Disclaimer: If I said I was Patricia C. Wrede, nobody would believe me anyway.
Summary: This is a 'Sorcery and Cecilia, or the Enchanted Chocolate Pot' fic, if you've ever read that miniseries. It takes place some few years before, during the war between Napolean and England. By the way, I'm not very historically correct, so if you see anything way out of whack, please tell me.
Basically, Thomas and James are drinking port in a tent during a raging battle. Oh, and playing cards.
Warnings: Alcohol, smoking, and snuff. And not very funny humor.
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The Characteristics of Snuff
In a medium sort of sized tent, two men were playing cards and drinking port while a battle raged around them. One of the men was smoking a cigarette. His name was Thomas. One of the men was putting snuff to his nostril with a miniscule silver spoon. His name was James. James and Thomas were both in the best of spirits. This was partly due to the fact that they were drinking the best of spirits.
Thomas put down a card. It was the five of clubs. James sneezed.
"I say, Jim, old boy, that's hardly manners," Thomas said heartily.
"Speak for yourself," James replied, jovially, "I sneeze when I snuff and you puff when you smoke. I'd rather sneeze."
"I don't puff," Thomas explained cheerfully as James laid down a card (the seven of clubs). "I am a very refined smoker, not a chimney, and besides, smoking makes you look more sophisticated." He placed the seven of diamonds quite carefully over the seven of clubs.
"Sophisticated?" James took a sip of his port, swished it around his mouth, and swallowed it. "Ah, an excellent vintage. How does it make you look sophisticated, pray?"
Thomas held his glass to his nose and inhaled deeply, the cigarette dangling from his hand. He likewise sipped, gargled, and swallowed. "Yes, it was a very good year. Well," he continued, in the best of humors, "one can merely breathe in the smoke of a cigarette, and needn't ladle anything into one's nose. That is a very tedious business, I am sure," he added genially, putting down the queen of diamonds.
"Not at all, dear chap," James rejoined, rising from his chair, walking around the card table, and clapping Thomas on the back, careful not to look at his cards. "You don't ladle; you simply hold the snuff below your nostril and inhale. Rather like smoking, only there's no smoke." He walked back over to his seat and sat down again, laying down the three of diamonds.
A stray musket-ball ripped through the thin canvas of the tent, shattering the glass bottle that held the port. James leaned down and picked up another one from under the table. They had been doing this for rather a long time, and had gotten into the routine of the thing.
Thomas, indicating to James that he would not be adverse to another glass of port, countered amiably, "Smoking and snuff? Not a bit alike, you silly duffer, not a bit. You don't breathe smoke in through your nose, for one thing," he said cordially as he drew a card from the deck, "and for another…" He paused in his speech to take one more card, and one more, and yet one more. He frowned deeply, and then brightened abruptly. "Ah, here we are. Clubs," he crowed triumphantly, placing the eight of spades on the table.
"For another," Thomas continued, "smoking is easier to do. You needn't have anything but a cigarette or cigar and a match to light it with. Whereas with snuff, you need snuff, a snuff box, a small spoon to put snuff into your nose with, and a handkerchief, for when you sneeze."
"Clubs, you say?" James asked, a guarded expression on his face.
"Yes, clubs I say," said Thomas rather lazily.
"I'm out," the other man said gleefully, tossing his last card, the knave of clubs, onto the pile. "You owe me a bottle of port."
-finis-