It had been a good weekend in the creepy mansion in the woods. Even though it had been unlikely that they'd go out anywhere, there was something a little special about staying in to avoid a storm-- yes, even if that storm had been made of marshmallows more than snow or rain. Liliana and Ignis had stayed up late listening to the wind howling around the eaves, wrapped in blankets in front of the fireplaces, drinking cocoa and mulled wine (and, of course, coffee), playing chess and the lyre, sharing poetry and music, before finally heading upstairs to bed...and, eventually, to sleep. The next day, they'd enjoyed the chiming trees, Liliana describing how lovely they were in the gathering dusk, the woods around them illuminated by their lights.

Which was why this morning, Liliana was very much looking forward to discovering what today's surprise was. She didn't spot anything in the mansion, nor on the way to the shop...

...It was when she opened the door that she spotted a white chicken in a red cloak. Because it was sitting in her chair, looking for all the world, like queen of everything.

Liliana stared at the chicken. The chicken stared at Liliana. "On the one hand, I appreciate the attitude," she informed it. "On the other hand, that's my chair."

The pure white chicken ignored Liliana and proceeded to preen itself. A moment later it was unceremoniously tossed out of the chair, squawking and fluttering down to the ground. A few moments after that, it was a full on war inside the Consortium.

...Liliana had much preferred the twinkling trees and the marshmallow storm, thank you.

[Ignis modded with permission!]

The shirt she was being forced to wear was really stretching the definition of 'sweater' practically to the breaking point, but it had two things going for it: the first, it was fuzzy and soft on the inside, which she appreciated. The second...well, she couldn't say she didn't see how the island might have been inspired to give it to her. It's not like she didn't see the resemblance.

"Honestly, this holiday would be vastly improved if we celebrated with topless women rather than angels everywhere," she said with withering disdain to the raven that had followed her into work today. "As a reminder, bird," she added, with less disdain and more disgust, "if you do turn out to be a message sent by the Raven Man, there won't be enough of you to stuff a pincushion."

The raven croaked at her. Had she told him something similar every time he startled her by coming into her field of vision? Yes. And she would continue to do so, thank you.

"You're lucky your parents are attractive," she muttered. "Otherwise I would have left you to fend for yourself in the school."

[Content warning for faux-knitted depictions of boobs through the link!]