"Festively under-dressed sheep. That's a phrase I never expected to encounter."
"Stick around Hollingford long enough, you'll encounter phrases you never knew existed. Last week, someone described the land steward's new hat as 'aggressively burgundy.'"
"How can a colour be aggressive?"
"You'd have to see the hat. It's like it's attacking your eyes with its colour."
Despite himself, Alaric found he was smiling. "Right. Your star problem. You need to run the rope through a higher point and add weight to the other end. The tree should have a strong enough branch about three feet from the top."
"Should have?"
"Unless your tree is decorative rather than structural."
"I have no idea what that means."
"Is it a pretty tree or a strong tree?"
"Can't it be both?"
"In my experience, rarely."
"That's a depressing life philosophy."
"It's kept me from being crushed by falling Christmas stars."
"Fair point." She turned to the assembled villagers. "Right, everyone! Mr. Fletcher suggests we need a counterweight system. Mr. Ironwell, can you climb?"
Mr. Ironwell, a spry man of about sixty, nodded enthusiastically. "Like a squirrel, Mrs. Whitby!"
"Excellent. Though perhaps aim for more dignity than a squirrel."
As the villagers reorganized themselves according to Alaric's suggestions, Marianne stood beside him, watching the proceedings with a critical eye.
"You know," she said, "for someone who hates Christmas, you're being remarkably helpful."
"I don't hate Christmas. I'm philosophically opposed to it."
"There's a difference?"
"Hate requires emotional investment. Philosophy requires only intellectual consistency."
"That might be the coldest thing I've ever heard."
"Thank you."
"It wasn't a compliment."
"I choose to take it as one."
She shook her head, but she was smiling. "You're very strange, Mr. Fletcher."
"Coming from a woman who decorates sheep, I'll take that as high praise."
"I didn't decorate the sheep."
"You allowed the sheep to be decorated. In some courts, that's considered equally culpable."
"What courts are these?"
