12-20-2017, 01:12 PM
Today was Alfred's birthday. It was the first birthday since his return from the wilderness (and, depending on one's perspective, his return from the dead), and he wasn't really sure he was up to the task of being properly festive. This date had gone largely unremarked on in the past six years, except for his increasingly pessimistic entries in the ship's log marking another year of his life that had slipped away. He wasn't even properly sure whether Paul knew which date his birthday was. He'd mentioned it at some point while they were abroad, but in the today is my birthday context, not with a reference to an actual date. Paul hadn't been meticulously trying to document their progress through written log entries, so he probably hadn't been aware of the date.
There was a chance that he knew, though, and if he did know, he was almost certainly going to try and do some sort of... festive thing. Alfred was already on the hook for another incredibly-awkward dinner with Evander and his wife, and then a celebratory drink at the Three Broomsticks with Uncle H, and that seemed like more than enough in the way of birthday festivities. He didn't want to get surprised with some slapdash party, or... a puppy, or something.
So he'd ventured out into town, even though he had nothing particularly to do until he met Evander for dinner. Hogsmeade was cold, but he headed to the park all the same - anything that would see him indoors would also require some purchase, he figured, and he wasn't inclined to waste money that could be going towards his expedition on some bauble he didn't need or overpriced food he wasn't hungry for. He pulled his cloak tighter and fussed with his mess of hair a bit (which had grown even longer since the modest attempt the Americans had made to trim it into something respectable, making his head look a bit like the head of a doll which had accidentally been left out in the yard too long and returned nearly ruined, but he preferred it this way and wasn't going to cut it probably until Evander complained loudly enough and frequently enough that he gave in).
He'd only been in the park a few minutes when he saw something white glisten in front of him for a moment, only to disappear when it hit the ground. He knew what it was, of course - he'd grown up in England, after all - but he hadn't actually seen it since the winter of 1881.
"It's snowing!" he declared, to no one in particular. A grin of childish delight spread on his face as he pulled one hand out of his pocket to try and catch a snowflake - an impossible task, since it wasn't cold enough for them to stick, but a marvelous one all the same.
There was a chance that he knew, though, and if he did know, he was almost certainly going to try and do some sort of... festive thing. Alfred was already on the hook for another incredibly-awkward dinner with Evander and his wife, and then a celebratory drink at the Three Broomsticks with Uncle H, and that seemed like more than enough in the way of birthday festivities. He didn't want to get surprised with some slapdash party, or... a puppy, or something.
So he'd ventured out into town, even though he had nothing particularly to do until he met Evander for dinner. Hogsmeade was cold, but he headed to the park all the same - anything that would see him indoors would also require some purchase, he figured, and he wasn't inclined to waste money that could be going towards his expedition on some bauble he didn't need or overpriced food he wasn't hungry for. He pulled his cloak tighter and fussed with his mess of hair a bit (which had grown even longer since the modest attempt the Americans had made to trim it into something respectable, making his head look a bit like the head of a doll which had accidentally been left out in the yard too long and returned nearly ruined, but he preferred it this way and wasn't going to cut it probably until Evander complained loudly enough and frequently enough that he gave in).
He'd only been in the park a few minutes when he saw something white glisten in front of him for a moment, only to disappear when it hit the ground. He knew what it was, of course - he'd grown up in England, after all - but he hadn't actually seen it since the winter of 1881.
"It's snowing!" he declared, to no one in particular. A grin of childish delight spread on his face as he pulled one hand out of his pocket to try and catch a snowflake - an impossible task, since it wasn't cold enough for them to stick, but a marvelous one all the same.