I was bored, I decided to write, I wanted to do it descriptively without making it boring. It's not really a plot, more just a scene. I'll add to it later, but I quite like it. Feel free to join in if you wish. not that anyone I know is still on protag. It's not finished. I'm not sure it ever will be, I just need to get myself back into writing and the only way to do that is to write. I apologise for my terrible portrayal of the couple, I just don't really have enough experience in that way to w
The breath flows from her mouth like a jet of steam and she rubs her hands together vigorously, desperately trying to warm them up. Her gaze drifts through the icy tundra the square has become, past the amorous couple on the bench, past the tramp under his blanket, until it rests on a street lamp as a lamplighter plies his trade.
He tries three times to light it before its wick fizzles as it springs to life, biting back at the cold around it. The flame's creator scrutinises it, double checking to make sure it can sustain itself, and then nods his approval before descending the ramshackle ladder he's supported by.
The performance complete, she stares down at her at her restless, gently shuffling feet. She sorts her hair and checks her watch – 7:36.
Something gently nudges her shoulder and she turns around to see a man, holding two steaming hot mugs of brown liquid. The relaxing scent of bergamot is easily recognisable and she smiles warmly, taking one mug as it is offered to her.
They stand there for some time, in silence, just sipping away at the tea (which she finds difficult at first because her scarf is in the way until she adjusts it) as the sky gradually darkens; the sun lazily giving up its grip on the world to the moon.
She drains the last drops; he's already finished and gingerly takes the mug from her, trying to juggle his mug and the bag he's holding in the process. She giggles at the sight but he scowls in irritation as he remembers he has to place them back in the satchel. He complains that he doesn't have three arms, causing her laugh to become more pronounced. She relents however and, battling through stifled chuckles, helps him pack the mugs away.
Now the tea is finished, they feel the fangs of the cold cutting further into them. She shivers and he offers her his scarf. She declines but instantly regrets doing so as the wind picks up again. He points down the road at a sign: the local pub. She shakes her head vigorously and he sighs.