppose ye could say, I’m fond of meat.” He added one of the tiny sausages, then a chunk of cheese, creating a rather unstable tower. “But I wouldna say ‘no’ to a plump ripe cherry either.” He purred the words, and licked his lips, eyeing her as if it were she he would like to see on the platter.
“The big bad wolf, eh,” she teased him.
“Well, I could gobble ye right up.” He laughed, and proceeded to peel his construction apart, layer by layer, with his teeth, swallowing each as he went. “But seriously,” he continued, “I do really want to know more about ye.”
“Wait,” she said. “I believe you owe me an answer first.”