"I know I bought you from Bar not ten minutes ago, an' Bar's not likely t'sell confectionary into slavery, so d'y'care to explain y'self, or must I get out the hot pokers?" Ace asks, prodding the bag again. Something's awfully strange here.
The light from the fire has a funny way of making his hair seem even brighter than it is, but he doesn't really care. The fire's nice and scares off the cold, so he's sitting pretty close to it, brown eyes watching the flames leap and dance skywards.
And if he looks a little bored, well, no big deal.
"S'more?" Ace offers, holding out the sticky treat. What? Girl's got priorities. Make tasty treats, then burn effigies. There's a system to these things.
"Yeah. Figured someone ought t'celebrate the occasion. Can't count on the Americans t'do it." Ace explains with a grin, and begins setting up to make more of the gooey snacks.
Zuko is not fond of Ace, but he's beed adopted into the British, and he's a Firbender. Guy Fawkes day sort of... sings to certain parts of him.
The parts of him that hold to YANG instead of YIN, which is why he's not running around furry, and is instead of bothering to approach, there's sort of a -- kata as an approach, going through motions and making the fire -- get that much taller for the efforts.
Ace jumps, a little, as the fire flares when she really didn't expect it to.
Maybe a little too much paper, not enough wood? Huh.
Still, the heightened fire sheds enough light so she can see the newest arrival. She's never really talked to him, other than trading fire during missions for Wells, but... Wells vouches for him.
Thus, Ace offers a s'more. It's a peace offering! Or something.
Zuko grins, and then takes it. "Good bonfire. But it can be bigger." In the boyish way of I am totally a pyro but that goes without saying when you breath smoke and ash without worry.
"Yeah, an' I could've broken m'neck buildin' it, but there's certain limits." Ace snorts as she starts toasting another couple of marshmallows. "B'sides, gotta save some of the show for the boom, yeah?"
Merriman has always regarded Guy Fawkes Day and Bonfire Night with a sort of near-clinical detachment -- primarily because he had made a point of being present at the actual hanging, drawing and quartering of Fawkes and his co-conspirators in the open yards by the Palace of Westminster.
(An eventful opening, it must be said, to a very eventful century.)
The light of the bonfire glints off his wild white hair as he watches the flames leap and dance, singing their crackling song in the chill night.
Like Zuko, the man in the gray suit is quite capable of bringing his own bang; Michael's people are Irish, not English, so he's here more for the pyrotechnics than the politics.
"I certainly find them so," he replies. "Michael Donighal. I was at the summer bonfire, but I got distracted talking to a friend and never really mingled."
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They seem to be walking off, looking quite furtive. Sneaky little marshmallows.
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That's new.
Cautiously Ace takes a long spear of wood from her pile of fuel to keep the bonfire going through the night, and prods the runaway marshmallows.
Hey, if the Bar and various rats can be sentient around here, who knows what else might be?
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And if he looks a little bored, well, no big deal.
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"Thanks. This your doing?"
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The parts of him that hold to YANG instead of YIN, which is why he's not running around furry, and is instead of bothering to approach, there's sort of a -- kata as an approach, going through motions and making the fire -- get that much taller for the efforts.
Bring your own bang? Zuko is the bang.
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Maybe a little too much paper, not enough wood? Huh.
Still, the heightened fire sheds enough light so she can see the newest arrival. She's never really talked to him, other than trading fire during missions for Wells, but... Wells vouches for him.
Thus, Ace offers a s'more. It's a peace offering! Or something.
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Zuko grins, and then takes it. "Good bonfire. But it can be bigger." In the boyish way of I am totally a pyro but that goes without saying when you breath smoke and ash without worry.
Mmm, s'more.
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(An eventful opening, it must be said, to a very eventful century.)
The light of the bonfire glints off his wild white hair as he watches the flames leap and dance, singing their crackling song in the chill night.
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It's all very symbolic.
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Merriman regards the s'more with a touch of bafflement. 'And this would be?'
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"...it's traditional fare when one is enjoying a bonfire, I have heard."
Very Important, Tradition is.
"It is very good." In case more persuasion is needed.
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