Carry On SnowBaz

Snowday (5)

Baz

It's a struggle, but after a bit more than a few minutes, Simon is finally dressed in my hoodie and a pair of black jeans. His wings and tail are hidden and I spoke his wet hair dry. He keeps running his hands through it while I slip into my coat and search for his. (For an unknown reason he's unable to move and just sits on the kitchen table, so I'm forced to dress him like a child. I don't mind.)

"It's very cold outside," Bunce says while she wraps a huge, colourful scarf around her neck. "You should at least wear a warm hat. And gloves."

"I won't –," Simon starts grumbling, but I already shove his hands out of his hair and pull a red hat over his head. (It's self-made by Bunce.) (I've got one, too.) (For Christmas.) (I don't wear it.)

"Where's your coat, Snow?" I ask him.

"Heating," Bunce answers. Her head is now hidden under a big green hat. She looks like a ball of wool.

I take Simon's coat from the heating and throw it to him. He slides from the table and gets into it.

"Do we need snacks?" Bunce runs past me and opens the board over the kitchenette. She finds biscuits and shoves them into her backpack. Simon stands in the middle of the room now – wrapped in his coat and in striped socks. He looks like a child which got lost at the airport.

I move behind him and lay my arms around his waist. "Maybe you should wear shoes," I mumble and rest my chin on his head. He leans against me and closes his eyes.

"Baz, I'm really not in the mood for a shopping tour," he mutters tired.

"It'll be fun," I say. "You'll see." I have to place my feet new to keep balance because he slumps against me like he's even to weak to stand. "I know how you feel. Really," I whisper softly. The wool of his hat tickles on my chin. "But I also know that sitting around won't help. You have to free your mind."

"I know," he sighs. "But –"

"Boys!" Bunce yells, which makes Simon stand straight again. I turn my head and frown at her. "Get into your shoes so we can finally go! Great Snakes...," she says and shakes her head. She leans, fully dressed and packed, against the entrance door. I let go of Simon, he takes his shoes and a few seconds later we walk down the stairs.

"I think," Bunce starts, she's walking in front of us, "we should take the tube. The traffic is pure hell, so, we're much faster when we drive underground."

Consequently, we run, five minutes from that, through the overcrowded underground station. Bunce complains about the bad signposting, Snow looks even more like a sad and lost child, and I try to find the right connection. I don't know how, but eventually, we make it into the right line.

"Do you have any wishes to which store you want to go, Simon?" Bunce asks while she's already eating one of the biscuits. (We just ate breakfast?!)

Of course, Simon only shrugs. He and Bunce are sitting in front of me. Next to me sits an old woman, who stares creepily through the window. (We're underground. There's absolutely nothing to see.)

"All I know is that we won't go into one of your dirty second-hand shops," I say instead.

"Why not? I found my best pieces there!" she complains chewing. "And the clothes there are diverse and cheap."

"And disgusting."

"Oh, shut up, Agatha," she hisses at me.

"You never know what the people did with the clothes before. Where they wore them."

Bunce rolls her eyes. Snow stares at his hands.

"And I don't want Simon to smell like a stranger," I go on.