Why people don't like spirits

[shardofwinter]

The weather has been irritatingly unpredictable this year. Sunny one day, a blizzard the next. It's almost impossible to plan for. Today Reynard has made sure the Nexus is smothered in a thick blanket of snow, and it's nearly perfectly smooth. The Nexus might as well be a different landscape. It's hard to tell what a person is stepping on until they take the chance to wade in. Bins, boulders, benches, street curbs are all probably the most normal things a traveller might find themselves cracking shins and toes against.

At a very strategically chosen point however, some poor people find themselves in a bit of a bother. After getting this far all it takes is one step and they find themselves chest deep in the snow. Struggling will only testify to how packed tight the freezing blanket is. Digging themselves out might be possible, but slow.

It doesn't take long before a sing-song voice comes through the air.

"A house for a five headed creature,
A tool that carves rock and earth,
A measure against misadventure,
A gift often owned from birth."

Reynard walks on top of the snow with his usual confident stroll. He crouches in front of his unfortunate victim, tilts his head and asks, "What am I?"

Comments

[turningcolors]

The shopping bag of cleaning products might still be back by the shop where she left them, but Reynard could be forgiven for wondering why she even needs them when he is PINpointed into the entryway of his cabin. It's been thoroughly cleaned from floor to ceiling in the living area. The kitchen and bathroom are her current project, though they've already had a general cleaning. She just needs to finish the deep cleaning.

Hazel's careful to remove her shoes (thankfully free of frost blades now) so as not to track into the cabin while she heads for a basket that's sitting on a table underneath one of the windows.

The wicker container has several fresh sprigs of pine interspersed throughout. A delicate spiderweb looking stitching wraps up a neatly packaged container of Spanish turrón. A small hand painted nutcracker is tied with a ribbon around a pint of Guinness and purple, green, and gold beads are slung over a bottle of fortified chocolate wine. A bottle of champagne tucked next to a small box of nian gao. Everything sits atop a quilt of silver and blue snowflakes, neatly held together.

Hazel holds it out for Reynard to take.

"A gift for the season, as well as a gift for it's bearer."

[shardofwinter]

When Reynard first enters his home he's quick to wrinkle up his nose. It strikes him as uncomfortably fresh. Only after a moment does he realise that it leaves the house that little bit colder, allowing him to relax again. His passing inspection finishes so that when he turns back to Hazel it's as she's handing him the basket. He eyes the gift and then Hazel, and brings it over to the table to have a look.

At first he keeps his expression neutral, even and unchanged, but a broad smile soon cracks his seriousness. "Turrón... I haven't had that in decades... And these beads... I know they're Winter, but... I don't know why." With one palm flat he leans on the table and looks at Hazel. "Could you teach people how to make these in the Nexus? If Winter was honoured by a handful of people half as well as this..." He turns back to the basket and shakes his head.

Straightening, he faces Hazel properly, puts a hand over his heart, and bows. "Thank you for your gift, my dear lady."

[turningcolors]

"Carnival celebration." Hazel supplies softly when Reynard mentions the beads. It's easier to find small trinkets for the American variant to the holiday and she really just enjoys the colors. She did not want her tribute to winter to be one-note.

"Christmas, Yule, Winter Solstice, New Years, Carnival, Valentines Day, Lunar New Year. A small smattering of important winter dates from around the world."

Hazel says nothing when he asks her to teach others to make these. That's his job rather than hers, isn't it? To teach and embody Winter? But neither does she take offense or scoff. She simply waits for his thanks and lowers her gaze respectfully toward the table.

"If I've learned anything about you it's how you tend to prefer your sustenance." Hence all the drinks and wines especially.

[shardofwinter]

When he straightens, Reynard takes a minute to look her over. Only a few moments ago she was firmly keeping him in his place, and then laughing with the joy of ice beneath her feet. Now she seems... reserved. Perhaps she's anxious to do the right thing... or perhaps he needs to give her better thanks.

He pulls off his gloves and heads to the kitchen, crouching down to get to one of the cupboards filled with alcohol for the impending Spring. Grabbing a pair of shot glasses, he comes back and sets them down while he opens up the bottle in his hands.

"Do you know why as soon as Winter hits my preferred drink becomes vodka?" He pours them two small shots before grinning at her and lifting the bottle. "It doesn't freeze when I hold it."

Reynard sets down the bottle so that he can pick up the glasses and offer one to her. "I don't eat or drink much during my Season... but I'd like to toast your long life."