[St Grumbles] Plumb Festive, Bang Guttered
Posted: Fri Jun 29, 2018 3:17 pm
3rd of Loshis, 2718
The young Siordanti fussed at himself in front of the mirror for the umpteenth time that evening, acutely aware of his deplorable state of ineptitude with a cravat, with any form of fashion more complicated than a sock. Deft, freckled fingers attempted to create some artful appearance from the bright sea-green accessory that stood out boldly against the cream of his well-tailored shirt and the seasonally-appropriate charcoal of his vest and suit,
"Ah, Lady bless it, it's clocking raining anyway." Hissed Nauleth at his reflection, smirking lopsidedly in defeat before he turned and made his way out of his room and downstairs, pausing only to slip into his coat and snatch an umbrella, the rain just enough to be called a dampening drizzle. Setting on the small table near the door was a box wrapped in wax paper—a lovely but simple thistle corsage, purchased by Henry their housekeeper just a few houses before. He was a clever chap, passive or not, and the junior professor smiled at the older man's careful attention to his needs before he stepped out the front door and into the weather that hid the sunset from view.
His walk from his spacious shared house to Athrym's was a familiar one by now, and the tall red-head made note of the festive decorations on the neatly organized rows of houses in his neighborhood—wreaths of thistles and ribbons, candles in every window, and tails of yarn hung from doorknobs. A few homes had a couple of gifts set next to their doors—baskets of sweets and baked goods, waiting to be enjoyed when the homeowners returned from a night of caroling, Church-going and, of course, drinking.
Naul had plans for getting guttered, that was for clocking sure.
Warm, languid thoughts kept him occupied as he sloshed through the familiar streets and alleyways, past the familiar yards toward the petite blonde's home, having told the carriage to pick them both up there before they joined their companions in the Stacks for a leisurely evening of pub hopping and drink-sampling. Perhaps they could make their way to the Church of the Moon for part of the night in order to catch the proper Feast of Saint Grumble retelling, especially for Athrym's sake, but as far as Nauleth was concerned, he was just as content moving from one empty glass to the next because the rainy season required such a distraction, after all.
Taking the steps to the lovely Miss Bruthgrave's small, rented home by twos, the junior professor shook out his umbrella carefully and set it to one side on the tiny porch, fussing one more time with his cravat before knocking on the door, corsage at the ready in his other hand, lopsided grin on his freckled face. The thrill of excitement felt the same every time, and Naul couldn't help but savor it—a new feeling for the ambitious galdor, an experiment in emotions like none he'd felt before in anyone's company,
"Merry Feasting and Happy Saint Grumble, Athrym!" The young Siordanti called out cheerfully. Field already swirling with eagerness, he waited for the door to open, attempting to prepare himself for the anticipated attractiveness that he already knew would greet him on the other side.
The carriage would arrive behind him as he waited, and he thanked the gods for such impeccable timing.
"Ah, Lady bless it, it's clocking raining anyway." Hissed Nauleth at his reflection, smirking lopsidedly in defeat before he turned and made his way out of his room and downstairs, pausing only to slip into his coat and snatch an umbrella, the rain just enough to be called a dampening drizzle. Setting on the small table near the door was a box wrapped in wax paper—a lovely but simple thistle corsage, purchased by Henry their housekeeper just a few houses before. He was a clever chap, passive or not, and the junior professor smiled at the older man's careful attention to his needs before he stepped out the front door and into the weather that hid the sunset from view.
His walk from his spacious shared house to Athrym's was a familiar one by now, and the tall red-head made note of the festive decorations on the neatly organized rows of houses in his neighborhood—wreaths of thistles and ribbons, candles in every window, and tails of yarn hung from doorknobs. A few homes had a couple of gifts set next to their doors—baskets of sweets and baked goods, waiting to be enjoyed when the homeowners returned from a night of caroling, Church-going and, of course, drinking.
Naul had plans for getting guttered, that was for clocking sure.
Warm, languid thoughts kept him occupied as he sloshed through the familiar streets and alleyways, past the familiar yards toward the petite blonde's home, having told the carriage to pick them both up there before they joined their companions in the Stacks for a leisurely evening of pub hopping and drink-sampling. Perhaps they could make their way to the Church of the Moon for part of the night in order to catch the proper Feast of Saint Grumble retelling, especially for Athrym's sake, but as far as Nauleth was concerned, he was just as content moving from one empty glass to the next because the rainy season required such a distraction, after all.
Taking the steps to the lovely Miss Bruthgrave's small, rented home by twos, the junior professor shook out his umbrella carefully and set it to one side on the tiny porch, fussing one more time with his cravat before knocking on the door, corsage at the ready in his other hand, lopsided grin on his freckled face. The thrill of excitement felt the same every time, and Naul couldn't help but savor it—a new feeling for the ambitious galdor, an experiment in emotions like none he'd felt before in anyone's company,
"Merry Feasting and Happy Saint Grumble, Athrym!" The young Siordanti called out cheerfully. Field already swirling with eagerness, he waited for the door to open, attempting to prepare himself for the anticipated attractiveness that he already knew would greet him on the other side.
The carriage would arrive behind him as he waited, and he thanked the gods for such impeccable timing.
Welcome to Brunnhold, stop-clocker, now go home.