Branwen could care less. She was starving. As she scurried off, Branwen plopped into a chair and took a sip of thick, hot chocolate before lifting the lid off her plate. A couple slices of toasted bread, a pat of butter, and a small pot of Hardly enough to feed a gnat, but it would do for starters. As she dug in she amused herself by envisioning ways in which she could get revenge on Thor. Castration held an appeal, though the things would just grow back.
He was a god, after all. But he deserved something. Something bad. What an excellent sandwich.
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Thank you, Mrs. Branwen smiled thinly. Ordering egg sandwiches had been a mistake. But at least it was better than anchovy. Not that she cared.
But Mrs. Farrington would probably have a conniption or something. I must say it is a delight to have another lady of such fine taste and refinement here in our small village.
Another nibble of stinky sandwich followed by a sip of tea. Though I do try to set an example of refinement for others to follow. Eventually I shall win them over.
I am nothing if not persistent. If Mrs. Farrington was an example of Regency refinement, the village was in trouble. Between the yards of burgundy gauze and the swaths of gold fringe, the woman was a sight to behold. Never mind the fact that her amble bosom was in danger of heaving up and out of her stays. Branwen would give just about anything to have her powers back. She could squash the bothersome woman like a bug.
Especially with her powers at low ebb. At least Thor had the decency to create an instant backstory for her: wealthy widow relocating from London.
As if. Still, she supposed it was better than it could have been. Farrington simply prattled on. Oh, my. These are delightful. Farrington waved a small, frosted morsel around, nearly upsetting her tea cup in the process. What do you call them?
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Coming up with a decent recipe had been easy enough. Convincing cook to make them for tea had been a bit more This action might not be possible to undo. Are you sure you want to continue? Upload Sign In Join. Save For Later.
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It is not good to draw the attention of those dirty little mortals. And interfering in their lives. He shook his head. Not at all acceptable, Branwen. She rolled her eyes as he snapped his finger at the harried waitress. Unfortunately with the extra power boost, he could do it, too.
The Pantheon, of course. So how exactly do you plan to make an example of me? By exiling you somewhere you can do no damage. Branwen snorted. She groaned again and buried her face in her pillow.
Somebody kill me now. Would you like me to close the curtains? Mob cab? You got a name? Yvette, milady. The maid bobbed an awkward curtsey. Branwen frowned as her sluggish brain began making connections. N-no, milady. You prefer Yvette to Janet, milady, the girl said almost apologetically. Holy Hades. Thor, the rat bastard. He did it! What is the date? Branwen demanded, throwing back the thick coverlet.
The year, girl. What year is it? Branwen snapped her fingers. Gods, the girl was thick. That bastard! Yvette blanched again. Never mind. Where are we? The maid clearly struggled with the question. At - at Balle House, milady.