dodgeouttahell | Inbox

[there's a delivery of a small mason jar, just about 290mL, with a simple note-- even if the writing is anything but simple. in fact, it's downright elegant, a cursive only seen in people who went to expensive, fancy schools or had special tutoring. no signature, except the "S" in spiced tea is stylized specifically to be a snake, larger than the rest of the writing, and eye-catching.]

Spiced tea, but with a little kick! (Don't drink too much in one go, please.)

As a small token of friendship, may it keep you warm even for just a moment in this snowy weather.

[inside the jar itself is a light brown liquid, still with a bit of the ingredients used to make it-- a thin slice of lemon, zest from an orange, so on and so forth. as for the kick? it's rum.]

[Zag isn't exactly the kind of person to linger much at home, but every now and then he does return. He's been doing more that lately, too — the disease in his lungs asks for it. So he's on his way in when he notices the mason jar, and he starts.

A gift? He's not.

He's not used to getting them.

Then again, he's used to giving them first, at least, and he has gifted something to Shalem, too.

He settles on the raised surface near the hearth, bundled with thrown blankets and cushions, and lets the drink warm up as he opens the jar and lets its scent waft to his nose.

It smells lovely, and he barely has the strength to let the tea warm up again by the fire.

Once he does try it, he does lick at his lips, eyebrows arching up.

And then sends Shalem a text message.]

I got your package! It's delicious! Did you make this?