(Untitled)

[peasmith]

Who: anyone
When: December 13, mid-afternoon
Where: Main St.
What: general random
OPEN.

The weather outside was frightful, but the coffee shop had been able to provide an insulated cardboard mug of cocoa with a bit of peppermint in, which was delightful; besides which Psmith rather did have places to go, and so although he had no inherent

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[starbuckbuck]

Kara Thrace rubbed her hands together as she walked quickly down the street. Gods damn these Cah-nay-da winters were nasty.

She caught glimpse of yet another red fat man with the long white beard up on a telephone pole. Great more wacky religious things. This time of year at home, they'd be taking town the congregation's statues of the gods to make new clothes and polish the white stone to a high shine in celebration and thanks for a good year.

The small ceremony they'd had on Galactica, using whatever small statues they had and the the new clothes were made from the finest bits of uniform and bed linen they could scrounge...

She was so deep in thought, remembering that quiet ceremony that she didn't even notice the man in front of her until she ran right into him.

[peasmith]

Only quick thinking and the fact that he'd already drunk up half of it saved Psmith's cocoa from being spilt out all over both of them, and only the fact that over a year in modern Canada had been fully insufficient to change a single iota of Psmith's proper Englishness kept him from exclaiming something other than "I say!" in his surprise.

Of course, it was equally his fault as hers; if he'd been looking at the street ahead rather than at the strings of twinkling fairy-lights adorning the rooflines, he'd have been able to perform evasive action, and so after ascertaining that the cocoa was not spilt and the woman was not knocked down or something, he raised his hat half an inch from his forehead and said "Dreadfully sorry, Miss."

[starbuckbuck]

Kara glanced at the very dapper man, "Frak me, sorry my fault. You alright?"

She looked down at the drink in his hand. Then around at the snowy ground. Good, she didn't have to buy him another drink.

[peasmith]

"Quite alright," Psmith assured her. "No harm to self or effects, and therefore, as the saying goes, no foul. A mere accident - we two mortals, lost in thought, adrift upon the sidewalks of the world; a chance collision, and two spheres coincide, however briefly."