Icehotel, Christmas morning

[sharp_as_knives]

Christmas hadn't dawned yet; dawn wouldn't come until late morning. Meanwhile, Hannibal had manged to finagle some nice, hot coffee from the restaurant and was enjoying it from a thermos as he contemplated the day before them.



[OOC: For the partner! Open for calls or whatnot.]

Comments

[furnaceface]

Jono was just going to nod. He was going to nod his head with his face still buried in that palm of his.

//A pound of saffron.//

Why did anybody need a pound of saffron? Was Jono silently encouraging Hannibal to become an exotic spice hustler? Who knew?

[sharp_as_knives]

"I will be hard-pressed to find enough to cook with this while it remains fresh enough," Hannibal said. "Though it does have other uses..." He paused and eyed Jono. "Do you know how saffron is made?"

[furnaceface]

//S'flowers, innit?// Jono wasn't coming out from behind that hand any time soon. //It comes out of flowers?//

At least he knew that much! He also knew the price tag.

He... wasn't going to share what the price was.

[sharp_as_knives]

He needn't worry about that; Hannibal knew very well what the price was.

"It is." Hannibal ran his hand over the bag. "In this package is the product of perhaps seventy-five thousand flowers. Quite a sizable bouquet."

[furnaceface]

//Oh my god I've driven saffron to extinction,// Jono muttered. If not for that pesky telepathy, it would have at least come out somewhat muffled. //That was me. If you hear about a saffron shortage worldwide, I did that.//

Jonothon Starsmore: Crocus Killer.

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal laughed. "It's a small portion of yearly production." He tugged Jono's hand down. "But a thoughtful and extravagant gift. Nobody's ever bought me so many flowers before."

[furnaceface]

Jono was still wearing that deer-in-headlights look of a man who was terrible at both the holidays and the internet, who had come across an online order form and who had maybe panicked. Just a little.

//... Not bad, then?//

No, Jono. Not bad. Just absurd.

[sharp_as_knives]

That summed it up rather nicely, yes.

"Not bad," Hannibal reassured him. "A much easier way to carry so many flowers home with me. And finding use for it all will be a challenge. You know I do adore a challenge."

[furnaceface]

//I do know that,// Jono hedged, sounding somewhat relieved. //And the other part of your gift should at least be somewhat more straightforward.//

If the next gift was somehow more difficult to figure out how to use than a vacuum-sealed pound of coupé grade saffron, Jono would be hugely surprised.

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal set the saffron aside and picked up the smaller box, prying the lid free to reveal a silk tie in a lovely, bold pattern. He smiled and nodded. "This was in case I didn't like the saffron," he said with a smirk.

[furnaceface]

To Jono's credit, he didn't bury his face in his hand again.

//That was in case you didn't like the saffron,// he agreed.

The obscene amount of saffron.

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal chuckled. "It's a lovely tie." He kissed Jono's temple. "Thank you for both my gifts."

[furnaceface]

//You're welcome,// Jono replied, feeling a little better with that kiss, at least. //Merry Christmas, Hannibal.//

Feel free to share the saffron with the class, or hand it out in the streets, or dye your socks with it, or use it as confetti.

[sharp_as_knives]

All of these were in fact possibilities. But the thought (and cost) behind the gift were very much appreciated.

"Merry Christmas." He handed Jono the envelope he'd picked up.

[furnaceface]

Aww, envelope. You were far less intimidating than a pound of vaccuum-sealed saffron already! Jono gave Hannibal a warm brush of affection as he took the envelope and opened it, and then blinked for a moment at the brochure and the ticket he pulled out from within.

//Is... is this... biplane flying lessons?// Jono looked up from the brochure at Hannibal, wide-eyed. //With stunts?//

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal smiled. "I thought it likely to be something that you hadn't flown before."

[furnaceface]

//And you'd be right,// Jono agreed, and yes, he was practically vibrating with excitement at the prospect of it. //Lord, it's been a while since I've flown anything. I'd cash in on a Portalocity bad life choices special and fly th'bloody Hindenburg to get back into the sky again.//

Which was probably the reason there were biplane tickets, yes. Much safer than a giant, hydrogen-filled zeppelin.

//This... this is fantastic. Thank you,// Jono murmured, leaning in to nuzzle his face against Hannibal's cheek.

[sharp_as_knives]

"You're welcome." Hannibal kissed Jono's ear and held him close. "I'm pleased you like it."

[furnaceface]

Clearly no panic had been involved in the purchase of this ticket. Hannibal was winning at the Christmas Game, so far as Jono was concerned.

//How could I not? You know exactly how much I've missed being able to just... fly.// Clinging on for dear life. That was what was happening here, more or less. //I can't think of anything I'd appreciate more than this. Not really.//

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal tended not to panic when faced with the internet, it was true.

If Jono wanted to cling, Hannibal would simply hold him and let him. "Merry Christmas."

[furnaceface]

As an added bonus, a literal acre of crocuses didn't have to die for this gift to happen. So.

//Merry Christmas.//

This was nice. A little cold. But very, very nice.

[sharp_as_knives]

That depended on how well Jono flew, really.

Hannibal reached for his jacket and pulled it back around his shoulders. "More coffee, the sauna, or breakfast?"

[furnaceface]

//... If I were to say that breakfast and coffee would go wonderfully in the sauna...?//

No, Jono. They didn't do room service, and the luck had already been pushed in that regard.

//Probably should get breakfast out of the way, at any rate. Once we get into the sauna, I'm not liable to let you out again for a while.//

[sharp_as_knives]

"Oh?" Hannibal smirked. "Breakfast first, then." He slid out of bed and handed Jono his boots as he set about getting re-bundled himself. "I believe they're doing the Christmas breakfast again this morning."

[furnaceface]

//For we heathen tourists who don't celebrate it on the 24th? Ah, good. Can't imagine what I would do without a second helping of porridge.//

Which he couldn't eat himself. So, really, it wasn't a great loss, where he was sitting. He was mostly just kidding, shaking his head as he pulled on his boots, and then started layering the rest. The great thing about the balaclava, he found, was that he didn't have to worry about re-doing all of his wrappings first thing in the morning.