Had a fever of 101 last night and this morning. Sweated it out by midday, though I’m left feeling weak and dried out.
Managed to write a bit despite the ick. Some of it seems to work:
“And what does he want?”
“A word with his son.”
“Were it simple as that, you’d have it to give to me.”
A shrug of broad shoulders, “You would know better than I, Yarvis.”
“Carefully said, Novis.”
A toss of the head, getting iron-grey hair out of grey eyes. “I’ve had some experience treading the ground between you two.”
Yarvis pulled his hat from the peg by the door, pushing past the older man and out of his home. “Tell me, does it ever get muddy, that ground?”
His father’s oldest servant turned to follow. “Never more than it was when you denied him, Yar.”
Yarvis snorted, “You mean when I, a grown man, decided I knew what was best for me?”
“Each has his place in the thing, I suppose.”
“What does that mean?”
Another shrug. “Your father thinks different.”
“Every man entitled to his thoughts, I suppose. Of course, my father would like to charge everyone for his, even while he’s ramming them down your throat.”
Novis stopped walking. “Will you see him?”
Yarvis turned to face him, “In due time.”
“And when can I tell him to expect you?”
It was Yarvis’ turn to shrug. “When I arrive at his door.”
Thin lips drew tight around the scar he’d earned years ago, defending the old man’s money, not his family. “You know what he’ll say to that, Yar.”
“I do,” Yarvis said, “and aside from the shit he’ll likely toss your way for telling him, can’t say I much care.”