minor_variation: (dubious)
[personal profile] minor_variation posting in [community profile] desperatefans
The last waning days of Dark continue to keep the mansion deep in snow and storms, and food remains scarce, though the residents are better insulated this year than they were before. The lake is frozen over; the woods are full of leafless and evergreen trees.

Into these unwelcoming conditions comes a young man, not yet twenty, wading on foot through the hip-deep snowdrifts. His clothes are his brothers' hand-me-downs, well-worn but clean, and his cloak is wool wrapped close around his body. He wears a sword belted around his waist. His oiled knapsack contains a few days provisions and two precious books, each of which cost most his month's stipend, a bundle of preserved heather, a worked copper charm that's meant to ward off bad luck, a handful of coins, and a smooth and heavy stone statue of a seal, small enough to fit in one hand.

He's dark-haired and green-eyed, with a scattering of freckles across his face and an anemic bit of stubble on his chin and cheeks from the journey.

For the last hour or so he's been following the distant shape of the mansion, and by the time he arrives on the doorstep he's shivering, his nose red and running and tears frozen into his lashes. When he knocks on the door, there's a palpable sense of relief.

— [closed post]

Jun. 8th, 2025 11:48 am
quote_gentle_unquote: (88. i'm caught on the hot)
[personal profile] quote_gentle_unquote
Susan's Dark has been both more and less dreadful than she feared at the outset. Focusing her attention on pulling together a nice, small celebration for Lancelot's birthday with all of his dearest, favorite people in attendance, eating foods he loves most gave her something to sink her teeth into for much of the month, even if the bulk of the preparations were necessarily made well in advance of the month (so that she might, of course, set aside the appropriate supplies). Of course she specifically put off working on his gift - a letter detailing the myriad variations and impossible scope of her love for him - until the start of Dark, so that she might have something to occupy her days. Making herself reflect on each word, each sentence at length occupied a fair amount of time.

(Also, recovering from the awful cold she caught delivering groceries to Laertes and Sagramore filled some of the time rendered empty by the onset of the month.)

But now Lancelot's birthday is behind them, and one week more of Dark stretches ahead. Susan, discomfited by the absence of anything to plan, readies herself to learn a new skill. She's in the armory with Lancelot, frowning over swords. "How does one even begin to properly assess the balance?" she asks.

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