our breath fogged in the glass
In some ways, Claire couldn't deny the fact that being in London was... kind of romantic. The snow was beautiful as it fell from the sky and came to blanket everything in their immediate vicinity with white too bright to stare at for long, and Claire had almost grown accustomed to rushing back into her apartment and huddling close to the stove, eyes immediately growing drowsy and weary with the burning of fire and embers close to her face. She'd managed to find herself a serviceable dress as well, one which wasn't far too difficult to pull through the snow drifts, and that she hoped would hold a couple of days before demanding a wash- if there was anything she deeply appreciated about all those layers, it was the fact that usually, it was only the undergarments that demanded a wash. Everything else was more or less an exercise in futility.
What she appreciated a little less was how difficult it seemed to be to reach anyone in good time. Having snow and chill alike drive itself deep into her bones whenever she stepped outdoors was bad enough, but having an entire city to navigate somehow made it worse, especially without a map to help guide the way (she had a tendency of leaving it in her apartment, too accustomed to finding her way with her smartphone's GPS prior to the island). Most days, Claire found herself retracing the steps between her place and the new and revised Compound, and only spending time in that square block to keep from getting hopelessly lost in all of the streets. Catching a whiff of bread on her way home, Claire paused for a minute, before caving and rushing into the bakery, hoping that the quick intrusion didn't bring too much cold air into the shop.
"So..." she began, glancing about the place for anyone to help. "I'm trusting that this isn't one of those creepy ghost shops, right? I'm not really in the mood to take from ghosts again."
What she appreciated a little less was how difficult it seemed to be to reach anyone in good time. Having snow and chill alike drive itself deep into her bones whenever she stepped outdoors was bad enough, but having an entire city to navigate somehow made it worse, especially without a map to help guide the way (she had a tendency of leaving it in her apartment, too accustomed to finding her way with her smartphone's GPS prior to the island). Most days, Claire found herself retracing the steps between her place and the new and revised Compound, and only spending time in that square block to keep from getting hopelessly lost in all of the streets. Catching a whiff of bread on her way home, Claire paused for a minute, before caving and rushing into the bakery, hoping that the quick intrusion didn't bring too much cold air into the shop.
"So..." she began, glancing about the place for anyone to help. "I'm trusting that this isn't one of those creepy ghost shops, right? I'm not really in the mood to take from ghosts again."