Logs:A Snowball's Chance
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| RL Date: 17 June, 2015 |
| Who: Cece, Dee, N'rov, Tahnia |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Dee is hijacked by N'rov for snowy high jinks. |
| Where: Bowl, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 10, Month 1, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: Slightly back-dated. |
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| Snow fell again in the night, layers and layers of it, leaving the morning sky a blue that's shockingly bright. A few of the trails have been re-tramped high upon layers of ice; others must have been dragon-'plowed,' with tall snow-walls scraped up to either side. She's not so far out of the caverns when there's a shout of, "Dibs!" followed by a chorus of groans mixed with cheers, and a masculine hand reaching for her arm to direct her that way. N'rov tells her along the way, low and laughing, "Make it quick." "Make what quick?" is probably a legitimate question and it's one that's levied at the bronzerider from the confused (but still pliant and too trusting) Dee likely making her way toward the hatching caverns to take a gander at the hardening eggs. Perhaps it's a rest day, or perhaps she's simply between tasks and has a few minutes, the pilgrimage across the chilly bowl in her pair of sweaters, work trousers and winter over-things is one taken by candidates frequently, despite the snow. She blinks at N'rov giving his direction. Here, the spindly legged runner calf not knowing the dragon has teeth. Apparently the dragon wants to share, unusual for dragons; "Come on," N'rov says with a harder pull, and even then there's a sudden smack of white against the stone just beyond her shoulder. Slitting his eyes against the sun, he uses his free hand to lob his own shot back where that one had come from. "Stay low!" He's headed towards the ice-wall defended by a cat-calling Hematite brownrider and a curly-haired caverns resident... whose stockpile of snowballs is almost depleted. "Good aim?" "What on Pern--?" Dee demands as she flinches back from the smack of white, even as N'rov pulls her. After the initial reaction, she goes. "What is happening here?" She asks once they've reached the relative safety of the wall. Only then, once she's asked, does she seem to catch on, seeking to touch the bronzerider's arm with a mittened hand. "Is this a game?" that seems important, and the beginnings of excitement have flickered into life in her eyes. "No, it's not a game, it's a clash of forces," gets drowned out by Cece's, "Of course it's a game. It's a great game," but that doesn't stop N'rov from continuing, "for pride, cold-weather insanity and bragging rights," right into the brownrider's laughter. "Here." He tosses Dee one of the white things, the resident squawking protest until he says, "Fine, fine, I'll make more," and tosses her one too. The as-yet-nameless girl weighs it, cocks her arm... and waits until a pale blue stocking cap, hard to see against the ice, pops up across the way. Dee's chin swivels from N'rov who was receiving a look far too willing to believe to be healthy, to the brownrider as she speaks. The candidate's wide smile blossoms. "How is it-" is out before the girl's well-exercises play reflexes kick in to catch the thing tossed to her, but with too much force, causing it to become deformed and less aerodynamic, "-done?" The word ends on a half surprised note, her eyes flicking to her mittens and then to the resident beyond as the next exchange of white occurs. When her eyes return to N'rov, they hold the same seriousness with which she took in his fortunes, but with an edge of healthy competition; she was a good (if terribly random) pick as far as battle buddies go. This. Is. War! Gray eyes swing back to hers, N'rov's at once narrowed against sun-reflections and edged with bright hilarity. "You see them, you smack them." Simple! "Time to make myself useful." Crafting ammo. Also, as it turns out, introductions amidst the arguable chaos; through the resident's victim's shriek, "Cece, Tahnia. Dee-girl." Or, possibly, 'The girl.' "There's another," he spots right before Cece calls, "Get him!" "I'm not sure I understand," Dee answers N'rov's explanation levelly, just before she flashes him a merry grin and swings 'round to lob the off-kilter not quite prolate spheroid in the direction of the unfortunate him, who may or may not fall victim to the ungainly frozen projectile. The grin is offered to her hobnob teammates in greeting, only after the girl has watched the snow sail, perhaps clocking the speed and getting a feel for how it flies. His laugh is all that answers that, and a click of tongue to palate (approval? not?) as her snowball shatters at the runner's heels; the other man's stout and silver-haired but no slower for it, lobbing a snowball back towards them before disappearing behind his own wall amid his comrades' shouts. N'rov's piled up a few snowballs by now for the others to use, mentioning the benefits of consistency (if not of packing them hard, though he does that too) along the way. There are a few more runners, some quicker or less predictable than others... and then a diminutive youth, maybe even a child, a too-large stocking cap all but falling off his or her head. N'rov's continuing with his snowcraft, even after his swift glance over, but Tahnia's moved closer to Dee for a better angle, and she's already aiming... ...as is Dee. This is war. There's no such thing as innocent bystanders. Dee's shot goes wide, but the intention was clearly there: to pelt the youth (or child) with the N'rov-crafted weapon. Not every victim will be so lucky. Dee is hardly a crack shot, especially with so little experience, but there's a lot of laughter to be had (so much that she'll probably need scolding at some point for giving away her position) and her trip to the galleries must be curtailed by a need to bathe from all the melted snow that makes her sodden and shivering by the end. Tahnia can scold her, but laughingly in her own right; Cece can send her off to the baths with a warm drink, no less; N'rov... must have, somewhere in there, vanished into the snow. Tonight more snow will fall, and fall, and in the end cover all their tracks. |
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