5th Day of Winter, 504 AV Minerva stood in the kitchen, angrily tossing around pots and pans. She heard her Da shout from the other room, "Damnit, Brat! All that racket in 'ere better be my damn dinner!" She glanced over her shoulder to make sure he hadn't entered the room before muttering under her breath, "Make yer own damn dinner, ya drunkard..." She'd never have had the guts to say that to her Da's face. He scared the hell out of the thirteen year old girl, and despite the defiant streak that was building in her, she wasn't willing to test his patience. Especially when she knew his lunch had consisted of half a bottle of hooch. The small house belonged to Minerva's Granddad. He made his living as a woodworker, and had built this house with his own two hands. Minerva was very proud of her Granddad and all he had done in his life. Unlike her Da, who was a worthless oaf, and hadn't worked a single day since her Ma died. Which meant he hadn't worked a single day of Minerva's life. The most income he ever brought in was from gambling, and most of that got poured down Da's gullet in the form of various crude and toxic ales and hooch. Minerva often wished Granddad would kick his worthless son to the curb. But Da living here meant she got to live here. That had to count for something. "Stupid, worthless rotter..." she muttered, voicing her train of thought. "What the 'ell did ya jus' say, Brat?" came her Da's angry voice from behind her. She hadn't heard him enter the room. Minerva turned around, wide eyed, her back pressed against the countertop. Her breath caught, and she cringed, closing her eyes. |