My, my, what's happening here?

[handyplothole]

Any day now the Mansion will be blanketed in snow and festooned with icicles, right on schedule; but for the moment, the lawns are still bare, the wind brisk but not bitter, the air bracing. Conveniently, because something seems to be going on

Comments

[three_smiles]

Michael has a soft blanket set out (somebody, probably Rohana, found it for him when he poked in to find out what was going on), and on it are many many neatly arranged pairs of shoes. They are of all sizes and designs.

[keepyourlamps]

"Oooooh!" Heli says, "Oh, sir! They're pretty!"

(She's barefoot, and her toes are by this time a little red from the chill.)

[three_smiles]

Michael looks up at her, and then looks at her feet, and then back at her. "You need shoes."

[keepyourlamps]

Heli prances a bit, and leans over to look more closely at the shoes. "Do you think?" she says, "I don' wear shoes, mostly."

[dutifuldaughter]

Clar is setting up a table that is a slightly disorganized jumble of little pots, bottles, and small wooden boxes, all neatly labeled. Lovely, thick scarves in various knits and various deeply dyed yarns coil around the containers.

Clar is humming to herself as she adjusts things - they aren't quite where they ought to be. Not in the way she sees them, anyway.

[littlebetter]

"What witchery are you brewing up, sister?" Gaheris wanders over and pokes at her things.

[dutifuldaughter]

"'s only simples," Clar says, "Only touch if you actually want to look at them."

[littlebetter]

"Maybe I do. What do they do?"

[russet_goddess]

Zara also has her stock displayed on a table. Frankly, the evergreen and ribbon is, in her opinion, going way too far, but hey. It's the price you pay for snagging a table instead of just a blanket on the ground. She has samples of her sewing out, as well as swatches of cloth, and many, many beautiful, hand-sewn dresses neatly piles on the table, hanging down over the sides so their skirts show--she'll be only too annoyed pleased to take one out and show you if you want a better look.

[shensitivity]

Shenshen lets out a little squeal when she sees this -- fortunately from some distance away, for the sake of Zara's ears -- and whisks over, skirts fluttering. "But how divine, I had no idea, in this desert!"

Because clothes shopping? Life in this place may be worth living after all.

[russet_goddess]

Zara just looks at her.

[shensitivity]

She's already riffling through the hanging skirts -- carefully, not making a mess of them; Shenshen is a noisy and not infrequently a demanding customer, but never a destructive one. "Oh, look, look. I must tell Pfannee, oh my stars -- But you are open for business?" acknowledging Zara for the first time with a most imploring look. "I've had to depend on these magic closets all this time, and they have such dismal taste, you have no idea--!"

[desfeuilles]

Back in the day, when he was alive and whatnot, Feuilly was known to swear he'd never touch another fan. But life in the Mansion, for a plain and introverted Frenchboy, can get a little dull, and he's been here a long time now.

So here's a card table, with ribbons fluttering from its legs, and bright arcs of color bedecking the top: flowers, birds, butterflies, pastoral scenes and the odd portrait (some very odd, but then Feuilly's met some very odd people around here).

In the midst of the display is a carefully lettered sign: TAKE ONE

[just_growed]

Topsy stops at the colorful table, and, casually pulling a loose ribbon off the table and tucking it in her sleeve (old habits die hard), she begins to examine the fans, first picking up one, staring at it intently, then dropping it and picking up another.

None too gently, we might add.

[desfeuilles]

Feuilly's sitting on an overturned crate a little distance away, about equidistant between the oven and the open fire, with a book; he cocks a wry eyebrow at her, but his voice is mild. "You like 'em?"

[just_growed]

She looks up, a little startled. "Mebbe."

[fingersofleaf]

Percy has a cellarfull of vegetable overflow, and even though he'll probably darn well want it during the winter when he's getting scurvy, he never passes up a chance to be involved in a Christmas fair.

As a result, there are a good many vegetables on his table, stacked in handmade baskets and crates.

[winestains]

*appears, then, bundled up in a handsome coat meant for Danish winters, and examines the vegetables appreciatively* Wow. These'd be great for cooking.

[fingersofleaf]

*beams at him* You want some? I'm not sellin', I'm givin'. I've got plenty.

[winestains]

If you're sure you can spare them, I'd love some.