Being snowed in isn't exactly a new experience for Phryne. It's not something that is particularly common, mind, but it's not an entirely new experience all the same. That said, the last time she'd happened to be snowed in at had least been somewhere where she'd been at least reasonably assured of still having something to do. And also it hadn't been quite so literal, but she's been swiftly coming to the realization that the weather here is nothing quite like anything she would normally expect.
(And she is definitely none too thrilled about that fact, although she can grudgingly accept that she isn't going to be to do anything about it.)
Still, she has managed - if only barely - to take shelter in what seems to be a boathouse, and while it's certainly not the warmest of places, at least there are walls standing between her and weather outside. Even if it doesn't feel much warmer inside than out.
"I suppose a fire would be rather ill-advised, just at the moment."
Still, she can't help but see what there might be by ways to keep warm. Just in case she ends up spending longer in the boathouse than she really means to.
{3}
Given that she's never really been terribly inclined to solitude - and is used to having other people in her house besides - it should come as no real surprise that Phryne swiftly takes up residence in the Inn. The fact that it also happens to mean that there's a kitchen in easy reach helps. Not that she's the least bit inclined to try cooking, mind. She knows where her strengths lie, and cooking is absolutely not one of them, but the smell of cooking food that sometimes drifts through the Inn is a comfort all the same.
And to be perfectly honest, she's been finding that she wants all the reminders of home she can get. Especially with the weather being distinctly inclement and looking not inclined to take a turn for the warmer; she's hovering near the fire in an attempt to shake at least the worst of the persistent chill that seems to have settled into her very bone, when her eyes fall on an empty mug that's been left on a nearby table. And it does occur to her that a mug of something warm might help in that regard.
That said, she absolutely isn't expecting the mug to move. Much less to start heading for her; it manages to make it off the table before her surprise has her losing control of the telekinesis she's not even aware she has, the mug wobbling in mid-air before it begins to fall.
Phryne's reaction is all but instinctive. There aren't nearly so many mugs on hand that they can afford to lose one, and without even caring for how it'll look she goes diving for the mug in an attempt to catch it before it reaches the floor.
...Only to catch it telekinetically instead, leaving her flat on the floor and the mug hovering a foot above the floor halfway between her and the table it had originally been left on.
Phryne Fisher | Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Being snowed in isn't exactly a new experience for Phryne. It's not something that is particularly common, mind, but it's not an entirely new experience all the same. That said, the last time she'd happened to be snowed in at had least been somewhere where she'd been at least reasonably assured of still having something to do. And also it hadn't been quite so literal, but she's been swiftly coming to the realization that the weather here is nothing quite like anything she would normally expect.
(And she is definitely none too thrilled about that fact, although she can grudgingly accept that she isn't going to be to do anything about it.)
Still, she has managed - if only barely - to take shelter in what seems to be a boathouse, and while it's certainly not the warmest of places, at least there are walls standing between her and weather outside. Even if it doesn't feel much warmer inside than out.
"I suppose a fire would be rather ill-advised, just at the moment."
Still, she can't help but see what there might be by ways to keep warm. Just in case she ends up spending longer in the boathouse than she really means to.
{3}
Given that she's never really been terribly inclined to solitude - and is used to having other people in her house besides - it should come as no real surprise that Phryne swiftly takes up residence in the Inn. The fact that it also happens to mean that there's a kitchen in easy reach helps. Not that she's the least bit inclined to try cooking, mind. She knows where her strengths lie, and cooking is absolutely not one of them, but the smell of cooking food that sometimes drifts through the Inn is a comfort all the same.
And to be perfectly honest, she's been finding that she wants all the reminders of home she can get. Especially with the weather being distinctly inclement and looking not inclined to take a turn for the warmer; she's hovering near the fire in an attempt to shake at least the worst of the persistent chill that seems to have settled into her very bone, when her eyes fall on an empty mug that's been left on a nearby table. And it does occur to her that a mug of something warm might help in that regard.
That said, she absolutely isn't expecting the mug to move. Much less to start heading for her; it manages to make it off the table before her surprise has her losing control of the telekinesis she's not even aware she has, the mug wobbling in mid-air before it begins to fall.
Phryne's reaction is all but instinctive. There aren't nearly so many mugs on hand that they can afford to lose one, and without even caring for how it'll look she goes diving for the mug in an attempt to catch it before it reaches the floor.
...Only to catch it telekinetically instead, leaving her flat on the floor and the mug hovering a foot above the floor halfway between her and the table it had originally been left on.