Ignore it. Push suspicion away. She cannot be wrecking the residence much too badly. Focus on the book. She cannot twist the dwelling into shambles within a single night’s time. That would be impossible even for her. What is undone can be built back up.
From his niche in the wall, the young man could smell mischief brewing alongside symenestra cuisine, both concoctions holding the very likely possibly of interrupting his formerly relaxing evening for a second time. Yet still quite scrumptious (according to opinion), the familiarly nauseating aroma of blood and garlic wafted from a section of the home that was conveniently out of Erasmus’ vision. Bruka is to the anomalous Widow race as deliciously lovely as a slab of hearty mutton is to the ‘much stranger’ collection of humans. It was a rather common dish. The ingredients, nevertheless, such as egg yolk and cream, were not entirely easy to come by in the underground city… therefore; Erasmus tried his best to avoid the question of where Desiree had obtained such things, or how far she had remunerated over the standard value.
 Because hunger’s little needles poked holes into his resilience as if he were fabric, Mr. Taxus (to himself)established that once his wife was finished with her meal, he would attempt to make his own… though ‘cooking’ had never been one of his strong points. Perhaps she wouldn’t mind teaching him when she found a gap in her overbearing schedule. Sweet sarcasm. Erasmus was indeed thoroughly surprised when Desiree’s smooth and high voice called him to the table, begging for him to join her, proclaiming that she wanted him to try this, asking if it smelled any good: such things he didn’t anticipate at all. Hunger prompted the man to set aside his distaste for company and poke his head from around the corner. “You cooked dinner,” he inquired with a look of skepticism.
“Do tell me, what is so difficult to understand about a wife cooking supper for her husband?” As though pleased with herself immensely, Desiree crossed her arms and gave him an ostentatious smirk, beckoning him over to the small wooden table. Two bowls, each sitting across from their personal wooden stools, waited respectfully to be emptied of their repugnantly delightful contents.
The house was of simple and common layout. He had lived in this place for as long as his childhood memories could reach. The door, naturally, was at the top of the home. It opened into a little area that accommodated the stairs, which spiraled down to the lower level of the small complex. Erasmus’ nook was near the upper part of the home and apart from the main areas of the habitat. There were only two truly separate rooms: the bedroom, and the rest of the house. Customarily, the only furniture in the abode consisted of the table and chairs. Alcoves in the walls acted as both counters and couches, whichever was convenient at the time. Half-finished, colorful tapestries hung on the beige fabric-lined walls, courtesy of Desiree and her scatterbrained projects. Slipping down the curved stairs, Erasmus obeyed her plea. She sat on her side of the table, and he on his, and the two faced each other with (slowly) dissolving apprehensions.
In the judgmental eyes of Erasmus, Desiree was a plain-looking creature. This did not necessarily have to be a bad accusation. Actually, it was the ideal setup: Erasmus would look for more interesting traits, to assure his child would seem agreeably extraordinary, when venturing out to find a surrogate; yet he or she could still be raised by a common-looking mother, so as to balance the family out. To have an overly gorgeous mother and child would make the Taxus web seem too portentous. Therefore, to compensate for the child of whom Erasmus aspired to become a refined and cultured as well as eye-catching individual, the father would settle with standing alongside a plane wife. Thus, people could be jealous of his offspring, but not of his entire life, and things would remain even. It was a twisted way of logic, one that he would not dare share with any living soul, but it made sense to him. Drawing too much attention to one family is unhealthy for the community as a whole. What's more, Desiree balanced himself and his introverted qualities quite well. She was so much his opposite that the web was already seen in many different lights. Sameness was not a pleasing depiction for a web. Well-rounded webs flourished, as did well-rounded children. He did not love this woman; he shared no feelings with her at all. He did not even hate her, he decided. She was just part of his plan. She was necessary to keep around. He just hoped that his wife wouldn’t try to ruin things too badly.
Twisting the object about his fingers, Erasmus gruffly fiddled with a small spoon. When the void of silence had lengthened until Desiree could nearly bear the unanswered hush no longer, he spoke. “There is nothing wrong with a wife cooking a meal for her husband, save for the fact that you, my wife, have never thought of doing such a hospitable thing as this before. What are your motives?” A sly smile tweaked his face good-naturedly.
“Well, dear, they say a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, do they not?” Desiree folded her hands together. Her long, white-silver, slightly curly locks rained down past her slim shoulders. In fact, like most, her frame was indeed quite slender; her long appendages not at all varied from the average symenestra either. Her face was shaped delicately, her lips both dark and full. Dark eyelashes framed her eyes: her averagely large pupils ringed with a light shade of amethyst.
In a sardonic sense, the darker humanoid across from her dipped the spoon into the meal, slowly stirring the contents idly. “They also say a way to a woman’s heart is through a man’s wallet,” he replied without hesitation, still not touching the food, “but, surly, not everything this distant ‘they’ says is true. What do they know?” His mordant yet blithe banter caught her off guard. He waited for her to take the first bite, and when she did, Erasmus switched the places of the bowls.
“You think I’d poison you?” Flushed with emotion, Desiree forced herself to remain seated despite her outrage.
“What a ridiculous statement,” responded the satin voice of her spouse.
The wife wholeheartedly demanded, “Then what was That?” Haughtily raising her chin into the air, she scoffed when Erasmus pretended the childish action amused him.
With a look away, he returned to glance at her, gifting her with the upmost respect of a courteous, if not expressionless, explanation. “I find that the aftermath of a never-too-many collection, containing fictional novels, may occasionally vice a bookworm’s thoughts. It’s perfectly acceptable by nearly all public, as this disease of paranoia is a beloved trait of an imaginative brain and an adventurous heart.”
“And you’ve read a book, at some time, about wives that poison their husbands?” Desiree seemed to calm down now, but was still in an obviously sour mood.
“Precisely. I apologize ahead of time.” He took his own spoon out of the bowl now sitting in front of her, taking a sip for himself now. From the corner of his vision, Erasmus watched her suppress the bitter reaction to whatever modified version of Bruka she had intended on Him eating. Of course, her bowl (now his) was perfectly untainted, and he enjoyed the meal in a silent victory as she choked down whatever had dwelled in his own dish. No, not poison, but probably something like an overuse of salt… which would be quiet an expensive ordeal, beings that symenestra cuisine is already over-spiced in its customary condition.
And she was livid. She had hoped Erasmus would openly confront her by now. It was apparent that he was now aware of her evening plan to escalate his frustration until he was forced to retaliate. Erasmus pretended obliviousness, but surly he knew. No matter, thought Desiree. It was not yet at the pinnacle of disgrace. What would he say to brush off the fact that she’d been seeing other men? The outcome was promising. All he truly had was his pride, and what would damage that more than an unfaithful wife? Silently she smiled to herself. She had learned from Erasmus that guilt was best ignored, and she no longer felt the silly pang of it anymore. This was a new and pleasurable sport, one that she was sure to win… if she stretched the limits of her husband’s patience enough, it would break… she had to believe it would. Desiree only wanted to see the monster behind the mask, the one that played such a terrible never-ending game of charades. They were both so young. She felt as though he’d stolen away her life at first. As if he intended to smother her with his sick way of acting ignorant. Now, it was more of defiance than anything else. She sought after nothing more than to stay with him, to watch and learn from him, and to somehow trap Him in this prison with her. Then they could both hate each other, instead of her hate going unnoticed and unappreciated. She had rationalized that, if Erasmus had decided there would be no outlaying emotion between them at all, she could at least bend that into her favor and assure Erasmus’ plan failed, if indeed he could openly loathe her. She would make sure of it. If not love, than hate was better than nothing whatsoever. |
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by Erasmus on March 3rd, 2012, 5:00 pm 
