our breath fogged in the glass

In some ways, Claire couldn't deny the fact that being in London was... kind of romantic. The snow was beautiful as it fell from the sky and came to blanket everything in their immediate vicinity with white too bright to stare at for long, and Claire had almost grown accustomed to rushing back into her apartment and huddling close to the stove, eyes immediately growing drowsy and weary with the burning of fire and embers close to her face. She'd managed to find herself a serviceable dress as well, one which wasn't far too difficult to pull through the snow drifts, and that she hoped would hold a couple of days before demanding a wash— if there was anything she deeply appreciated about all those layers, it was the fact that usually, it was only the undergarments that demanded a wash. Everything else was more or less an exercise in futility.

What she appreciated a little less was how difficult it seemed to be to reach anyone in good time. Having snow and chill alike drive itself deep into her bones whenever she stepped outdoors was bad enough, but having an entire city to navigate somehow made it worse, especially without a map to help guide the way (she had a tendency of leaving it in her apartment, too accustomed to finding her way with her smartphone's GPS prior to the island). Most days, Claire found herself retracing the steps between her place and the new and revised Compound, and only spending time in that square block to keep from getting hopelessly lost in all of the streets. Catching a whiff of bread on her way home, Claire paused for a minute, before caving and rushing into the bakery, hoping that the quick intrusion didn't bring too much cold air into the shop.

"So..." she began, glancing about the place for anyone to help. "I'm trusting that this isn't one of those creepy ghost shops, right? I'm not really in the mood to take from ghosts again."

while the rest of the girls are drowning in roses and songs

While Mr. Muggles had long since learned better than to step foot outside with the streets filled with puddles and ice alike, Claire was starting to think of the whole change in terrain as an experience that she couldn't let herself miss out on. If everyone's predictions were right, then London wasn't likely to last longer than the month, and after eleven straight months of balmy weather, Claire couldn't claim that she entirely hated the change of pace. So she was, once again, hauling the heavy skirts of her dress as she stepped down into the street, a few flat rocks warmed by the stove carefully hidden away in her pockets in case her hands needed to be warmed a touch. It wasn't very long before she spotted a familiar face in the distance heading in the direction of the Compound, and Claire carefully did her best to catch up, walking alongside a few natives of the city— none of whom she'd been able to keep conversation with, and thus had begun to treat more as simply being part of the décor.

Quickly packing a handful of snow into a ball, she grinned before pulling her arm back and launching it directly in Sam Witwicky's direction.

And while Claire Bennet had ultimately become co-captain of the cheerleading squad, it was probably worth mention that she'd held her own in softball tryouts as well. Stifling a laugh, she quickly ducked behind a man wearing a top hat, hoping that he'd provide enough cover for those couple of seconds.