sixthiterationlogs | with rabbit and dandelion and thistle

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with rabbit and dandelion and thistle

WHO: Kate Kelly
WHERE: The Inn & Pub
WHEN: 3rd August
OPEN TO: E V E R Y O N E
WARNINGS: N/A
STATUS: OTA

It's been a couple weeks since Kate woke up and nearly drowned in that cursed fountain. She hasn't slept much, truth be told, and she's no closer to feeling like she's wearing proper clothes so she's still wearing her overalls instead of the given trousers, under that flimsy red blouse. Her curly hair is being combed with a fork and fixed as best she can. However, she has been paying attention. To the group and to the food situation. The group isn't exactly a community, but Miss Jo and her curtains of maps and skills have given Kate an idea.

(That, and honestly? The quietness of the inn's kitchen and main room is driving her to distraction.)

It takes time and it takes effort, Kate's idea of a communal lunch. She walks around, knocking on doors, and she asks, begs, flirts, lures-with-promise-of-hot-food people to arrive at midday. The hunters get asked if bring their game nice and early, those more inclined to gather or cook get asked to do that, and others... Well, she'd just like it if people turned up.

After so long being sulky, being this social again makes her sparkle.

With the help of some volunteers in the kitchen, by midday, the meal is ready. Really truly nothing fancy: rabbit stew with dandelions (flowers and plant both) and thistle (stems, leaves, roots and the young flowers) and some other wild herbs to flavour.

But it is food, and it is hot.

[ooc: Party-style post! Post starters in under the subheadings or make your own, volunteer your character to cook or clean or neither, and have fun!]

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He's getting quicker with English. More sure. For his sake, Kate's more than glad. Not understanding what's going on, not being able to grasp people's sentences and yet with few others to talk to, it most be more than lonely.

When he reveals the needle, Kate brightens. "Oh, thank you," she exclaims, picking it up and running her fingers over it. It feels strong, sharp. It still might break - probably will, at some point - but it feels like a promise. A promise of being able to make, of being able to put herself back together.

There's a practical side to her, too, a side that's about to ask if he can show her how he made it so maybe she can make pins for fabric and her hair, maybe some back-up needles, but then his question derails her a little.

"Um. Yes, I guess I am. I am," Kate repeats, because she still wants to make herself understood and that means of the usual dissembling doesn't really work. "Can't sleep. But, I, uh. I just need to work, really."

That last is more of a hope than anything else.

He had silent hopes that Einar would arrive one day, the swell of pride he would have to walk up to his sworn brother and greet him in English. Then punch him square in the jaw for never offering to teach him English. It was okay to punch Einar, Einar could take it. These were things Thorfinn Karlsefni thinks about in his quiet hours.

He lifted a hand up to his chest and bowed his head in that way he always was to show his gratitude when people say thank you or do kind things for him. He's mostly learned Your Welcome but this felt more like something that felt more like for a recently freed man. Some things would be harder to remember he can do without having to worry.

If Kate asked, he wouldn't mind showing her, though it was an easy enough task he knew he could have made another but, he only made the one she asked for. It is amazing to him how much more he understands what she's saying opposed to just a week ago when it was all strange noises and unknown words, but what he hears makes him shake his head. "Need sleep, Kate." The Viking spoke, with a hint of worry. He thought a moment of the Svefnthorn, but he had a feeling she might not be okay with that. He'd just have to go looking for something to help her sleep. Surely there was an herb that could be used. He could ask one of the people of the village maybe.

Sometimes, you simply must have friends like that. That you love, and would punch. Or at least, it makes sense to Kate Kelly, which might say something of where she's from.

His bow is something familiar and gallant, all at once. A bow of respect, but it's not habitual, but considered. A gesture of personal thanks. It's reassuring, someone's manners she understands (or near enough does), and given how lost she's been, it's appreciated more than she cares to say.

"I know," Kate says. "I do try." She does, too. She tries to wear herself out so she'll just sleep, sudden and dreamless. "Do you sleep?"

He, who had silently convey regret over being a Viking?

It spoke volumes of it, and one day when his English was better they could talk about friends, family and their wild homes.

He knew his manners and ways of conveying himself may not always be the most accurate, but most of his manners were learned on a farm back in Denmark. The manners of one who was meant to serve. He took what he learned there and used it here to try and do better, to be better. To keep the promise he made at a grave with his blood brother.

He nodded, he understood trouble sleeping. By the gods did he know that, and did he feel sorry for Jo having to drag him out of those dreams. "People sleep, Kate." he spoke a hint of amusement in his tone, before he shrugged. "No well. Never good." Never, Never did he sleep through a full night. He couldn't remember the last time he had a night without a nightmare. He didn't know how to explain it, not in proper words, not without telling her more, she was much to nice to need to know what kind of person he was.

People sleep, Kate, he says, and Kate pulls a face at him. Pursed lips, hints of dimples in her suppressed smile. It was a mildly silly question, wasn't it?

But she's also so pleased for him, that he feels comfortable enough in both English and in her company that he can joke. Joke, and joke about words. About her sentence.

To be unable to understand must be so very, very lonely.

Of course, it's but a moment, because insomnia is the subject and that's always a dark subject in cases like theirs. "I don't sleep well, either. It's hard. Wake up.

But, my dear Thorfinn Thorsson, you should sleep, too. Need it."

It's a tease, again. Quiet, to another companion with a restless mind. And it's a statement, too. She'll fuss over him in return.

He was sharp, even when he considers himself to be slow and stupid, he was sharp as a tack. He was soaking it all in like a sponge. The fact he managed a joke showed that much as she was seeing. It spoke a lot of him. Stubbornness was always his defining trait.

Even learning the language he was still very lonely, but, he was also used to it. It changed nothing.

"Much same." He admitted as he leaned his elbow on the table, resting his head against his palm so that his scar was right against his index finger. His brown eyes stayed on her as they spoke. "Sleep little, work more so sleep come. " He spoke with a wave of the other hand. "I strong, it no problem."

"Oh, I have no doubt," Kate says at his last statement, mixing belief with gentle teasing. It's much the same philosophy that she's been using, although she's clearly faltering before him.

It doesn't surprise her, this girl from the reign of Queen Victoria. A man's strength is assumed to more than a woman's, the same with endurance. Particularly with some evidence in front of her.

Then again, she thinks Thorfinn knows the need to keep going, no matter how tired. Work doesn't go away.

Of course, no matter how tired, there is something very intimate of him looking at her so closely, his eyes following her mouth as she talks. Its his height, she thinks. And the care he takes to understand.

But rather than go on about it, she lifts up the needle.

"Could, would you show me how to make these?"

Though men were viewed as stronger and better in his time, there was a big difference in their times. Woman were mostly equal to men in his land. Namely free woman, they could divorce their husbands and raise up an army if they wanted. The world was their oyster at least until the Christianizing became more strong and the old ways started to be ignored. When Shield Maidens were not longer acceptable.

She was right though, he understood that. he was the type to push on until he breaks, push on until he was too tired to do anything but fall over and sleep. This had been his way even since his youth.

He didn't see the intimacy she saw in his watching her, he never thought like normal men. Maybe it was the lack of desires, or the fact he himself had never allowed himself to view people as sexual beings. Though sometimes people were just to beautiful and he noticed it. Kate was one of those people it was why he was so certain she was high born.

"Yes. But we need bone. I can show you another day." He promised with a nod. "boil and dry bones in sun. Then we make needle."

In her time, a woman is property. She ceases to exist when she takes her husband's name. That so many women around her keep going despite this doesn't matter, that when you get down with the Kellys in the underclass the reality is frequently more nuanced with men so often gone, gone, gone: the law is the law, assumptions are assumptions. Prejudices are prejudices. Women are fragile, should be the angel of the hearth, no matter the hard reality.

Still, when and if his assumptions of her birth come out, she'll laugh. Think him a dear, dear man, but laugh.

The Kellys are common as dirt, and take a certain pride in it.

Common enough to know sexual desire early, to acknowledge it, which is also why Kate has the knowledge of what a man's gaze can mean settled over her skin. Can mean.

But she's attracted to him. She knows that, too. That he seems to not be aware of it merely helps. Makes it seem safer.

"Boil and dry," Kate repeats. "I'll remember."

It wasn't that different aside from rights. Brides were paid for, land was expanded and bonds formed via marriage. At the end of the day the men were more important in their eyes, BUT the woman had rights, a great many rights. The fact a woman could ask for a divorce for anything was kind of enough to keep a LOT of men in line when they were not out raiding.

It was funny really, a man born of high blood and proper breeding, who had fallen into slavery, thought a very common woman was more high born than himself. Though, long gone were they days when he would proudly proclaim he was a jarl. He was just happy to be able to call himself a karl at least, a free man.

She was safe in that regard, he was kinda dense and despite the many couruptions he had lived through, he was likely one of the most innocent trapped here when it came to sexual experiences. Low self esteem also had its icy claws dug into him.

"Easier to carve and less easy to break. Safer." He explained with a shrug as if to give the information. "Will need much sharp knife."

To be free - yes, she understands a lot of that hunger. Seen it burn in men and women all her life. Seen people either hide and brandish their scars from the irons. Seen her brothers, her lover, die in part want of freedom from persecution and constant arrests, all that hard, hard labour.

"Sharper than the kitchen knives?" she asks, practically. "Even the carving ones?

She's had to chop up bone with a kitchen saw, but that is a blunt instrument for something as delicate as creating a needle.

Thorfinn hadn't been kept in irons long, just long enough to make sure he would not harm the new king once more. Once he was at the auction, it was ropes. His spirit had been broken, he didn't try to run, but there were scars from the ropes where he had rubbed his wrists raw with the ropes. Around both wrists, lighter than the rest of his other scars but on te patchwork quilt of scars that was his skin, they didn't stand out.

Maybe that was half of why they got on so well, two old world souls that knew the pain of fighting for freedom.

"Carving to big." He reached down to his boot and pulled the knife he always carried free, twisting it so he could hold it by the blade so she could take the handle. The edge sharpened to a fine point tip. It was a once simple era appropriate dinner knife he had had sharpened and sanded down into a fine hunting blade. Thorfinn was very crafty when he needed to be. "Like this, small much sharp."

She takes the knife from him carefully. Not the care of unfamiliarity, but the care of someone who has used knives all her life and respects a good tool.

"I understand," Kate says, tiling the blade this way and that, her eyes sharp as she looks over it.

"I should make one of these, too. Sharpen it. It'd be useful for a lot."

She likes her kitchen knives. She wants, as far as she can, to save them for the important task of food. Particularly after she put so much effort restocking it after she arrived.

Clearly it had started out as a normal but strong steak knife that the viking spent time to work into a better blade. He knew his way around blades like most people knows the basic stuff that he lacks, but he also sees Kate's own skill in how she handles the blade. A silent respect earned there.

"Much work, but worth it." He explained, letting her keep ahold of the knife for now, but he yawned then, he didn't have the manner to cover his mouth, it wasn't a big deal yet, but he was missing a couple back teeth, some that had been knocked out in his attempt to see Canute and other brawls. "If we ever get blacksmith, more tools come."

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with rabbit and dandelion and thistle

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