For Arnaud, the day following the full moon was almost as bad, if not worse, than the night of the moon itself. Though a born shifter, he rarely ever changed outside of those obligatory nights, which was as much to his benefit as it was to his detriment. As ever, it all came back to that damned witch and her curse — whenever he hunted, any injury he caused would be reflected upon his own body, and any kill he made, he would feel as though it were happening to him. He couldn’t find relief or joy in the change like some of the other shifters at the cirque, and to that end it tended to leave him in a bitter, snappish mood the following day.
The best place to work off his frustrations was always the kitchen (or a battlefield, but Freya had long since forbidden him those), and once he’d gotten cleaned up and visited Freya for healing he headed right for the Lady’s Table. By the time Ana showed up he was in his element, sleeves cuffed back and a dishtowel thrown over his shoulder as he busily worked at pulling several dishes together. He gave a simmering cassoulet one last stir before turning when she called, coming around the long counter and extending his hands in welcome.
“Sit, sit. Wine, or something stronger?” Pleasantries, greetings? Why yes, Arnaud knew what those were. He also knew that they were usually unnecessary with Ana, which made his life so much easier on days like this.