about ... 12? months ago
It's not so cold that Sebastian can't go hang out with his friends and need accompaniment unless he tipsily falls into a snow bank somewhere. (A gentleman does not get drunk, merely... indisposed.)
But it is cold enough for there to be snow on the ground, and after stabling his horse, Sebastian pats a pile of the stuff softly. It crunches, very nicely, under his hand.
"Huh." He kneels to start molding it.
But it is cold enough for there to be snow on the ground, and after stabling his horse, Sebastian pats a pile of the stuff softly. It crunches, very nicely, under his hand.
"Huh." He kneels to start molding it.
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"--when I catch cold, I shall blame thee," she mutters, trying to shake snow out of her sleeves. She scoops a particularly large chunk off of her shoulder, looks at it for a moment, and then does the only think she possibly can do.
She throws it at him.
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He sits upright, hurt: "But I am ever staunch in defending th--" the snow smacks him in the mouth.
His eyes narrow, and he starts packing snow.
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"Look! Thy foe is slain."
While gesturing to the wrecked snowman, he offhandedly throws the second as well.
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"Ahhh, 'tis down my dress-- I am certain thou art my foe--"
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"My cloak should do little to save thee from the cold of snow in thy dress," he admits, trying not to laugh.
(He's ... succeeding?)
"Thy vengeance can be had indoors?"
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She shivers and reaches up to brush more snow out of her hair. Her curls will always break free from any pins at the slightest provocation-- a snow battle is more than sufficient, and it's half fallen loose about her shoulders.
"Indoors," she agrees. "I must devise some truly cunning punishment. If the cold thou'rt sure to catch proves insufficient."
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It is pretty cold out here.
Once he manages that, he offers her an arm. "A brandy shall cure us, and a change of clothes."
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"I take care of their ills, in spirit -- in fact, I am like unto a priest!" He declares, hand gesturing dramatically.
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"That life would suit thee not at all, brother," she says, giving his arm a playful squeeze. And then realizes that actually, it's much warmer pressed right up against him, so she stays there.
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"Thy day has been well?"
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When they reach the door she ducks gratefully inside, immediately shrugging off her now-sodden shawl. "'twas well enough-- we saw to making ready for the feasts to come, for Christmas and for twelfth night-- but thou dost not care for this, I will not bore thee. Where didst go?"
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He removes his cloak. "I think not that I shall work with him, for he is over-generous with money -- though much I was pleased of it this evening. But I shall return tomorrow, as I was invited."
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"Thou shouldst surely be the business man, couldst thou only improve thy countenance. I shall keep thy words in mind, when we speak again tomorrow."
Maybe he shouldn't so quickly discard a potentially valuable contact, who speaks of routes extending into France.
"But this can surely only bore thee," he adds, before she can reply. He nudges her with an elbow. "What might I learn of the celebrations?"
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"Thou couldst smile now and then, and laugh even perchance at the occasional poor-told joke."
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"No," he exclaims. He flaps a hand at her face, careful not to come too close. "Thou lookst as though thy brains were left at home."
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"Wouldst have a man who thought so?"
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He shivers, sudden and violent. "I should change," he says, after a moment, "else I should marry no woman, be she clever as thee or otherwise."
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