This little cottage lacks the clutter of daily life, but still manages to have a lived-in air. The earthen bins in the big front windows overflow with healthy plants, including tomatoes, cucumbers, and other tender vegtables which do well in greenhouses, and the graceful green branches of a wisteria twine against the glass, making a pleasant ferny shade. The floor is flagstone, covered with a variety of hemp and wool rugs woven in geometrical designs and plant patterns. The front door opens into a living room with comfortably shabby couches and a lovely although battered dining table; the kitchen is directly opposite, lighted by skylights. To the right, coming in, is an archway leading to a bedroom (you can see the foot of the bed and a clothes-press); and to the left is a curtained archway which leads to a smaller bedroom and a large bathroom with an enormous tiled bathtub. A beautiful woolen rug hangs on the wall opposite the front door. (There are views here.)
Did someone call for 'tall, dark, and handsome'? Well, dark's fairly well covered, at least. Jet-black hair's pulled into a long, loose tail at the nape of his neck, a few stray strands about the face occasionally drifting into his almost equally dark eyes, the irises of which are a brown deep enough that one needs to look closely to find the pupil. Nut-brown skin that sets off the white of his teeth and eyes -- it could just barely be mistaken for a very deep tan, if one really tried. Tall is a miss; he's still several inches off six feet, and he probably won't ever get there. Handsome... well, not a classic beauty, to be sure, but well-proportioned, with a stunning, frequent grin and deeply expressive features. Slim, but in perfectly good shape.
He's clad in... well, black leather pants. Somewhat faded, well broken in, but nicely cut and really =quite= nicely fitted. A simple cream shirt is tucked into them at the waist; the collar of it's left mostly unlaced, the ends of the cord hanging down. Over that, he wears a decidedly well-worn old black trenchcoat, almost too big for him -- the cuffs hang down half-over his hands, when he lets them, and the hem hangs perilously close to his heels. Scuffed black leather boots with worn soles adorn his feet; there's a seemingly random collection of bracelets, all on one wrist, and several piercings along the upper section of each ear -- little silver hoops.
Sean is a moderately tall man, standing just over six feet with an average build and an easygoing smile. His strong jaw is softened by dark stubble and his pale blue eyes are sharp and observant. Short-cropped, black-brown hair with the faintest suggestion of a widow's peak and modest cheekbones combine nicely with his other features, and his skin has been lightly tanned by numerous spells outdoors.
His clothes have seen a good deal of use but are still holding up. A dark green, button-up, long-sleeved flannel shirt has a few obvious repairs, particularly along the arms, and it's tucked into plain beige pants that have the look of city manufacturing. He's wearing sturdy brown hiking boots that are newer than the rest of his attire, and the middle finger on his left hand sports a ring of Celtic design in white and rose gold.
After a long day tending to people close enough to walk to without freezing to death, Sean has set about the unenviable task of drying his clothes and transcribing everything into his data assistant. The wet garments are hung around the woodstove, steaming gently, and he's wrapped himself up in a plain wool sweater and some canvas pants until something warmer is available. A few oil lamps give the small room just enough light for dictation from his own cryptic shorthand. "Mrs. Foerester's rheumatism was slightly improved. Lowered her dosage to one tablet a day and a single cup of tea." He pauses and sets the casebook down, rubbing his eyes. "Bloody New England weather," he mutters under his breath.
There's a knocking on the door -- first one could almost be something blown by the storm, coming at the same time as a huge gust of wind as it does, but the several that follow are most definitely knocks, and rather insistent ones.
Sean sighs and levers himself up from the cot stiffly. "Please, oh please, no' another broken collarbone," he prays just before opening the door.
It isn't a broken collarbone, but one of the pair could sustain one from the speed at which Ren gets inside once the door's open, nearly causing a collision. "....hey," he greets Sean, the broad grin slightly adjusted by the fact that his lips are a touch blue and he's shivering like mad.
"Ach, no, frostbite instead, git yerself in here then already." Sean herds Ren into the small guest house and shuts the door quickly. "Yer out of yer mind, wanderin' around in one of these ice storms without a proper cloak." He goes into one of the other rooms, and after a few low words with someone else, he returns with a wool blanket and drapes it around Ren. "This'll do, I hope."
Cloak or not, Ren shrugs out of his snow-caked coat as soon as he's insider, dropping it beside the door and looking mighty glad to get wrapped up in the blankets. "...if it doesn't, we'll just hafta try somethin' else," he grins, before adding sincerely, "...thanks. It's freakin' freezing out there. Whatcha up to, handsome?" He leans a little, peering to see if he can get a glimpse of who's in the other room from where he stands.
"Transcribin', mostly. I'm a bit behind and all. The weather's had more'n a few people frozen up or breakin' bones." The front room's occupants, whoever they are, apparently value their privacy, as the simple wooden door separating the two sections clicks shut. Sean tips his head at the door and grins. "A traveler passin' through. He's a nice enough sort, but he doesn't like to socialize much."
Serendipity grins again, turning the lean in another direction, to glimpse Sean's back, "...an' a nice behind it is, too." He takes a couple steps toward the dividing door -- a feint, really, since it's shut now -- and gives said behind a pat before continuing on toward the desk. "Any interesting wounds 'n' fractures?"
Sean narrows his eyes and grins at Ren as the Coyote Kin passes within striking distance, and pinches his ass sharply. Without remorse, he says, "Worst was the collarbone. Mr. Rivers' ox got a wee bit feisty th'other day and kicked him. Not many other fractures, just the usual--arthritis, rheumatism, colds, one or two cases of the flu..." He reaches between the drying clothes to the stove and retrieves a tea kettle. "Tea? Mint chamomile at the moment."
Serendipity squeaks at the pinch and turns instantly, mock-shocked and obviously amused. Pleased, even. Just a Look, and then onward, checking out all the potential seats for suitability. "Tea's good. Wanna see if I got anything to put in it?" he offers.
"If yer offerin' up generous libations of the alcoholic sort, I would be quite grateful for a bit a' that relief," Sean tells Ren loftily. He sets the tea kettle aside and pulls down a second mug from a worn but functional shelf. There's only two seas in the room: a chair next to the desk, and the cot itself, which is heavy with blankets and pillows. The doctor sets about pouring tea for Ren, and replenishing his own half-full mug.
Serendipity heads back to the door, picking up his coat and shaking it out hard before wriggling to slip it back on -- still under the blanket. Once that's done to his satisfaction, he heads over to take a seat on the cot. "Let's see what I got, then," he replies cheerfully, and rummages within his coat. After a moment, he comes out with a rather large, if quarter-empty, glass bottle of some amber liquid, which he holds up triumphantly. "Ha! We're in business."
Sean eyes the bottle skeptically as he hands Ren his mug of tea. As promised, the scent of mint and chamomile wafts up from the vapors. "And whose still did *that* come from, or do I want ta know?" he asks. He sounds more amused than concerned, despite the look on his face.
"NO idea," Serendipity replies brightly, setting the tea aside a moment to open the bottle, sniff the contents (which makes him blink) and take a quick swallow (which makes him wince slightly). "...daaamn. Someone who's not having an ice storm now, I'll bet that." He offers Sean the bottle, and reclaims his tea, washing down the... whatever it is.
"Ah, these are *those* sorts a' generous libation, I see." Sean takes the bottle and knocks back a drink, then coughs with appreciation. "Indeed, there's no ice storm in the household of this one's maker," he agrees roughly. A quick drink of the tea clears his throat some, but he blinks for a moment. "Quite a kick that one has, doesn' it."
Serendipity laughs, and eyes the bottle. "Damn straight. I'm tempted to keep it. ....you gotta empty bottle around we could move it to?" he asks speculatively, and reaches down to undo his boots, invited or not. "...and are you gonna sit, or are you waiitng for the next person t' call you out into the cold?"
Sean coughs again and nods. "I believe I probably do have something for it; d'ya want a smaller bottle than that?" he turns towards the shelves and takes another drink of his tea. "There's a few glass jars that'd work fairly well, I imagine..."
Serendipity shrugs. "Anything that'll hold it, with a top. And hey, if it's too small, we'll just hafta drink the difference. If it's big enough... we'll just drink the difference anyway." Another grin, as he kicks both boots to the floor, and pulls his legs up indian-style on the cot.
"Sounds like a splendid idea," Sean agrees. He pulls down a canning jar, complete with lid, and hands it and the larger bottle to Ren. "I'll let you do the honors. That amount a dexterity is probably a bit out of my reach just about now." He settles himself on the cot with a sigh and takes another drink of the tea. "So what have ya been up to?"
Serendipity drains the rest of his tea while Sean gets the jar, setting the cup aside to free up his hands. "Good tea," he remarks, accepting the jar, and nods approvingly. "This oughta do, yeah. Kickass." He settles it in the middle of his crossed legs, and slowly, carefully begins to pour the liquor from the bottle. "...think you're bein' over modest, though. Somea your dexterity's pretty impressive." Another grin, sidelong. "Lessee. Today I read a while in the Library, got stir-crazy and went for a little walk when the storm let up a little. ...then it came back and I finished my snowman and came over here. 'bout you?"
"Why thank you," Sean says to Ren with a sly smile. "Just the local rounds, and now this. When the weather lets up, though, I suspect things'll get a bit more busy, as people come out a hidin'." He leans against some of the blankets. "Incredible weather they have here. We'll be snowed in for months."
Serendipity finishes pouring most of the alcohol into the jar, screws the lid on, and drains the remaining gulp or so from the bottle, closing his eyes and turning his head a bit. "...sounds like it could be fun," he replies, voice a touch rough, and swallows again, to clear the burn. "...I mean, hey, much easier to entertain each other than just ourselves, all alone..." He winks, and passes over the jar, slipping the bottle back into his coat. Warmer -- apparently -- he sheds the blanket and coat, then.... though he reclaims the blanket and pulls it around his shoulders, then. Perhaps not =entirely= warm.
Sean takes the jar and sips a little more gingerly this time. "I willna argue *that* with ya, that's for sure," he says. "I 'spect it's what most folks are about, save fer the ones who're out in the weather trying to get work done despite the Mother's own intentions." His accent's a little more noticeable now, although if it's from the drink or simple fatigue is less clear.
"Mmm," Ren agrees without any particular intensity, and leans in against Sean, shifting the blanket to include the doctor somewhat. "I'm still cold. You oughta do somethin' about it," he murmurs, and rests his head on Sean's shoulder. "...can't wait 'til the storms break, honestly. Hate feeling so confined. ....I wonder what Tristan's doin', to keep from bein' a leechsicle."
"Probably suckerin' fools like ourselves into giving him a snack," Sean conjectures. He edges closer to Ren and leans into him. "Keepin' each other warm is the whole reason for weather like this, though. What would be the point a wint otherwise?"
Serendipity grins, and snuggles. "...well, yeah, apparently if he's eaten recently enough he can deal with the ice 'n' all... you ever been a snack?" he asks, curious, and plays with the bottom hem of Sean's sweater. "...anyway, I maintain we don't hafta have snow on the ground to get the heat going. Prove it t'you when the melt comes, if y'want."
Sean laughs at Ren softly. "Aye, in fact I have, and the mathan'll kill me for it some day if she ever finds out." He toys with a bit of Ren's hair absently. "Of course the weather's not *necessary*, but it certainly makes it more...interestin', ye ken? As some folks like wint just so they can wear their wint's clothes. That sort a thing."
Serendipity grins, and idly reaches up to tug the thong from his ponytail, letting the hair fall free. So much the easier to play with. "...nice, innit? Gotta do that again, sometime. Though, last time I was talkin' with him, I upset him or somethin'." For a moment, his brow furrows; he looks concerned. A little shrug, then, and he twists his head a little, planting a kiss on the side of Sean's neck, and then arching a touch to flick the tip of his tongue against the doctor's earlobe. He relaxes back into place, grinning again. "...an' yeah, I guess it's interesting enough. Makes it feel extra cozy inside, I s'pose. And it's kinda fun out =there=, too, long's you don't freeze off anything you need..."
"Out there? *That* I dinna think I'd be up for, so to speak. A bit cold for me." Sean takes a handful of Ren's hair and examines it clinically, then lets it fall from his hands. "Warm and cozy is, in fact, the entire point," he says, drawing close enough to nuzzle the side of Ren's neck. "Everything feels warmer in wint, after all."
Serendipity laughs, closing his eyes and leaning into the nuzzle a little, letting his hand creep up under Sean's sweater, close to the skin. "...yeah, I'll grant you feel pretty hot," he replies agreeably. "...'s not so bad out there, really. Not so much ice storm, but snow? You warm up pretty quick. Still, not, y'know, somethin' you really wanna make a habit of or anything."
Sean chuckles. "No. Definitely not." He looks at Ren thoughtfully, and asks, "So then, madadh-allaidh beag, d'ya need a place to stay for the evening?"
"Madadh-allaidh beag?" Ren echoes, and lets his hand slip up a little higher, then travel back down toward Sean's stomach. "...Depends, babe. Are you offering one?" he asks, something vaguely resembling coyly.
Sean repeats the phrase carefully for Ren's benefit, his accent making the words sound even more foreign than before. "Madadh-allaidh beag, coyote. Well, that's what it's supposed to me; literally the Gaelica doesna have it's own word for the coyote, so it calls them the little wolves." His grin turns sly. "The cot's no queen sized bed, or a comfy hay loft even, but it'll suit."
Serendipity mirrors the grin, shifting a little to lean in more closely, nearly nose to nose. "Madadh-allaidh beag... I like it. And hey... I've been in tighter spots than =this=." An extra dose of sly, there, and it's followed by a kiss -- a nice assertive one he isn't inclined to give up for quite a little time. "...anyway," he adds in a murmur once he pulls back, "we could always move the blankets to the floor if we get crowded in the cot. ...or break it."
Sean mmms and tangles a hand in Ren's hair. "I dinna think the kind benefactors of this place will take to me breakin' their cots, even with one such as yerself, but, the floor's not entirely out a the question." He pulls him back for another kiss, then, intent on proving his point.