(no subject)

[nopolicelikeholmes]

The snow fell over Burby in dramatic, oversized flakes and clumps, like feathers from a great celestial pillow fight. It collected first on the roofs and the cracks in the cobblestone streets, then on the grass, and finally in a thin, translucent sheet over the stone surfaces of the town. An almost ethereal silence crept out of the leaf-choked gutters where snow seemed to collect disproportionately, through the alleys and backstreets, over the countryside, and finally into the heart of the little town. The figurative cogs and gears of Burby, already turning at a nearly torpid pace, seemed to grind to a halt just to watch the snow fall. Shops closed, people went home early, and smoke wafted out of chimneys as even the sun seemed to throw the towel in early and made its departure, leaving the streets a vibrant blue, the windows orange, and the sky white as though everything had forgotten where it was supposed to get its colors from. Only the fountain in the square remained unchanged: dark, and a little bit forbidding even as iced over as it was, as though in defiant contrast to the cheerfully strange world around it.

It made for a solemn tea party, that was for certain.

There wasn't much party to the party - there were four cups, two of which were placed on the rim of the fountain and filled with anise tea. One Shirley Holmes held in her mittened hands to keep herself warm, and one was an extra in case someone else came along while she was still here. She doubted that they would show up while there were humans around and wasn't entirely sure that they could be coaxed out with tea, but it seemed wise to wait at least a few minutes just in case.