Somewhere in time, it has become a home...
Thick oriental rugs, swiped from the floors of Powis, cushion the floor. Terra cotta floors have been covered with wood paneling, the wood dark with a purplish tint to it from some rare tree of the East.
Overstuffed leather sofas, deep chocolate brown and cherry red, create a seating area in the large living room. A piano's been added at some point -- new, grand at that, and apparently made of a black elmwood -- it has a red-black sheen to it in the right lighting.
The large window now has drapes, but these are pulled back every sunset, so the view of the South Waterfront and Gabriel's Pier can be enjoyed. The kitchen is now fully stocked with a bar full of red wine and mead. Even a stray bottle of apple cider marked "Use at your Own Risk".
The living room hasn't been decorated for the coming season yet, but there are holly bows here and there and a cluster of mistletoe. The three bedrooms have likewise been furnished. Heavy, solid wooden furniture, sumptuous linens. No expense has been spared for his comfort -- or any other's of those who dwell here. That's now a family of five, for those of you counting...
Dearest Fiona and Rhodri,
I've shanghaied the boyos into a grand adventure. We'll be back shortly. Anon and so on, D.
The note was short and sweet. That Davydd decided to take the twins on a mysterious outing shouldn't be surprising. That he woke up well before sunset to do it was something else. He was even more bundled than they were, his layers helping to diffuse stray sunlight -- that which time and season had not already softened -- and he left with both boys belted to his body. The modern male father.
"Mmm..." Fiona's moan is the sound of morning - well. Something approximating morning. Awakening, at any rate. She rolls over, stretching out from her sprawl and then rising, pulling herself to the edge of the bed and standing, frowning in puzzlement down at the note until it makes sense enough to cause an affectionate smile.
It's more difficult than it looks. She's had a busy whatever time period it was.
With difficulty, she straightens her hair out, peering into the mirror and regarding herself, naked as she is. There are the ever-present marks upon her body of passion - lines from the sheets, the occasional bite mark - and the ripeness of breasts, hips. Less ripe now that the boys are weaned, but still showing that tendency to roll when she walks; in due time, that will fade.
There is the running of water - hot, with steam made fragrant by essence of lemon peel and vanilla beans, scrubbed across her skin and through her hair. The wonders and luxuries of the modern age - and how revitalizing a shower can be. It doesn't take long - possibly she's worried about being held up if she's joined there. Once Fiona climbs out, she's almost immediately clad in denim, silk and leather - jeans, a pair of black leather boots with floppy cuffs, and a loose silk blouse the colour of sin and about as tight. 'Sin' tonight is represented by brilliant scarlet, her lips painted to match. Her hair's hummed and sang into gilt ringlets that bounce and skip against her cheeks and shoulders, one curl hovering to dangle against her forehead.
There's no reason that having children should mean giving up on a little bit of style, after all. She exits the bath with diamonds in her ears and around her throat, and a profound sense of well-being that can only be added to by -
"Coffee," Fiona says aloud, "with cream and honey, and toast with blackberry jam."
Leave it to Rhodri to come up with an alternative use for tinsel...
Rhodri hasn't gotten far either. He's showered and dressed, but he's in sock-feet sitting on the sofa and sipping coffee. "Coffee's made. Bread is on the fridge top," he says, smiling at the sound of your voice, so languorous after a round of 'Quick, the kids and Davydd are gone'.
Though there was nothing really quick about it...
Rhodri looks up as you enter the room, and he rises, his mouth forming a wide smile. "You look amazing. Care for a glass of wine?" He crosses over to you, his arms coming around you for a vertical hold.
"I like the red lips," he whispers.
Open the door!
It's a sudden feeling, Davydd's voice within you. It's not in distress, by any means. It comes flavored with fir and clove. And laughter.
"Thoughtful. Wine before breakfast - how decadent." Fiona's voice is caressing, and it is followed by a physical caress, a hand brushing a male cheek, feeling for stubble. "Brute. I ought to beat you black and blue - you wore me out so much. But then... you two have that effect on me. Frequently."
With great frequency...
And great results...
She was just leaning in for a kiss when she jumps as if goosed, turning. Hold your horses - and my sons, Old Man. Fiona looks up at the man in whose arms she is and sighs as if terribly put-upon. "I'd better go - it's my husband, you see." Give me a chance to hide my lover before you barge in on me, won't you?
But there are two little boys out there with the little boy in Old Man's clothing, and that hurries her footsteps if nothing else. Fiona crosses the room on tiptoe, twisting the knob to tear it open. "What are you up to, ap Owain? Rhodri, quick, help me shut the door again."
As the door swings open, you hear the sound of little boy laughter. Squealing in stereo as their corgi-drawn carriage (in this case a wagon pulled by Rhyddid). Now, the corgi is rigged to the contraption just like a horse would be, and he trots as proudly as if he were the queen's own prized arabian, decked out in Christmas (alright, Yule bells) and grinning madly.
In the wooden cart (it's more a cart than a wagon), are two bundled fat boys with similar mad grins, bouncing in the careening wagon. Iowerth has his father's WWI flyboy cap on, even though it could cover his whole head, and is bundled warmly in layers with a thick coat and rubber slicker boots that make him look like Paddington Bear waging war in a Sopwith Camel. His copper red curls, just long enough now to start to get unruly, peek out under the leather of the cap.
Gwilym sits right behind his brother in the very same wagon, with one of Rhodri's trihorn hats tied around his head (to keep it more or less on), his arms waving furiously and his laughter cackling. He's dressed in the same layers, with similar boots. His own curls and waves are hidden by the enormity of the hat on his head, but they're every bit as unruly as Iowerth's.
Rhyddid loves the laughter, pulls the boys through the door, past the other adults and into the living room. Following close on the heels of this spectacle is another cart pulled by another corgi (Bwci), this one full not of Welsh princes but of Christmas decorations and bundles of greenery. Bwci knows what side his bread is buttered on. He trundles immediately to Fiona, sits and looks up to her with a Can you believe He did this to Us? look on his face (before he grins).
And what of this ap Owain chap to whom you call?
Well, you can hear him grunting in the hallway, you can hear the rustle of foliage of some sort. And you can certainly smell the Yuletide scent. But who would have expected to see him carrying a 7' fir tree on his back? Grinning and red-faced, Davydd comes in hunched over to clear the doorway. "Pardon me, tree coming through..."
Fiona's expression creases into a wide smile as she looks at the two little boys, both hands going to her mouth. "Will you look at you! Oh, you're adorable. I wish I had a camera." She backs away a few steps, then drops to one knee to immediately coo over Bwci. "And you're adorable too - such good dogs, putting up with the Old Man like this."
She looks to the younger of her two husbands, then moves hastily forward to scoop up a little Paddington Bear-boy, trusting Rhodri to get the other one. "That isn't a tree, that's half of Birnam Wood!"
Rhodri's laughing, lifting a grinning Gwilym out of his cart. "That's my hat, boyo. Are you practicing to be a highwayman?" Yes, that's a father's pride there. To think he could be raising the next terror of the territory!
He'll leave the hat on, though. There's bound to be a camera somewhere.
"Is this the beginning of the feats of strength ritual?" Rhodri smirks, carrying Gwilym out of the way of the man bearing a forest on his back.
With a great heave, Davydd sets the tree down in the living area, situating it in front of the window. It's already in its stand. All it needs now is water. And as strong as he is, carrying a tree is still carrying a tree. "You should have seen us all in the elevator," he says, straightening with a grin and a creaking. "So what d' y' think?" Davydd continues, gesturing to the large tree now lording over the room and perfectly framed by the view of South Waterfront.
Grinning, he begins to unravel his many layers. He looks sunburned. But otherwise no worse for the wear. "Guinness," he says, waving at one of you to do the honors.
"The feats of strength? I'm not sure I'd survive, if you two get to competing again." Fiona twitches her hips and bounces Iowerth once or twice, carrying him over to one of the couches. "I think it's perfectly lovely, Davy, and you're perfectly lovely for thinking of it. Here, you two watch the boys, I'll set us up with food and drinks."
In the kitchen, she doesn't begin opening cupboards but rather summoning up magic, eyes closed. She even wiggles her nose, just for effect, a hint of mischief in her expression. Guinness is first, thick pint glasses floating out of the kitchen with foam slow to subside. It's followed by a tray of aperitifs - flaky pastry wrapped around thin slices of ham and Edam, candied apple slices decorated with a layer of crushed almonds, baked potato puffs filled with cheddar and bacon, and a fruit salad of chopped apple, mandarin orange and glace cherries - that must be for her.
She comes out a few feet behind the tray, not floating but walking - carrying two bowls of orange pieces for the boys to suck on, free of seeds and pulp, and of coarsely chopped sausage for the corgis. Fiona smiles, almost visibly melting. "You're wonderful," she murmurs, cradling a bowl in the crook of her arm to wipe at one eye for a moment, then moving hastily to sit on the sofa. "Bwci," she calls to cover her sudden attack of sentiment, "Rhyddid, come here. I've got treats."
"It was a grand outing," Davydd says, "... packages will be delivered tomorrow during the day, by the by, Christmas gifts. Not to be opened," he looks at both you and Rhodri pointedly, "...until I say so." And then he grins.
Heading into the kitchen for a pitcher of water, Davydd murmurs some bit of Brythonic, and the snaps come off the wagon, freeing both of the corgies. Though they're still decorated with jingle bells. Just call them Jingle and Jangle for now.
A less encumbered Gwilym emerges from his layers upon layers of haberdashery, dressed in a nice Welsh jumper, large knit, and a pair of red corduroys. His bottom's bulbous with the diaper beneath the cords. Iowerth's wearing the same sort of sweater but with forest green corduroys. Davydd even dressed them in coordinating outfits. They'll hate him later, but he can live with that.
Rhodri grins, turning Gwilym loose on the living room floor but guarding the tree (since naturally Gwilym, with his great curiosity, is making a bee-line for it in his fastest crawl). He glances up to Davydd and Fiona, keeping tabs on the conversation while defending the tree.
Fiona rolls her eyes. "Yes, o Captain, my Captain." She saves the 'yes, master' and the slave genie look for Rhodri, no doubt. She tosses sausage bits onto the floor for the dogs to snap up, reaching for Iowerth and pulling him into her lap.
"So are we decorating it, or leaving it as-is to confuse the dogs?" Fiona calls out, giving Rhodri an affectionate, even flirtatious glance and blowing him a kiss before picking up a slice of orange and offering it to Iowerth.
Posted by rowan at December 06, 2005 07:21 PM
