I Muttered
or creating a movement language- six goddamn marshmallows
- a very polite way of putting it
- skin as smooth as a woman
- Let. Me. Enjoy. My. Snack.
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I muttered at the woman out the corner of my mouth, “What’s to discuss? You know I’m married already.”
“This is Contrarian soil,” she responded airily. “What in other lands would be called bigamy here is as natural as sneezing or creating a movement language.” She tittered. “And anyway, the warlord’s daughter has had a lot on her mind of late. I doubt she’s spared a thought for her absent husband.”
“… but only six goddamn marshmallows,” her father growled on my other elbow. “Does no good to complain, certainly not worth thinking of a very polite way of putting it when you do. And they know they got ya. They know!”
I tuned him out and turned my attention back to the familiar woman. She wore opera gloves over skin as smooth as a woman who wore gloves all the time. A memory of tinsel, of a train, brought her identity along with it. And gave me an idea for another gambit to get myself out of this mess.
“What would Maurice think?” I asked her.
She merely shrugged, then tittered again.
The old man was still ranting. “After making me wait all that time, ignoring me, now they wouldn’t leave me alone. The nerve! I finally have enough marshmallows and now I can’t eat them for all the interruptions. Let. Me. Enjoy. My. Snack. That’s not so complicated!”
bonus points for using them in order