Her half-empty glass of .. well, whatever it was that she had been handed earlier by a cheerful partygoer, clunked against the surface of the table as she stood to her feet, giving him a sweet smile.

Her expression, cheeks dusted with rosy red, curled into a sheepish smile; she ducked her head lightly, toying with one of the ends of long, wavy brown hair. “Is it that time of year again?”

FUCJCK-- [ SPLAT ]

Ohh, oh. Whoops-- It was really a decoration, more than anything - it was made out of paper. Not even a real mistletoe. But, alas. “Oh! That’s a mistletoe. One of the students from the nearby elementary brought it in while the class was out on a field trip.” She smiled.

“Hey, hey.” He frowned slightly as he called out to her. “Canella, slow it down. This isn’t a race.”

Berwald did not know who this stranger was, walking up to his garden when he was in the middle of weeding. But he didn’t say a word, just stared at the Swedish man like he was the strangest person he’d ever seen in his life. Berwald felt a little uncomfortable, but kept his stony expression closed off and stared right back. 

Hearing a voice, he perked up, and looked. “Ah, I would, but I’ve got to take this cart back to the shop. I can’t really just leave it here.

She wiped the sweat away from her brow and looked up from where she had been stacking bales of hay into an old wagon. “Hey Feliks!” She called back, raising a hand to wave at the quickly approaching figure. “You caught me just in time, I'm about to head off on my delivery run. How many bales are you after?”