“It is not the same” she said seriously. One thing was to lie and another to be jealous of his little sister. Some women would’ve let this go, after all their duty was to raise their children and be the emotional support of their families, but Freya wasn’t like that. She had told Markus when she met him, she was not going to be belittled nor be an accessory. Oh no, she expected to be treated as an equal and with respect. Sleeping around with other women was not respect. When he let go of her, she refrained from rubbing her wrist, just because she was too proud to do so.
“So our son is lying and so is the rest of the crew” she commented skeptically as she moved to place another log to the fire that was dying. “Why would they invent such thing then? What did you do to piss them off?” She wondered.
A small smirk spreaded across her features. “Mortal wound? You are loosing your touch, Markus” she commented nonchalantly as she began to undo her braids, her long blonde hair cascading in perfect waves as she did.
“My breathing angers the general populace,” Markus was a popular man with his supporters, a monster with his adversaries–and he was a man with many adversaries. One didn’t stomp through blood and broken bone without a few negative consequences; it was easier to snap a neck or to slice through rib cages than to gain sizable grace and poise, “Your head is spun loose, this night.”
He couldn’t help but be offended at her implication. His power wasn’t a trait he liked to be questioned. Not from his men, his children, even from Freya, with her golden locks and rosy lips. How could it be fair, he thought, to be blessed with beauty, with an inside so coarse and violent?
Well, he supposed, she wasn’t thatcoarse. “Don’t tease,” he warned, wiping his hands on his trousers, “I’m sleeping with the dogs, tonight. It’s so like a woman to slit your throat in your sleep. No honor in that.”
Her eyes narrowed with anger at his comeback. He cheated on her and now he had the nerve to make it even worse, to sass her. It was that girl from the market, she knew, it had to be her, who else would it be? She was always batting her eyelashes at him and she had been the first one to volunteer for this trip.
Freya was hurt and angry, with both this woman and Markus, but mostly at Markus. Who could really blame her for doing what she pleased? She was a free woman after all, but him? He was a different story.
She was not afraid of him, of his size, of how intimidating he looked. He was a large man, yes, but she had known him her entire life. He might be threatening to everyone ese, but not to her. Freya looked up at him defiantly, her eyes matching his burning anger. A quiet hiss went past her lips when he grabbed her by her wrist, but she didn’t flinch, she was not going to give him the satisfaction.
“Who knows?” She replied. “Everyone is talking about it, even our son mentioned you disappeared every now and then so why should I think you didn’t?” She said slowly. “And in case you were wondering, I had a long day too, Markus…”
“Our son also suggested that we throw his sister into the river. Should we heed thatwisdom, as well?” Markus released her wrist, taking a few steps back and plopping back into his seat. The subject of Freya’s anger, admittedly, was not something he was overly concerned about, despite the aggression that flushed her cheeks. He teetered on the edge of morally grey–however, the assertion that he had slept with another woman in his absence was false.
Disregarding his tossed aside food, he tried to get back into his dinner, tearing off a slab of meat, fresh from a hunt. He chewed, silence echoing off the walls, off him, off Freya.
He swallowed, and groaned, exasperated, “I have seen no other woman. Whatever you heard of my comings and goings are the whispers between old crones that have nothing better to do than bend over and bear children,” He grunted, “I’ll gut whoever filled your ears with lies, if only to avenge the mortal wound against my face.”
The only silence came from the fire in their small cottage. Their children were asleep, they had been playing all day. Her son and his father returned from a long journey. They traveled with other villagers and of course the rumours didn’t take long to reach Freya’s ears. She looked at him, the man who had owned her heart since the very first moment, who sweep her off her feet when she was just a teenager, the man who claimed to love her just how she was: passionate, temperamental and a true fighter.
“So it’s true then…” she said quietly as she noticed his eyes on her. “When you were supposed to be taking care of our son you were whoring around with some foreign woman?” She asked dangerously calm and before she knew it, she slapped him hard. The sound of her hand smacking his cheek echoed across the living room, revealing how much he had hurt her. “Why did you do it? Am I not good enough for you?” She demanded, her tone quiet but full of anger.
Markus wasn’t so unwise as to not respond when Freya posed a question. No fear was too great for him to conquer–no arrow too sharp, no fall too tumultuous–but the sting of his lovers assault against his cheek left a blistering outrage that dug it’s fingers into his gut, twisting and mangling what patience he had left for her.
His teeth clenched tightly in his jaw, muscles working to keep him firmly in place, “Who is to say the woman was foreign?”
Damn his tongue–too often the fire in his belly got hold of it before his wits did. This wasn’t the time for spiteful humor. Tossing aside his meal, letting it scatter against the floor, he stood, with great reluctance, to his feet, chair squeaking with the release of his weight. Markus was a large man, it was often he destroyed anything that came across his path, even when he didn’t mean it. He came toe-to-toe with the braided blonde, eyes glinting hotly in the firelight, “You assume my imaginary whoring would take precedence over my blood and bone?”
He clenched her wrist in his own fist, before she took the ample opportunity to strike him again, “Answer wisely. I’ve had a long day.”
Here’s the full 3 set collection of Kara, Markus and Connor. It was fun making this set and trying out a colour style I’m not used too. Let me know which ones your fav!
To go with the Kara piece I made a few weeks back. Markus I feel represents the soul, where we feel the desire to fight and get justice. To do the things we believe are right and follow our passions. I chose red and green to show the conflict of Markus’ route and the conflict that everyone bares in their own souls.
“Herzlich willkommen zu unserer Show, ich bin Markus Lanz und habe hier heute einen HOCHinteressanten Gast sitzen! Sie haben die Herrenmarmelade bei Chefkoch.de hochgeladen stimmt das?” “Ja, das ist korrekt.” “FASzinierend! Sagen Sie, WIE fühlt man sich, wenn man EINE Portion Herrenmarmelade gegessen hat?” “Gut.” “WAS Sie nicht sagen! Erzählen Sie unseren Zuschauerinnen und Zuschauern doch einmal, was DA alles drin ist, ja?!” “Gerne, Herr Lanz, aber kö- könnten… also, könnten Sie Ihren Finger kurz aus meinem Gesi- so… ja, danke.” “Haha, DAS passiert mir ständig! *Schnupfgeräusch*” “Herr, Lanz, haben Sie gerade gekokst, vor mir, vor dem Publikum…?” “Was? Nö, nönö, hab ich nicht. HOCHinteressant!” “Herr Lanz, Sie haben da weißes Pulver am rechten Nasenlo-” “SPANnend! FASzinierend!” “Herr Lanz, setzen Sie sich wieder hin, ich weiß nicht, das Sofa sieht teuer aus.” “INvestigativ! UNglaublich!” “Herr Lanz, Ihr Finger, er macht mir Angst…” “FANtastisch! ErSTAUNlich!” “Herr Lanz, ich sollte hier doch von den 450 Gramm Wurst und den 600 Gramm Schmelzkäse für nur eine Portion berichten?” “…” “Herr Lanz?” “…” “Herr Lanz, warum weinen Sie denn jetzt?” “…das ist das SCHÖNste… was ich je-… jemals gehört habe.” “Herr Lanz, jetzt ist da ganz viel Rotze in ihren Koksresten. Achherrje. Kommen Sie, da, beißen Sie mal in ein Brot mit Herrenmarmelade. Dann können Sie zwar drei Tage weder etwas essen, noch aufs Klo, aber das gehört dazu.” “D-d-danke… fa-fanTAStisch…HOCH-HOCH-HOCHinteress-…” “Ist ja gut, ja, weinen Sie sich aus. Hier. Guten Hunger!”
