patience montgomery is fierce and kind (rupatientia) wrote in uprisingrpg, @ 2010-10-24 19:53:00 |
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Entry tags: | - retired: roger davies, patience montgomery |
Who: Patience and Roger
What: carving pumpkins and other birthday celebrations :D
When: Sunday!
Where: Montgomery Manor, Patience's little house
Warnings: TBA
Status: Incomplete
Patience loved everything about autumn. She was probably biased, because of her birthday, but she almost thought that it was her love of the season - and the proximity of Halloween - that made her love her birthday so much. There was just no possible way to go wrong with fall, with colorful leaves falling off the trees and crunching under her feet, with pumpkins and squash to be carved or eaten, with costumes to be made and hot cocoa or apple cider. There was something about this season that called to her, made her blood sing as surely as the moon did to her inner werewolf.
She hadn't even told Roger it was her birthday, just asked him over for fall festivities. Really, when she'd asked, it hadn't been about spending time with him on her birthday. Sunday had seemed an appropriate day to her anyway, and then she'd remembered.
Hopefully he hadn't panicked about a gift if he'd seen Chastity's note in the journal. Patience often gave gifts in the form of food or plants, or other homemade things, but she never wanted to make anyone feel obligated to give her a gift. More than likely, though, Roger hadn't noticed, or had assumed that she wasn't making a big deal of her birthday. He didn't seem like the type to panic about obligations.
Patience had covered the entirety of her porch in newspaper, charmed to stick temporarily, and put the pumpkins and gourds she was keeping for her own decorations in a pile in the corner near the swing. She had an assortment of knives that she kept just for this purpose, and the paints and brushes she'd used for the painted gourds she'd already taken to the shop. It wasn't exactly an artist's studio, but it was the perfect place for the somewhat messy process of carving and painting pumpkins, and then settling on the swing for a cup of the cider she had in the kitchen.
That was the plan, anyway, though Patience was never a stickler for plans, particularly when she was in such a good mood. She sat cross-legged on the swing with a pumpkin in her lap and a knife in her hand, considering the bulbous orange thing with as much of an artistic eye as she had, and occasionally glancing up at the dogs as they played on the grounds.