[ as much as waking up alone in a hospital with hazy memories of grit and blood smears and the choke of smoke can be distressing, simon snow is not the type to sit down with his shock and wallow. or otherwise think about it at all. which means he absolutely shows up for the egg hunt, sporting an appropriately bright yellow hoodie and a will the size of one of those blow-up bunnies to ignore anyone that would like to remind him he's over the age of like, twelve. he promises he won't snipe any small child's bounty.

the fabergé eggs require a little more finesse than just sifting your hands through a tall patch of grass, and he won't hesitate to ask for help once someone passes by him and his next target, the glittery form sitting pretty up between some tree branches. ]

Hey, would you mind giving me a boost? [ he jabs his thumb in the direction of the egg, helpfully. ] We can split whatever's inside. Y'know, if it's splittable.

[ you may be wondering why the boy with the pair of red, leathery wings requires a boost, but is it really polite to ask? ]

01. [ attached is a photo of a vintage grapefruit spoon complete with intricate rose designs. ] ... what kind of posh crap is this??
02. anyone know what to do with a sword when you're not using it?
03. tell me your favorite comfort food