Bash's winter jacket makes him think he's inside a pillow. The wet crinkling of it makes him cringe, for he hates wearing his puffa jacket, he always has, even as a kid. But, Mary forced him into it after it was revealed that Catherine had demanded that she, Francis and Sebastian drag the snow from the driveways of the Valois manor. He had grumbled and grunted and hissed the entire time, and his brother wasn't much better. The whole ordeal made Mary very angry, so much so that the threatened to hide the hot chocolate into the cabinate where she keeps her lady things.
So, yeah, needless to say, that shaped the boys right up.
But the thwump of a snowball hitting his back was no idle threat. He spins around, nearly dropping his big, wet shovel with the speed of his body and the ice under his feet. "Who threw that?!" he scowls.
Francis' cackle gives him away immediately. In his defence, he couldn't have contained his laughter even if he tried to do so. It's just so boooring, his past wine echoes in his head when his mother demanded that the three of them brave the winter chill so his father could get out of the driveway. And, no matter how much he shovels ("Five minutes won't do shit, Francis!") the snow just keeps coming down and making his work redundant! Besides, he has gloves on, so he decided that makes him immune to the horrid chill of the snow, and the snow that had made what looks like a reverse trench at his feet just calls to him, to gather a bit up and launch it at his big brother's face.
From that moment on, in hindsight, he realises that with that first shot, he had inadvertently started a snowball fight that would put Gods to shame. Or, rather, a snowball war. Pshh, massacre. Yeah, massacre sounds better.
Bash's cheeks are stained pink with the temperature. Like a bull, he flares his nostrils, trying to keep the circulation flowing so it wouldn't fall off. There are many, many, many things he would rather do than shovel his stepmother and father's house this day. One of them being drinking until his liver begs for mercy. Another being shoving a mass of snow at his little brother's head until he spits out show for days to come.
"Francis?" he hisses.
One thing Francois Léonardo Pierre Henrieve de Valois-Angouleme has learned over a childhood full of winter snowball fights, it's to blame the first shot on some other poor folk. So, he points a finger to the only other person here, his girlfriend of almost five years ("How the fuck did you get her to go out with you?" "Shut up, Bash!") who is innocently shoveling large humphs of snow from one side of the driveway to the other.
"It wasn't me, big brother. It was Mary!"
Bash glares at the dark figure of black leggings, puffy jacket and gold embellished faux fur boots as she muscles piles of snow that would put both men to shame. Hah. Men. One's a half grown golden boy puppy dog and Bash is, well. Bash. Yes. Bash is Bash. He kneels, rolling a tumor of snow into a ball. Someone will suffer with the might of his snowball.
But, he also knows, no matter how much Catherine adores Francis, if he throws this snowball, she will take away all the money promised to them for shovelling the driveway. And although they're well off, they could all use that money. For Christmas presents. For drinks. He knows he shouldn't, he can see those seventy euros falling to the ground as he raises the ball of snow. Seventy euros Bash needs, for he is fond of women and booze. The answer is obvious to him.
Sebastian throws the snowball.
"Hey!" Mary yells at him, turning around as the snow hits her shovel, knocking it to the floor, taking the snow with it. She growls angrily, startling the two boy-children-men. "What the hell?"
"You threw snow at me."
"I did not!"
Thwump. Francis drops his shovel. So does Mary.
YOU ARE READING
You Are My Light Part II
Historical Fiction-Reign Oneshots/Taking Requests- The world can be dark, Mary, and uncertain and cruel. The only thing that matters is that we face it together. No matter what happens, you are my light. Part 2! -Read TEML first!-
