11 February, 1892 — Padmore Park, Winter's End Celebration

Dot had started off determined to win the snow and ice sculpture competition, but her optimism had faded somewhat once she'd actually seen the competition. By the time she arrived that morning with a thermos of cocoa in her hand and several spare changes of gloves (they had said no magic and she was taking the stipulation very seriously, and planned to change gloves any time they were too wet to continue instead of drying them out with a charm), there were already several taking shape that looked quite impressive. Perhaps someone had misunderstood (or ignored) the direction about not using charmwork to create these. Perhaps she still had a chance. She certainly hoped so, anyway, because she wasn't planning on giving up now. She wasn't the sort of person who gave up on things.

Planting her thermos in the snow — some of which was probably natural but most of which had certainly been brought on with the help of a weather charm, she expected — she set to work. She had a scene in mind, which required several figures, so the first thing she did was roll a big ball of snow to serve as the base of one of her snowmen. She wondered whether they had any plans for magically replenishing the snow if it was all claimed and sculpted before tomorrow morning — not that that currently seemed likely, but it was still early and one never knew. She continued on, building three crude snowmen that she intended to continue whittling down to the proper shapes and sizes, then went for her first change of gloves and sip of cocoa for the day. While she was a bit removed from her scene, she caught someone walking by giving her (admittedly bizarre) work-in-progress a long, hard look.

"If you're so interested you can pitch in to help," she called cheerfully. "There's a prize for groups as well as individuals."

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Beautiful set by Kit!

Atticus didn’t have an artistic bone in his body although it didn’t stop him from being intrigued by the idea of the snow and ice sculpture competition - despite it being a magic free event, it was amazing to see what people could do with their hands and a little imagination. He could barely form a proper snowman with a charm, and last time he’d tried it had given Basil nightmares for days. (Mum had the house elves take it down as soon as he’d gone inside and he’d never gathered the courage to attempt that spell again.)

Tucking his hands into his pockets to avoid the coldness seeping into them, Atticus paused at one of the sculptures to examine it. The circles making the snowman were perfectly round, and he swore that the carrot pressed into its face twitched. The sculptor turned to scowl at him, clearly unhappy with their work being seen before it was complete, and he merely frowned as he moved on to look at some of the others. Atticus was all for using magic whenever possible, but even he couldn’t get behind someone who had blatantly ignored the rules. It made him scoff. He’d never been a rule breaker, and well, hoped that would always remain true.

The next sculpture he paused to look at was well… something else. It looked like a mess with a base and a few crude snowmen sitting on top, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at it. At least this one was made by a person, even if they were just slightly more artistic than himself. Cocking his head to the side, he stared as he tried to imagine what in the world it was going to be: a school of snowmen? Snowmen fighting? His face scrunched up as he tried to conjure up any sort of imagination he had left, although as a voice called cheerfully it broke what he was trying to picture.

Laughing, Atticus stepped forward toward her. She’d win last place if he were to help. “Well, I don’t think I’ll be much help at all as I’m certainly not artistic. But, if you put me to work, I promise to try.”

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Dorothea Twycross

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Dot had imagined that her offer would scare the gentleman off immediately, so the fact that he responded at all was pleasantly intriguing. He looked like the stuffy upper-crust sort of gentleman, she decided after a cursory glance at him, and generally that sort would have thought themselves too serious for something like building snowmen — particularly building snowmen with no magical assistance. She cupped her hands around her cocoa thermos and looked over the gentleman with a twinkling eye.

"Don't worry, I'll bring all the artistic vision," she said with a girlish giggle. She screwed the cap back onto her thermos and fished out a dry pair of gloves from one of the upper pockets of her coat, sticking the wet ones in the lower pockets to hopefully dry out a bit before she cycled back around to them. "Have you seen Rembrandt's Anatomical Lecture?" she asked brightly as she returned to the scene she'd begun. "This platform is the operating table, and this one," she indicated one of the snowmen, "Is going to be the doctor. I don't think I'll have time to build all the students, but it shouldn't matter. The main focus is the cadaver, of course."

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Beautiful set by Kit!

The young woman giggled and Atticus watched her for a moment as he stepped up toward her, nodding at the mention of the painting. “Ay, I have seen it a time or two at one of the galleries.” He confirmed, taking a look around as she gestured toward the snowmen. Well that was rather… ambitious of her without the use of magic, although he supposed she had a vision and probably a game plan. Either way the final product had no impact on him or the Foxwood name, and it would be rather nice to have some time away from the house. Mother had been a bit suffocating as of late. He’d come to Padmore for a breath of fresh air and helping her meant he was going to get a lot of it.

“Well, I’ll happily be your assistance in this matter then. I’m quite interested in seeing the outcome of your project.” Atticus offered her a slight grin. “Although the painting is a very interesting choice. I suppose if the corpse is to look disfigured that is the place to put me, although I’ll leave that up to your artistic degression.” It’s not as if he did well… anything without magic; if he couldn’t do it with magic he simply had someone else do it for him.

Shoving his hands into his pocket, Atticus moved to stand next to the platform before he turned and blinked at her, waiting for instruction; it also wasn’t often he took orders from anyone outside of his mum, but he figured he could make an exception just once. (Plus if she was too bossy he could leave. He didn’t owe her anything.)

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Dorothea Twycross

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Dorothea grinned brightly at him. She took the word interesting as a compliment. He likely thought it an ambitious project without magic, but she wouldn't be deterred by that. She'd been told before that she would have been a Slytherin, and though she had no personal association with any of the houses she supposed that Slytherin must have been the best one, if people were always trying to assign her to it. Dot was nothing if not self-assured.

"I'll get points for originality, I think," she declared. "Sugar plum fairies and Eskimos igloos will be a sickle a score, but this will be the only cadaver around," she predicted. She moved around the scene to position herself at the doctor snowman. "I'll start in with his features, then, and you can start building up our body. I've only got those lumps so far — you'll need to get some more snow to do all the shaping, I think. I'm Miss Twycross, by the way," she added, as though an afterthought. "I've brought a good bit of cocoa. If you do a passable job, I'll share some with you."

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Beautiful set by Kit!

“There is no doubt points for originality,” He chuckled quietly. “I did see a turtle with a bird on its head while I was walking through that seemed quite impressive; though say the word and I’ll trip into it.” He teased quietly as he watched her move toward the front of the main snowman. Atticus wouldn’t ruin anyone’s artwork - despite being upper class he had no reason to be downright cruel to other people. (A younger him, however, may have been a different story.)

Nodding, Atticus moved toward some untouched snow near the scene. It would be much easier to simply move it from here to the base although he supposed joining her meant he was now under the same rules. Instead he moved some over toward the lumps and kneeled down on the ground to begin packing some more snow in. Atticus paused for a moment as he ran her name through his head, although found he couldn’t recall it. “Mr. Foxwood. It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance Ms. Twycross.”  He smiled softly at her.

“I best put on my artist hat then, although I believe you’ll be sorely disappointed.” Then his eyes crinkled and he laughed, turning his attention back toward the snowman. He stared at it for a moment before he stood to shed his coat, dropping  it next to him; then Atticus began to press more snow to begin his creation of a snowman. (It was more square than circle, but he’d work on that.)

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Dorothea Twycross

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Dot laughed at the suggestion that he might sabotage their opponents through one clumsy fall. "Now that would certainly be worth a cup of cocoa," she said, shaking her head and grinning. "But let's see if we can win this competition fair and square first. If you go tripping through all the well-made snow sculptures, someone is bound to find it suspicious eventually."

Despite not being a professional sculptor by any stretch of the imagination, Dot really did think she had a decent chance of winning — or at least receiving an honorable mention. It was the limitation that sculptures be completed without magic that did it; so many witches and wizards were entirely dependent on spellwork, and utterly lost without their wands. Dorothea Twycross, on the other hand, was nothing if not capable and resourceful. And her new companion — Mr. Foxwood, as she carefully noted the name — may not have been an artist either, but he did seem perfectly willing to get his hands dirty... or snowy, as the case may be. Admittedly, she did stare for half a second as she saw him strip off his coat; she was not used to seeing gentlemen out and about in a state of any undress at all, even just lacking their coat, and it struck her that he'd removed it. It made their working together on this seem less like a chance meeting of strangers and more like they were close friends embarking on a project together. It made this feel familiar, somehow.

"Won't you be cold?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. It wasn't a particularly cold day — the snow was here by magic, not due to the natural weather — but even on the sunniest of days, he was still bound to get cold being elbows deep in snow. Before she'd given him time to actually answer, though, she had an idea that made her mouth pop to an oh. "Actually — if you're not using your coat — could our doctor here borrow it?"

She'd been struggling to get the arms in exactly the right proportion; one was too thick and one was too thin presently, compared to the torso. What better way to make him look like a proper gentleman than to use a proper gentleman's coat as a mold? There was no magic involved, so it shouldn't be against the rules.

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Beautiful set by Kit!

Atticus couldn’t help but flash a slight grin at her although he didn’t comment further - wouldn’t that be quite the scandal? Atticus Foxwood, ruiner of all sculptures during a festival. He might put his mother in an early grave if that became a headline. (Or rather, she might put him in an early grave; how dare he bring such a ridiculous scandal to the family!)

Chuckling more to himself than to her, he blinked up at her before he shook his head. Today was quite pleasant and he had a fondness for the cold; it was the summertime he hated, as wearing heavy jackets such as that became unbearable yet it was nearly impossible to find a way to take it off. “It’s not too cold out, and if I feel a chill I can put it on. I prefer not to get it ah… dirty.” His eyes were drawn to where he’d tossed it, although the snow had been crisp and clean. Truthfully the garments could be quite constricting, and while he was a gentleman in nearly every situation sometimes it was just easier to not be one. At least, not be one appearance wise. If he was going to be playing in the snow it would be much easier to move without a coat on.

But then Miss Twycross made a suggestion, and with a slight laugh (more of a sigh, but that didn’t matter) Atticus scooped the coat from the ground and tucked it under his arm as she stepped up next to the young woman “If this doesn’t earn me at least two cocoas, I don’t know what else will.” He was all in. Perhaps not artistic but he could be competitive in other aspects. It was the single reason he didn’t slide his arms back through the coat, choosing instead to drape it over the snow before taking a step back, admiring his work - it was just about artsy as he could get it. She could handle the rest of it. At least he had plenty more identical pieces at home if something were to happen to it.

“Marvelous. I should have been a doctor,” Atticus joked quietly as he turned his attention back toward her. “Though that is the first and last clothing item I have to offer.”

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Dorothea Twycross

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Dot stood back to admire the way he draped his coat over the snow figure and bit back a giggle. "Why don't we wait to see how he turns out before we weigh the worth of your contribution in cocoas," she teased, though really she was quite pleased with his additions so far. Whatever his artistic snow-carving abilities turned out to be, he was proving to be quite fun company, and what more could she ask for? It wasn't as though she'd wagered her month's income on the outcome of the snow sculpting. This was only meant to be a fun afternoon activity, and he was making it all the better.

"I should never dream of asking you for your pants," she said with a laugh. She turned her attention to the doctor and began packing in the arms of the coat to fill the figure out more, then positioned one of the arms over the patient. She wondered if he wanted to get his coat back before the judging or not — it was holding things in place rather well. Was it cheating to use an item of clothing? On the one hand, she hadn't seen anyone else using anything other than snow. On the other hand, the prohibition had only been against magic, and there was certainly nothing magical about the man's coat. She turned her attention to the doctor's face and began to carve out his features, then was struck by inspiration yet again.

"One moment," she said brightly, before dashing away towards one of the nearest trees. She returned a moment later with two fists full of ice-cluttered tree moss, which she then began to pad into the snow of the doctor's face to serve as a beard. "What do you think? Does this look like hair, or does it look like I've turned him into a dryad?"

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Beautiful set by Kit!

Atticus merely shook his head at her comment, although he made no response. Surely a woman wouldn’t ask anyone to shed his pants in public - that would be positively disastrous. He was going to have to start keeping a tally of how many scenarios he could think of today that involved Rose Foxwood putting him in an early grave. Basil would die if he knew he was suddenly the eldest male and had duties to attend to. He’d be so mad at him that Atticus doubted he’d ever take the time to properly mourn him. No, shedding anymore clothing for a woman he just met sounded awful.

Instead he tilted his head as he watched her looking at the doctor. She was right, the coat did pull it together. Then she was dashing off toward the trees, and he pressed his lips together to keep himself from chuckling. Miss Twycross certainly was a lively character and he wouldn’t be lying to himself to say it was a breath of fresh air - some of the women lately had been insufferable, although perhaps they were all just antsy for the season to officially begin. Then she was back, placing moss onto the snowman to form a beard.

Atticus couldn’t contain the laugh that quickly bubbled from his throat - he certainly had never seen a dryad in person and put it at the top of his list he never did if that’s what one looked like. “He looks downright terrifying. If I saw this doctor I’d die of horror, and if I were already dead I’d become a new kind of ghost altogether.” He spoke bluntly although he didn’t bother to hide the grin that spread across his face. If she had been anyone else Atticus may have swatted at her hands to fix it himself, but he didn’t know her, and he figured trying to fix her sculpture wouldn’t be the best idea. He was here to have fun after all!

He turned back toward his assigned snowman and frowned at it. It was still resembling a square and not a circle. “You know, it may look good with the patient. Clip a few branches off to use as some organs, although I’m not sure how grotesque you wish your scene to be.” Atticus tossed over his shoulder as he went back to work, pushing some of the excess snow off the edges in an attempt to make it rounder. It seemed to work, and he nodded to himself.

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Dorothea Twycross

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"You know, I can't tell if you're being serious," she replied, tone chiding. She took the moss off the snowman and wrinkled her nose at the icy face, trying to decide which version she liked better. "You made it sound like a bad thing, but then you smiled like it was a compliment. Should a doctor be terrifying?" She put the moss back on and considered a beat. She did prefer it with the mossy beard, she thought, but perhaps she could do more to tame the flow of it so that it more closely resembled a trimmed beard, as in the painting, and not the mane of a fearsome wildman.

"I've never been overly fond of doctors and healers," she admitted as she worked. She did her best to avoid them, and since she wasn't the sort of person who was often ill she mostly did fairly well. She was rather adventurous, so left to her own devices she might end up injured more often than the average young woman, but Dot was so rarely left to her own devices that it didn't play out that way. When she was left relatively unattended, as she was now, it was only because this was the sort of parent-approved, tremendously safe sort of event where nothing dangerous or scandalous was likely to happen. (If she had managed to talk this gentleman out of his pants, she likely would have seen her freedoms restricted even further for future outings).

"I don't mind the grotesque. I just don't like them looking at me." She sculpted out the doctor's eyes, cheeks, and nose as she worked. His mouth had become irrelevant, now that he had the mossy beard in place. As she finished the nose she glanced over at what the gentleman had accomplished. "That's coming along," she remarked appreciatively. It wasn't art, but he'd warned her about that. It was progress, and she was pleased to have someone here who seemed willing to contribute to the overall vision of the piece — grotesque though it may have been. "I like your idea of adding bits and bobs for the insides. A pop of color where everything else is clean snow."

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Beautiful set by Kit!

For a moment his smile faltered and he found himself at a loss for words. He frowned at the snowman he was working on, patting the snow for a second later before he finally found a voice to speak. “No, a doctor should never be terrifying.” Atticus couldn’t help but think back to the memories of his father’s death - the Laughing Plague had swept through Hogsmeade quickly and in the end no one had been able to heal his father. The entire ordeal had been awful and he avoided healers and doctors as often as he possibly could. So far, so good.

The only exception he made was for Merlin, but he was an owl and when they were poking him, they weren’t looking at Atticus. Mama Foxwood had given him a scare a few months ago, coming down with a much less severe laughing sickness coupled with a cold; they’d gone to the healer after and it had brought back memories he did his best to forget. Atticus had spent days (weeks, perhaps) hovering around his mother before he deemed her well enough to be on her own. He was afraid of losing her too. “I don’t like them either.” He finally responded, although Atticus didn’t turn to look at her. Instead he focused on making the snowman rounder, and when he was finished with that one he finally moved to the other.

He turned when the young woman spoke again, wandering back over to take a look at the doctor. Spooky, in its own way, but he could see the amount of time and care she’d taken to craft it. “When is judging?” Atticus wandered back over to the snowman he was working on, getting into the rhythm of scooping, packing and making it round. He sure couldn’t make a snowman with magic, but he was almost proud of what kind of snowman he could make without it.

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Dorothea Twycross

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   Dorothea Twycross

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"Tomorrow morning," Dot answered as she continued to survey the scene they had constructed so far. "I don't know that there's any official end to the building time today, but I was planning to stop by three. That should be at least an hour before sunset. I don't imagine I'd do my best work in fading light." At this rate, however, she might be done well before three o'clock. She hadn't expected to have any help with her creation, and while he had protested that he wasn't an artist he was making very efficient work of rounding out the snowmen's bulk. The piece was really starting to come together.

"Will you take a turn around the park with me and see what we can come up with for entrails?" she asked with a coy smile. It was a bit funny to think of a gentleman and a lady promenading around the park for such an utterly unromantic purpose. "We can get away from our doctor for a moment to refresh our spirits."

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Beautiful set by Kit!

Atticus hummed in response before he nodded. “I wouldn’t trust the light orbs to not pester you, if you were to stay past sunset.” They were maddening at times when he found himself in the park after dark, floating and badgering him as they tried to attach themselves to him. Merlin had tried to eat one once upon a time, and although he’d live to tell the tale, Atticus wasn’t sure if the orbs would let him a second time. He’d brought one home by accident once, too, and it had taken a few spells and more hands than he’d ever admit to rid it from the house.

He brushed a bit of snow off his pants as he straightened fully, taking a few steps toward Ms. Twycross, pausing a few paces in front of her. It would be interesting to see what kind of eyes and attention they drew, especially with a missing jacket that was still tucked around the doctor, but he would deal with any repercussions the next day. He motioned for the woman to begin walking. “After you, Ms. Twycross. I do still need to plot my course of how to mistakenly run through as many sculptures as I can, lest you need the assistance from me.” Atticus Foxwood didn’t tease often, but today he seemed to be making all sorts of exceptions.

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Dorothea Twycross

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