Work Text:
Sheala looked at the burnt eggs with a mixture of wonder and disappointment.
“I did say on multiple occasions that I was terrible with eggs.” Philippa muttered matter-of-fact beside her. Looking rather unbothered by her atrocious work.
“Yes well… I suppose I should have heeded the warning. To my defense, I had too much faith in your skills. You are a polymorph, one would assume cooking eggs would not be an act so unattainable.”
Philippa blew a strand of hair away from her face, arms crossed. “Hurtful words, my dear.” As if Phil could be hurt by anything but her own ego.
“Wait, that raises the question,” Keira quipped from Montecalvo’s main living area, adjoining the ridiculously large kitchen. “You can shapeshift into an owl, Phil, does that mean you can lay eggs?”
Sheala watched Philippa’s cool mask crack, a minuscule crack, just an eyebrow twitching and her lips slightly curling down. And if the Koviri loner knew her long-time lover well enough-- and she did, after more than a century of relationship-- this meant the early signs of a world of pain for Lady Metz if she did not expressly learn to shut her mouth. “Not how polymorphy works, Metz.” Yes, Philippa Eilhart was decidedly not a morning person.
Keira ignored what was the beginning of a lesson on polymorphy by one Philippa Eilhart to instead get lost in an imaginary and altogether unrealistic world that seemed to amuse her greatly. “Can you imagine? Mini-Phil owls hooting and running around screeching about coups and idiot kings." Keira snorted and stretched on a regal armchair. Philippa’s favorite, Sheala noted. She’d often find her lover tucked on it with a book when sleep refused to find her. And now, Keira was sullying it with her presence, a fact that did not sit well with the mistress of Montecalvo judging by the withering glare sent her way. Her whole body language screamed Get off my chair, get off my chair, get off my chair. "Hostile takeover.”
Sheala wrapped her arms around a disgruntled Philippa, surely distraught by such an imagery, and pecked her cheek. “The world would be doomed.” Thankfully she felt Phil’s body relax against her own but her scowl stayed. “One Philippa is all I can handle.” She added in a whisper against Phil’s ear.
A smile tugged at red lips, “One is all you need, dear.”
A chortle was heard from the other side of the living room and Triss’ chestnut hair appeared on the couch beside Phil’s adored chair, breaking the short-lived peace. “Don’t you know how birds work? The egg would need to be fertilized.”
Philippa pinched the bridge of her nose, gritting her teeth showing signs of clear frustration. As it so often happened when Triss and Keira invaded Montecalvo. Sheala would soon be unable to save anyone in Phil’s line of sight. “I’d rather we not talk about fertilization of any kind. Especially when I am involved.”
“Has a male owl ever tried to plough you, Phil?”
Oh dear oh dear. Sheala sighed and patted Philippa’s stomach before moving away from her lover. She won’t risk being caught in the crossfire because Keira Metz could not keep her curiosity in check.
Triss’ deafening cackle certainly did not help matters.
“I shall endeavor to salvage your eggs-” Sheala quickly corrected, sensing Philippa’s temper worsening, “these eggs.”
The cackle redoubled, this time joined by Keira.
“I’ve heard enough about eggs.” Philippa snapped. “Do you remember your days at Aretuza, little fox?” She addressed the other sorceress, sickly sweet with a hint of threat lying under the question. Triss visibly blanched. “And you, Metz? I seem to recall a particular lesson on Telempathy you botched leading to interesting results. I shall be immensely glad to recreate it, as I’ve more observations to make.”
“You know,” Keira stood up and fidgeted uselessly with her dress, quickly rushing to the entrance. “I do believe King Foltest required our assistance with an urgent matter.”
Triss did not think twice before catching the lifeline Keira threw at her, “Right, yes. Thank you for welcoming us, Pippa, Madame de Tancarville.”
They’d not welcomed them at all. In fact, when they descended to the living area this morning, they’d both been greeted by the sight of Triss and Keira playing gwent. Loudly, with explicit curses being thrown around and accusations of cheating. The two younger sorceresses had made it a habit to, for whatever purpose, haunt the halls of Montecalvo without so much as a missive announcing their arrivals ever since the Lodge’s first meeting. At first Sheala had been surprised by Philippa’s lack of punishment for the invasion but ultimately chalked it up to the owl sorceress’ fondness for two ex-pupils. Even if she would never admit it, Sheala was adept at reading through her lover’s carefully crafted exterior.
When the entrance hall’s gate closed, Sheala chuckled and vanished the burnt eggs magically, “You’re terribly efficient at pest control.”
Philippa huffed, passing a tired hand through her mussled hair. It was still quite early and neither had been dressed and properly pampered for guests. Not that Keira or Triss could be considered as such. All Sheala had borrowed was a comfortable man’s linen shirt lying about in Phil’s dresser while the lady owl had thrown on a doublet she hadn’t bothered to button and leather pants. Not fit for society at all, but it was still early and neither had any obligations for the day, a respite on their otherwise busy lives. It was a comfort nowadays to be able to bask in each other’s presence the few times a month they could and they fully indulged in those rare peaceful moments.
“Come,” Philippa slid her hands down Sheala’s arms, raising shivers in their wake and pressed her lips against the Koviri loner’s ear, “Forget all about eggs. I’d much prefer to have breakfast in bed this morning.” She finished with a sharp bite earning herself a pleased hiss from her lover.
Sheala turned in Philippa’s arms, passing her own around the polymorph’s neck and pressing her lips to plum, soft ones, relishing in the quiet moan coming from Philippa’s throat. Hands settled on her hips and slipped under her shirt, squeezing possessively. “Very well,” she husked against Phil’s lips, “You cannot make any more of a mess than this.”
Philippa smirked down at her, “Oh, I’m sure I can.”