Vampiric Interdiction

[46] Missing

Villahr’s first attempt at snatching up one of the curled pastries from the cooling rack was foiled by a slap to the back of his hand from an elder female watching over them like a mamma bird. He feigned hurt, holding his assaulted hand in his other and rubbing the back of it with his fingers. He gave the maker a unplaceable look, not sure whether he was going for innocence or mischievousness, and clearly she couldn’t tell either as her sturdy grey brows raised on her small forehead. While she was temporarily distracted with puzzlement, this time the fare elna reached an arm around her and grabbed at the nearest croissant. She scowled a little but he could tell there was no legitimate acrimony behind it; it was just for show.

“Doo ornm, Panique,” he said around a big bite. He licked away the white chocolate drizzle that threatened to escape his mouth, rolling over his bottom lip, just before it reached his chin. Although Villahr wasn’t big on most desserts inspired by mortal culinary, he had to admit that these were particularly good, especially the way Panique made them. He hadn’t eaten for days, as lately he had been skipping dinner, either to watch over his rambunctious sister or to spend long, hard hours in the shop with Dion; which was a lot less entertaining than it actually sounded. Villahr smiled as he went over possible scenarios involving his employee who admittedly was none too bad on the eyes.

Panique smiled and grabbed a cloth from the counter top, and stepped towards the taller male with it in hand, raised upwards to his face. She was only an inch shorter than him, as was not unheard of for Vicio females, but other than Karolinna few ever came that close to his own height. Panique’s jet black hair was scrambled about her face, like she had been through a wind storm, and there was powder on one of her cheekbones that matched the mess of white that now dusted Villahr’s lips that she attacked with the dampness of the material in her hand.

“Ornm,” she returned when she finished, flinging the cloth towards him in the air as if she meant to slap him with it but missing his arm by just a hairs length. She headed back to the counter and continued to knead this doughy, cream coloured mixture in a big steel bowl, occasionally sprinkling more sifted frosting sugar into it before delving her fisted hands back in, pounding the mixture thoroughly.

“Why are you up so early? Or did you not sleep at all?”

Villahr shook his head. “No, I did. About an hour or two. I’ve been up for a while now, but I can only lie in bed staring at the ceiling for so long before it starts to inevitably lose it’s appeal,” he joked. “I have the day off.” Villahr watched as Panique worked, temporarily enthralled in what she was doing before he was yanked back by her asking of another question.

“Aren’t you the top elna?” When she turned to face him, more powder had dusted her cheeks than before and Villahr bit back a laugh. “Isn’t one of the perks of that ranking the ability to take every day off?”

The tall male stepped up behind her, trapping her where the line of oak cupboards above her met at a corner cabinet which housed an array of spices and herbs. He kissed her on the cheek and then licked his lips to remove the sticky mixture of dough and glucose.

“Eru,” he agreed, resting his chin on her shoulder where her apron had slid to reveal her skin; it was warm but Villahr hardly noticed. “Ut fi I di tah, ti uldo eb fullyw dar ot eka a gvini.”

“Psht!” Panique waved her hand dismissively.

Villahr was brilliant at what he did, something she knew ever since she had introduced him to her charcoal and chalks when he was just a youngling. He painted ever greater works than he could sketch, but it had been a while since she had seen him do anything with those particular talents; since he had worked with any materials that weren’t involved in sculpting ironwork using sharp tools with jagged teeth and obnoxiously loud motors.