late morning / december 28th 2023 / @tcmpcsts​
Piran strode towards the Burke front door, his smart shoes crunching through the frost that limned the ground. In his arms, he carried a huge board covered in green velvet—his mother, no doubt, would soon be tearing around Nott Manor demanding which of her daughters had stolen it to make a dress this time. Piran couldn’t help a quick grin at the thought, but he wiped it off his face in time to ring the doorbell.
As he waited, he adjusted the load in his arms. His black leather gloves were keeping his hands thoroughly toasty, but they did make gripping the thing rather irksome. With a sigh, he gave in and put it down, leaning it against his leg instead and folding his arms to keep the warm in better.
The bottle of Firewhiskey he’d tucked into his coat pocket clinked against the flask of brandy as he shifted, and he couldn’t help a small sigh of anticipation as he thought about spending an afternoon talking, drinking, and planning out a bit more of the heist.
