Mia was just stopping by in the bar this morning for some last minute preparations before her trip to England. She had decided to have a tea and Bar decided to give her this week's pamphlet and a note
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"Very lovely," Mia says smiling with tiny emotional tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Any song that mentions the baby aspect of Christmas is sure to get to an expectant mother. "What can I get for you?"
"Really? My husband never told me that and he's a Brit. But then, he has a general lack of knowledge for things that might be considered popular culture, like Christmas carols."
The features aren't lost on the pale-skinned, violet-eyed, not-freakangel Guildmaster. But she isn't just going to jump and say he's a freakangel. Who knows how offended he (theoretically) would be if he wasn't?
"I'm Mia," she says while fetching the eggnog. "Oh, seems you have a choice. Do you care for alcohol or would you rather have nonalcoholic?"
Whatever he chooses, she's going to grab the nonalcoholic for herself to try.
Guppy wanders over with his young son in tow, distributing Christmas cards today. At the sign, he persuades Alex to let him lift him to sit on the bar.
"Hey Mia." he says. "Me and Alex are going to sing you a song."
Then, well rehearsed, they begin.
"We wish you a..." "Messy kissmas" "We wish you a..." "Messy kissmas" "We wish you a..." "Messy kissmas" "And a happy new year!
Glad tidings we bring, To you and your kin, We wish you a..." "Messy kissmas" "And a happy new year!"
Vexen doesn't do hot anything these days, but a mug of warm cider would not go amiss.
He'll be damned before he sings for it, though. He'd sooner pay 10,000 munny, if necessary, to preserve that bit of his dignity. Not that he can't sing, mind you; he actually doesn't sound too bad, apart from having a somewhat thin voice.
Still, death before disgrace.
'I will have an apple cider, please. Steamed to fifty-four-point-four-infinite degrees Celsius.'
He slides gracefully onto a barstool. Normally he would not lower himself to sitting at a bar, but he does remember Mia and has been considering her offer of assistance, though his acceptance would be contingent upon contracting the entire thing as some sort of business proposal.
Awww. They could've had a duet! Mia could've brought her setar and everything, even if she's obviously nowhere near as good as Demyx.
And why didn't he think to ask for anything iced? Iced cocoa, iced cider, and iced eggnog are all both possible and delicious!
"I'll be glad to, Vexen," she says, fetching the cider from the refrigerator. "It will be easier for me, however, to get it to the correct temperature if I can feel for myself what I'm aiming for. Do you have a way for me to 'sample' the temperature, so to speak, or do I have to go by trial and error?"
We also apologize for the tragically appropriate icon, though we'd like to point out that they're living in harmony up there.
Vexen doesn't like Demyx in the least, either, so it's for the best. Plus, he's not a big fan of sitar music.
As for iced drinks, a warm drink is like a hot one to the Academic. He enjoys his own equivalent of hot drinks, he just can't take them at the same temperature as those not bound to ice. Hot cocoa at 79.4C would burn and blister his mouth, throat, and stomach.
'If they do not provide a thermometer for gauging such things,' he suggests, 'then you may always prepare it to the normal specifications. I am capable of chilling it to the necessary degree; I cannot create heat sufficient to provide such a sample for you, but I am able to determine when it is appropriately cooled.'
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And a cold frosty morning,
Past three a clock;
Good morrow, masters all!
Born is a Baby,
Gentle as may be,
Son of the eternal
Father supernal."
Connor does not have a great singing voice, but he does his best to not pass on the free holiday beverages.
[***]
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And almost as an afterthought. "Hi, I'm Connor." Light skin, purple eyes...
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The features aren't lost on the pale-skinned, violet-eyed, not-freakangel Guildmaster. But she isn't just going to jump and say he's a freakangel. Who knows how offended he (theoretically) would be if he wasn't?
"I'm Mia," she says while fetching the eggnog. "Oh, seems you have a choice. Do you care for alcohol or would you rather have nonalcoholic?"
Whatever he chooses, she's going to grab the nonalcoholic for herself to try.
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Mia goes and brews a cup of tea with one of her healing herbs, which will relieve the symptoms for a while even if it won't cure the flu.
She brings the cup over, keeping the leaves in.
"The herb is edible and will help more the longer it steeps."
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"Hey Mia." he says. "Me and Alex are going to sing you a song."
Then, well rehearsed, they begin.
"We wish you a..."
"Messy kissmas"
"We wish you a..."
"Messy kissmas"
"We wish you a..."
"Messy kissmas"
"And a happy new year!
Glad tidings we bring,
To you and your kin,
We wish you a..."
"Messy kissmas"
"And a happy new year!"
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"I believe that means two orders on the Magic Guild's tab. What will you two have?"
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"He'd like an orange juice in a non-spill beaker that isn't red, and I'd like and apple and raspberry J2O please."
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Mia gets the drinks, satisfying Alex's special request with a blue sippy cup with a white snowflake print.
"Just ten weeks left," she says.
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He'll be damned before he sings for it, though. He'd sooner pay 10,000 munny, if necessary, to preserve that bit of his dignity. Not that he can't sing, mind you; he actually doesn't sound too bad, apart from having a somewhat thin voice.
Still, death before disgrace.
'I will have an apple cider, please. Steamed to fifty-four-point-four-infinite degrees Celsius.'
He slides gracefully onto a barstool. Normally he would not lower himself to sitting at a bar, but he does remember Mia and has been considering her offer of assistance, though his acceptance would be contingent upon contracting the entire thing as some sort of business proposal.
Reply
And why didn't he think to ask for anything iced? Iced cocoa, iced cider, and iced eggnog are all both possible and delicious!
"I'll be glad to, Vexen," she says, fetching the cider from the refrigerator. "It will be easier for me, however, to get it to the correct temperature if I can feel for myself what I'm aiming for. Do you have a way for me to 'sample' the temperature, so to speak, or do I have to go by trial and error?"
We also apologize for the tragically appropriate icon, though we'd like to point out that they're living in harmony up there.
Reply
As for iced drinks, a warm drink is like a hot one to the Academic. He enjoys his own equivalent of hot drinks, he just can't take them at the same temperature as those not bound to ice. Hot cocoa at 79.4C would burn and blister his mouth, throat, and stomach.
'If they do not provide a thermometer for gauging such things,' he suggests, 'then you may always prepare it to the normal specifications. I am capable of chilling it to the necessary degree; I cannot create heat sufficient to provide such a sample for you, but I am able to determine when it is appropriately cooled.'
Go team ice, or something.
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"Oh, I'm sure I could find one, but it would be easier for me to get it right the first time if I can feel it."
She brings him the glass of cider, still cold.
"Here's an idea: I can control a wide range of temperature. I can start warming this and you can just tell me when to stop. How's that?"
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