#baronyofthesilverwolf

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It is Christmas Eve, and the freehold is quieter than it has been in days. Most are off with their mortal families, those who still have one to return to, leaving the common rooms softened by absence. What remains is a smaller gathering, a handful of figures scattered around the space rather than packed together.

Wrapping paper lies crumpled across the floor in bright, careless piles among opened boxes and loose ribbons. A plate of cookies sits within easy reach, crumbs marking where people keep circling back, and several mugs of cocoa steam gently, fogging the air with warmth and chocolate. Conversation murmurs, easy and unhurried.

Marigold turns the salamander-design bowl over in her hands, marveling at the warmth. Then, she almost drops it. "Oh! It flicked its tongue at me!"

Briar leans in. "Does it bite? Can you make a bowl that bites back? WICKED!"

Thistle, or rather Trina, DOES have mortal family, but having visited Nan at Shady Acres earlier in the day already, Mom cut her free to spend the Eve with friends.

She has a truly glorious sweater at that. And where did the Nevers get hats?

A little tealish never crashes into the tree and is lost from sight. It was wearing the hat as a nose cone and it covered the entire face.

A snort-chuckle-sigh.

Pearl, Linnea's not-so-kitten kitten, is gazing up at the tree with WIDE eyes.

Art tests dipping cookies into cocoa, and into cider, and into eggnog, for science.

Briar is on hand to glug the chunky cups of cookie-plus-drink that fail.

"Just cold milk wins, it seems. I suppose Father Christmas had the right of it."

Art says, crunching.

Marigold might disapprove of Briar's present - a ceramic fileting knife that the nocker swears will pass through metal detectors. The leather wrap on the handle is exactly the shade of arterial blood.

"Santa has good taste, I guess."

A tsk, but Marigold's own present to Briar, a first aid kit that includes styptic powder and gauze spelled with heather balm, goes along side it nicely.

THISTLE's matching box from Marigold has burn ointment.. and Art's has small bandages for paper cuts.

Thistle declared that the kit was going right into her studio!

Lord Aiden has gifts, but as Lady Nadeen is visiting Rivervale for Xmas eve, they are waiting for the following day. The Baron had stopped in to give greetings, but in absence of his lady, he is spending the eve on a snowy ride across his grounds. "You Wilders enjoy yourselves without a stodgy Grump present."

Briar looks about to agree with him, but Marigold quickly shoves a cookie in the redcap's mouth and reassures the Baron that he is nothing of the sort. After the Baron leaves, the boggan reminds Briar, "HE can say that about himself. You? Do not presume. He is fond of you, but even friendly dragons have fiery tempers. Best to keep him stroked and not stoked."

Bluebell murmurs something about 'stroking' to Linnea that makes the troll sputter on her coffee and turn purple.

A wicked bunny grin.

Danica and Linnea both got coffee mugs that have handles that actually fit trollish hands. The Baron and Baroness have matching pen sets - one black accented with gold, the other in silver. A graceful decanter for Julius. Jewelry for Bluebell - that... Are those tiny lettuce leaves in silver and enamel? With carrot earrings?

"Garish and inappropriate. I suppose I must wear them to keep the peace..." Bluebell huffs, but is glowing with pleasure as she models them for Julius.

"I'm still new with enamel. You can see where I bled over the lines here..." Progress has been made but isn't always linear.

"I guess I will wear them often to remind you of your mistake."

She says, with a big hug.

She mumbles a thanks into the hug.

Art lingers near the tree, turning one of Gwen’s wrapped gifts over in his hands. “I hope Gwen comes back soon from the Midwinter Ceremony with Mato,” he says. “I want her to get her presents. And I want to hear what the ceremony is like.”

"I bet she is keeping warm if you catch my drift.'

"Metamorphic rock?" He grins over to her.

Snerk.

Art nudges Thistle toward a small, simply wrapped present, book-sized and unmistakable in its shape.

She picks it up, and reaches for an elaborately beribboned and glittered box to offer in exchange. Her spirals don't know if they want to be coral or yellow.

Well, it looks simple, but the paper is thick and almost velvety, and the ribbon is sparkly with star patterns. He still hasn't gotten the hang of the corner folds, but it still looks nice.

He accepts the box in return, their fingers brushing in the exchange.

Oh, coral wins!

The box is fairly large. And heavy. Maybe the size of a briefcase?

He is surprised by the weight, but quickly adjusts his hold so he can keep it from falling. "Can I open it? Really - for me?" Grinning like a Childling.

"Who else? Dork." Fondly.

She pops the tape carefully, the paper might be repurposed later.

He starts to open his, but then pauses to watch Thistle.

When she unwraps the paper, the cover comes into view: The Twelve Keys of Basilius Valentinus. The book is immediately familiar... She opens it, and the inscription inside, written in Art’s hand and dated to last Yule, greets her. This is HER book!

Momentary puzzlement gives way to surprise as she flips it open. Further in, the pages that were once scarred by an acid spill show the careful work of repair. The edges are reinforced, the text preserved, and the damage she remembered has been meticulously restored, down to the precise text and diagrams.

This is the same book she thought was ruined in a workshop accident, now whole again.

Art gives her a hopeful smile. "I traded one of my books on star-signs to the scribe at EarthRunes, he has a way with books that you wouldn't believe. Would you believe that the resident Bookwyrm there helped with repairs? Though I had to add an extra novella to prevent her from keeping it."

"Art! This... oh, wow. It's perfect. Though I bet a bookworm would, yeah." A pause. "Sheeeeit, did you have to face their librarian? She gives me the heebie jeebies."

She delicately traces calloused fingertips over one of the restored diagrams.

Art's present is actually wrapped in a such a way that the lid of the box can be removed without tearing anything. Beneath is a layer of tissue to protect the wooden surface beneath. Yes, it's a box in a box. The wood is purple, bound with nickel-plated fixtures.

Taking it out reveals black leather handles for transport. The lid appears to be cut at a slant - though Art might recognize an old-fashioned portable writing desk even before opening it.