Winter ought to be considered an evil thing. It is the “death time.” Everything is still, like a corpse. The colors of the world bleed out in the fall, and the winter is nothing more than the husks the colors leave behind. But sometimes it’s not so bad.
Like when freshly laid snow glitters in the clear sunlight. And snowflakes flitter around in the sky, their bodies spinning, as though in a solo dance. That is not so bad.
Ophelia dusted the fine white powder off the log before she sat on it, humming contentedly to herself as she gazed across the Meadow. Huddling as deep into her shabby winter-coat as she could, she looked up at the sky, blinking as snowflakes caught in her long eyelashes.
Lost in her own little world, she didn’t notice the snowball rocketing right for her.
It smacked her right on the tip of her chin, bursting across her face and her neck as the impact tossed her backwards off her log, into a snow heap. She wiped the snow off furiously as she scrambled to her feet, teeth bared and nostrils flaring.
Post by d2b siberite obsidian [kap] on Jan 2, 2022 11:15:10 GMT -5
Sycamore hadn't been in a snowball fight since he was early reaping age. For some reason, though, seeing the snow on the ground as he wandered around the District prompted him to want to have some fun with it. There was a girl sitting on a snow-dusted log, distracted by the powder-white snowflakes fluttering down from above. She would be the perfect target. Hopefully, she'd want to play along.
So, Sycamore gathered some snow into his hands and compacted it as tightly as he could in the shape of a ball. He aimed at the girl and threw the snowball, meaning to hit her in the shoulder, but instead, the snowball nailed her in the chin, causing her to tumble backwards into the snow.
"Oops, sorry, bad aim!" he shouted to her.
She certainly wasn't happy when she got to her feet, and Sycamore was nervous. He just hoped the worst she would do would be throw a snowball back at him. He wasn't ready for a real fight. Snowball fights on the other hand, though, were fair game.
<You are strong. You are brave. You are good. You matter.>
Sycamore may as well have apologized to a wall. Partially out of anger, partially out of some age-old childlike instinct, Ophelia threw herself down on all fours, gathering as much snow into her hands as possible, not focusing so much on formation but rather on sheer mass. She jumped onto her feet. "Nyeh!" She didn't bother to take aim. Her hand cocked back and then became a blur as it swung forward, turning the dilapidated wad of snow into a rapidly dissolving missile.
And then his apology sunk in. She slumped out her psuedo-warrior stance immediately, staring at him with widening eyes. "Wait, you're what?" she gasped, her voice barely rising over a whisper.
(ooc: I am so sorry for the delay. I had to juggle a ton of stuff this month. I'm planning to be more active now, though!)