blue summer — tea

[icarus.]

Icarus had been quite serious when he'd invited the others to tea at the previous meet and greet, even if no one had taken him up on the offer — yet. Little do the others know, the tom has been scheming at ways to force them to join him over tea ever since. Finally this morning the Judge had slipped notes beneath the manor's occupied doors with a simple message: Tea party in my room on the far east wing at sunhigh. Signed, Icarus B. He'd thought to host it in the garden considering the pleasant spring weather, though secretly the Judge just wants to ensure that his clanmates know where to find him should they ever need to. He keeps an open door for visitors, but he's aware of how difficult his quarters can be to find amid the winding corridors of the mansion. Perhaps he could've made his directions more specific... oh well, he has faith in his Knights. There's only a pawful of them anyhow, meaning they ought to be able to fit comfortably in his cozy space.

The golden-furred feline has tidied just for the occasion. The bed is made, curtains drawn, and windows thrown open to let in the fresh air from the courtyard below. His sword is still slung over one of the bedposts, but most of his other belongings have been put away neatly in his chest aside from a few stray candles, novels, and papers scattered about and the lyre that sits in one corner (...so maybe not as tidy as he'd promised, but Icarus has never minded the clutter). The tabby tom had even swiped some scones from the kitchen, though he's not sure who made them nor exactly how long they've been there. Icarus thinks he should take up cooking sometime, given the amenities available to them; then again, he's not keen on burning down the manor at his poor attempts at baking. These'll do for now — they appear fine enough for him to eat, at least. A small tray of them sits upon a leg rest before his crackling fireplace. Icarus is settled upon his favorite worn green-cushioned chair, paws tucked into his chest as he peers thoughtfully into the flames. An old brass kettle hangs above it, letting out a thin whistle and a sudden burst of air. He removes it from the heat and adds the herbal blend he'd already set aside. Slowly but surely the room comes to be filled with warmly fragrant scents, wafting out into the halls and permeating the air with a pleasant aroma. Icarus will let it steep a few moments longer — now all that's needed is some good company.