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You had a flat affect. Discerning what your emotions frequently proved difficult. Would you like to marry me? I suppose. Let's have children? If you'd like. Another? Sure.
There was nothing Ivar could do to drag out any spiteful emotions. He tried a wise arrange of things from spilling your food, ruining the laundry or smacking your ass in his brother's presence. His latest attempt went without notice, or so he thought.
"Who was she!"
Your feet slide across the ground, hands at your hips as Ivar plucks up the head of a chess piece between thumb and forefinger. You fling the sopping wet rag in his direction while you hiss out such animated words.
"Who?" He says while ducking away.
Your eyes narrow. "That-that! That whore you kissed!"
Ivar reclines back in his chair, ruffling his sweat slicked hair between his finger tips. "The thrall? Æesa... or was it Frey—"
The last of his sentence was lost on you past the deep, scalding burn of knowing the girls weren't full of shit. You strip the axe of its place on your belt, whirling it in the air towards your husband. It embeds on the table he plays chess on.
"You're dead!"
He drops out of his chair, cackling as you advance on him with several long swoops of your legs. Finally, some emotion on your behalf.
