r. lupin (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} tufty) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} silverage,@ 2011-08-12 21:45:00 |
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Who: Remus Lupin + Neville Longbottom + Anyone!
When: Morning, after this.
Where: A small wine shop.
What: Alcohol! Who doesn't like alcohol!
Rating/status: ~G?/ongoing.
Snow? What snow? There was no snow!!
No, actually, there was snow and there was a lot of them and Remus barely got to sleep, not after his nose bridge pretty much froze over the surprise winter. That was not enough to contain Remus within a dry and warm place, however, and the moment he swished his scarf around him (a proud one of maroon and gold), he had hopped out into the city and sloshed his way through the thick, un-white snow. Disgusting but what the hell.
He took one, two steps, breathing heavily as he trudged before a thicker patch of snow caught his foot and brought him down for a face-ful of snow -- but he was laughing. He was still laughing as he pushed himself up and extricated himself from the snow. It was difficult, but happiness dissolved all hardships.
His fingers were blue and his lips were almost shadeless but a shy blush decorated his cheeks as he fought on against the freak snow. Up ahead was a small wine shop that had managed to stay open in spite of the inane summer winter but it only made sense that it should. Alcohol, after all, made the body warmer. The thought of it alone reminded him of the taste of butter beer or the warm caress of firewhiskey as it slid down the throat and he found himself longing for them. How he wished Muggles knew about these wizard delights!
Remus' gloved hand fell against the misted glass of the door and he pushed it forward, smiling as he chased his breath. Snow was on the crown of his head and his shoulders but he ignored them as he stumbled towards the old shopkeeper across him, bumping into someone and apologizing quietly along the way, before he landed against the wooden counter polished to a mirror.
"Sir," he began breathlessly, suddenly feeling warm all over, "what is a good bottle for celebration? No, maybe make that two bottles!"