Mine Folly

[Yvonne]

"Such manners," Yvonne complimented, understanding Lilly to be awaiting her encroachment upon her dinner before she would see about forking her own food. "Dig in, love. Ye don't need ta play by tha rules with me," the drow-dwarf advised, gesturing with a swirl of her open hand. "We've both suffered our share of etiquette and I know yer stomach's going ta take a chomp out of yer spine if ye don't feed it soon," she warned with a beaming grin.

Dorothy hadn't let her down and would be paid well for her kitchen-efforts. The bar maid was an excellent cook, truly. She hadn't memorized the repertoire of recipes which Yvonne could draw upon in a pinch, but those she knew she accomplished with competence and refinement. She merely needed a nudge, a nudge from the appropriate angle, to convince her to give meal preparation her all. The usual clientele, the local miners and traders weren't so picky with their food. They didn't have the palate of sophisticated sel darthirii, nor dwarven mixed breeds whom had spent their formative years preparing meals and drinks, for unappreciative dark elves that always expected more than the dwarves slaving beneath them.

Yvonne had assumed she'd been more than clear with the inn patrons sitting at the nearby table - the humans and the orc - but no, here they were eyeing off the steaming, succulent food set down at the table of the black-skinned foreigners... and Lilly had imagined herself rude, for allowing the thought cross her mind of tucking in before the one who was paying? No, this turning around in their chairs and ogling at food that wasn't theirs, licking their chops and smacking their lips was bad manners.

"Excuse me," Yvonne cut in, throwing down the gauntlet, glaring glinting silver daggers in the direction of their table-neighbours, her slanted eyes darting between their eye contact and stabbing each of them with pointed looks. "Would ye mind keeping yer drool away from our food? We be trying ta eat in peace here. If ye like tha look of our dinner order yer own, okay?" The orc flushed with embarrassment more than the others, green to red, but each of them hurriedly turned back to their own food-bereft table and made themselves busy with their ale mugs, pretending nothing had ever happened. Yvonne rolled her eyes, flicking another smile Lilly's way, shaking her head slightly.

"Not even polite enough ta apologise. Hmph. It be easy, ready? Pay attention," the little matriarch prompted, clearing her throat loudly. "I be sorry for disturbing ye, Lillian Svalesin. It won't happen again," Yvonne pioneered, flicking a commanding gaze toward the orc a table over and encouraging him to do the same.

"Go on, ye try," she prodded with words.

"Sorry Lilly," the humongous orc admitted, his lip even quivering subtlely as he said so. "Won't look again."

"Good lad! Well done," Yvonne cheered, giving him a wee clap. Her steely silver gaze drifted to Dorothy, the bar maid and she called out to her again. "Dorothy dear, could I buy these polite gentleman ta our right another round? Bring them some of that honey-whiskey I like so much, would ye Dot?"

The blonde bar maid nodded, laughing to herself, just about in stitches as she poured three honey-whiskeys and brought the mugs over to their table. The humans were flabbergasted but grateful and their orc comrade wore a huge, toothy grin of proud sheepishness on his happy face. Dorothy came by Lilly's and Yvonne's table as she returned to the bar, her hand resting on Yvonne's shoulder.

"Never change," Dorothy whispered as she walked away.