Work Text:
There’s a gentle knocking on my front door. I’m not expecting anyone tonight and if I were, I’d perhaps be dressed a little more formal than my sleepwear and a robe. I tighten the string around my waist and open my front door. I could’ve made someone else open it for me but I’d rather meet the knocker myself.
The cold breeze hits me like a truck as I quickly gesture for the idiots to enter my home. Hopefully they haven’t been waiting long in the snow. The winds rush by quickly as snow covers the front garden and the path leading up to the door.
“Oh! What are you two doing here?” I ask as Roman and Carmilla walks in with a basket of.. lemons and sugar. The two of them are all bundled up in thick jackets and boots. I could barely tell it was them by first glance.
“My juicer and lemon squeezer.. thing broke.” Roman shrugs as he sets down the basket and starts to help Carmilla take off her coat. “And this is my problem… how?” I raise an eyebrow as the werewolf hangs their coats in my closet and leave their boots by the door. He’s, however, polite enough to shut the door for me.
“Roman told me about his favourite winter tradition of making lemonade in the winter!” Carmilla says as she fidgets with her rings. She’s gotten more of them since I’ve seen her last. “I’ve never actually had lemonade and I thought it was a summer drink.” She adds as Roman takes the basket and starts to walk to my kitchen. He doesn’t stop to chat like he’s on an important and idiotic mission. Though, I suppose that it is true.
“Roman!” I shout, turning around to catch him but he doesn’t listen. I shake my head and roll my eyes. Clearly, Roman doesn’t appreciate the idea of warm drinks in cold weather and cool drinks in hot weather. “That man is an idiot, he just likes to think he’s superior about his drink choices.” I say to Carmilla.
“Well.. I suppose he’s my idiot to deal with.” Carmilla snickers as she watches Roman make haste and walk to the kitchen with determination. I pat her on the shoulder and we follow him.
My kitchen staff watches Roman suspiciously as he searches my cabinets for bowls, juicers and whatever else he thinks he needs for lemonade. I wave a hand and dismiss the kitchen staff (strange, they should’ve been dismissed hours ago..) as Carmilla and I watch the werewolf place a large juicer on the table.
“Can you tell Roman can’t live without lemonade?” I jokingly whisper to Carmilla, snickering and she nods in agreement. “Really? I couldn’t tell.” She whispers back sarcastically.
Roman’s ears twitch at our snickering, he doesn’t seem to mind too much however as he calls Carmilla over with a toothy smile. He takes her hand and shows her how he likes to make his lemon concoctions.
I feel like I’m a teenager again and watching my parents do their own romantic things in front of me. I can’t even actually watch them. Not because of how close they are (and how much it pains me to watch romance in my own home) but because Roman does things way too fast for me to actually watch whatever he’s doing.
Carmilla continues to nod and ask questions about the process. She’s really good at mimicking Roman’s movements and has easily squeezed some lemons into a bowl. I don’t care to understand how to make lemonade since I’ve got people for that (and Roman) but it’s a nice bonding activity I’ll say.
—
Time has passed and we’re all sitting at my dining room table. We could’ve sat in the living room where there’s a smaller table but I don’t make the rules in my own home apparently. I chuckle as I lean back against the back of the seat, sitting at the head seat at the table and smiling as Carmilla walks towards me with a glass.
“Here you go, Vivienne.” Carmilla says as she places a glass of lemonade in front of me. She glances back at Roman who’s doing his own thing, tinkering with the glasses and whatnot. He adds more sugar to one, and ice to another. It’s never quite clear on what he’s doing anymore, I don’t fight him because he’s not worth it.
I sip the lemonade, it’s almost too sweet but it’s perfect. It’s the same amount of nonsense that Roman puts into his own and I won’t complain. I’m a sweet tooth at heart.
Carmilla sits down in the chair next to the head seat, sipping on her own lemonade as we make causal conversation. Our attention is turned away from the werewolf who’s clearly too busy messing around with my very nice juicer.
And it isn’t until he comes to join at the table that he slams down one of my very nice jugs, now full with lemonade, that our attention is back on his nonsense. Carmilla snickers once more.
“This is a lovely way to spend my.. cold, winter night I suppose.” I chuckle as well as I watch Roman pour himself a glass and we all drink together.