FINN
Finn isn't sure how he feels about being called Mr Rosencrantz, but before he can say very much about it all, the tug on his hand has him hopping over a small mound of memory snow and following after Tobi. Lit up by a variety of coloured lanterns and bustling with people, the Pacifist Plaza is practically the definition of merry tonight, and the merchant with his stall is no different. Tobi beats him to it (drat) and so instead of his perfectly enjoyable usual, the Spyglass is handed some towering concoction of whipped cream and sea salt.
Indeed, rather than instantly tucking into it, he's pleading with the merchant for a spoon and some napkins and, when he has obtained both, he turns back to the doctor. "Oh, you've got..." Without thinking, he reaches out to swipe the dot of cream from her nose with his fingertip, offering her one of his spoons just in case. "This is something," he remarks, trying a measured spoonful of cream specifically from the side of the cup, where it is already starting to melt.
"How are we meant to drink it?" he wonders.
Indeed, rather than instantly tucking into it, he's pleading with the merchant for a spoon and some napkins and, when he has obtained both, he turns back to the doctor. "Oh, you've got..." Without thinking, he reaches out to swipe the dot of cream from her nose with his fingertip, offering her one of his spoons just in case. "This is something," he remarks, trying a measured spoonful of cream specifically from the side of the cup, where it is already starting to melt.
"How are we meant to drink it?" he wonders.
