Ivan does not look willing to help. In fact, Ivan has a general shifty look that one adopts at times of required family gatherings when one really does not want to be there, and is hoping to escape notice by any relatives by hovering on the fringes with their fingers crossed and a plate of pie and a glass of wine that has already been refilled twice. They don't have wine here, just that awful maple mead, and Ivan has not yet reached a level of self-loathing that will convince him that drinking the stuff is worth it.

He doesn't even have pie.

Still, Miles is suffering and he isn't, and if there is one thing that Ivan enjoys (beyond women and sleeping with them) it's getting one up on his smaller, hypermanic cousin. It's probably Miles's fault they're here in the first place -- it had been a thought earlier, but shoved to the side when he hadn't found him. But now that he has Ivan knows the truth. It is absolutely the fault of his Lord Auditor cousin.

Ivan takes a few long strides over to Miles, wrapping his hands under his arms and with a well practiced move, hoists the other man out of the snow. "Hello cuz," he says, "fancy meeting you here, up to your waist in trouble as usual." He's warming up to get to the blaming part, just give him a minute.