(She's scanning idly over a few pages of neat notes, descriptions of their surroundings, of the weather. A page full of pressed flowers neatly labelled. A sketch of Lup in a floppy sunhat, her shoulders bare.)
Not so much the circumstances, but definitely the freedom. The company.
(Magnus' untidy scrawl slopes diagonally across the page; there's what looks like a food stain on the next. More notes in Lucretia's hand, neat, cramped cursive filling every line available. Another page of Lup doodles. ... And again on the next page.
Lucretia peeks before she turns the next one, and coughs, closing the book with a snap and a shrug.)
no subject
(She's scanning idly over a few pages of neat notes, descriptions of their surroundings, of the weather. A page full of pressed flowers neatly labelled. A sketch of Lup in a floppy sunhat, her shoulders bare.)
Not so much the circumstances, but definitely the freedom. The company.
(Magnus' untidy scrawl slopes diagonally across the page; there's what looks like a food stain on the next. More notes in Lucretia's hand, neat, cramped cursive filling every line available. Another page of Lup doodles. ... And again on the next page.
Lucretia peeks before she turns the next one, and coughs, closing the book with a snap and a shrug.)
You get the idea.