Listens to an argument

Keeping the wood pinned between his arms and his chest, his rocky skin leaving him quite safe from any splinters, Ivard leaned in and put his ear to the door.
Inside, he could hear the oldest daughter of the family, Thelma, speak with such a volume to her voice that she would only need to raise a tiny bit more to be actually screaming.

“I don’t care if he’s hard working!” Thelma spoke, “He’s a freak! Haven’t you seen his skin?”
“Easy now, girl,” the returning voice belonged to the father of the family, a weathered old man named Rupert whose voice matched his wrinkled, worn appearance, “he’s only staying for the night.”
“Father’s right,” now it was Petra, the younger of the two sisters, who spoke, “and besides, he’s done nothing wrong.”
“Don’t be naïve; you don’t end up looking like he does without having done something wrong.” Thelma’s response was scornful, both towards her sister and towards Ivard.

Having since long accustomed himself to being the subject of other’s hostile speech, Ivard cared little for what Thelma said of him, she seemed to be little more than a haughty brat well on her way towards becoming a toothless old nag anyway, but grinned softly at how the younger sister defended him.
She was the prettier of the two, Ivard had thought ever since he first laid eyes upon them, with a softer, sweeter face than her sister’s cool features, and her hair being a brighter shade of blonde than her sister.
And while Thelma might not have a body that would set her up in an ideal manner should she ever decide to disguise herself as a stick, she was still outdone by her sister’s more generous endowments. Neither sister looked to be older than twenty-two, with Petra barely having passed the score mark.

Of course, no matter how sweet, pretty and buxom that Petra was, Ivard knew for certain that the odds of her sleeping with him were minute, at least as long as he looked the way he did.
In his current state, Ivard would usually have to pester whores to accept his money and sleep with him, something which did nothing for his outlook on the world and his place in it.

“What do you know about that?!” Petra was speaking only slightly less forcefully than her sister, “He might have been cursed by some evil wizard, for all you know!”
“Stop being so stupid,” Thelma told her sister, “he’s not one of those knights in shiny armour that you fantasize about!”
“He might as well be that as a pathetic drunkard like the one who went and ran out on you!” was Petra’s angered reply.
“Don’t you dare speak about like that!” Rupert was about to say something, but Thelma spoke louder than him.

“Why not!?” Petra cried back, now sounding angry enough to start trading blows with her sister, “It’s not my fault that my sister fell in love with an asshole!”
“Nor is it mine that our mother gave me a cretin for a sister!” Thelma screamed.
“Bitch!”
“Child!”
“Black-toothed old hag!”
“Infantile fool!”
“Dried-up loser!”
“Slut!”
“Girls!” Rupert finally managed to out-scream his daughters, “Stop this!”

A second of silence, interrupted by two women’s heavy breathing, followed Rupert’s command, after which the old man saw fit to speak again.
“Now, I want you to go out and fetch Ivard.”