snow fall meme

[memeswearhouse]

Winter Wonderland Meme

❄ it's quiet
and the snow's beautiful tonight → a winter open meme

‧ post with whatever character you want
‧ responders roll for weather + scenario and get to threading
‧ ???
‧ profit

snowfall;

stage i; none, streets are already blanketed in white.
stage ii; very light and intermittent.
stage iii; light - moderate. lasts longer periods.
stage iv; continuous, heavy snowfall.
stage v; the hardest of cores - blizzards, snowstorms, you name it.

scenarios;

① fuck the police, this is the best time for a walk. hope you've got a nice thick coat on.

② stranded in the buttcrack of nowheresville? weren't you watching the time? now you've gone and missed that last bus out of there. or maybe you're lost, somehow. what do?

③ literally chilling, in this weather, is quite easy to do. sitting around relaxing in it is a wee more difficult, but sometimes much more enjoyable, especially if shelter can be found. the snow is beautiful to watch, after all.

④ the weather's not going to stop you. your snow fort's packed full of ammo and ready to go. those aren't snow angels over there; they mark where the poor souls you've downed have fallen. be careful with that snowman's head!!

⑤ you're about fifty miles from civilization but there's a roof over your head, so never mind the chilly draught, right? right. you mightn't be the only one lucky enough to stumble upon this little shelter, though. remember to share the blanket.

⑥ everyone stuck outside should be jelly. you've got a fireplace and hot cocoa and damn if it isn't awesome. a heater's not quite so romantic, but it'd do. there'd better be a backup generator in case the power trips.

⑦ mix and match, or make up your own ‧:❉:‧

Comments

Grantaire | Les Misérables (musical/novel mix)

[fitofgrandair]

iv; 3!

[musichetta]

[ the cafe is a cozy, welcome place after trudging through the snow that early afternoon. after some time spent at joly's side, providing a distraction while he prepared for class, musichetta's left to her own devices, decidedly not drinking (it's best to keep her money close to her chest for now). she isn't shooed away immediately, being a pretty lass and all. and for that, she is grateful. the flat has no heat. ]

Ooh, how romantic. [ she sighs with her chin in her hands, gazing out the window. ] Mostly romantic from the inside. I shudder to imagine the walk home when I do leave.

[fitofgrandair]

[Grantaire has almost convinced Courfeyrac that Cato the Younger performed untoward actions with goats--every upright man must have his vices, after all--when Enjolras summons Courfeyrac. After an unsuccessful attempt to detain his listener, Grantaire slumps back in his chair and throws a moody glance toward Enjolras, takes a drink, and stares out at the window. Snow. Who asked the snow to visit?

He becomes aware of someone nearby. The girl who appears from time to time to visit Joly (and where has Joly run off to?). Musichetta, if he recalls correctly--he doesn't always--and a lovely girl she is. She's staring outward, a perfect little picture, and Grantaire isn't about to let her words go unanswered.]

Why leave when you can linger? While we who live on wine-soaked dreams remain, you must consider this your dwelling-place, your shelter from the bitter, most unrelenting cold. A friend of Joly is a friend of all! Or so we speak in the spirit of camaraderie, which spreads such sacred warmth.

But come, your name. I've heard it whispered, heard it sung by your rapturous--and I might say tortured--love. But let us hear it from your own lips.

[musichetta]

[ she watches and listens to all of this with an amused smile, though her thoughts drift towards the snowfall once more, trying to pick out different shapes when they settle against the windowpane, just before melting into the warmth and seeps out of the cafe.

joly, alas, is gone, having finally torn himself from her side, muttering about how he will catch his death (again). slowly, she turns her head towards the voice. ]

My name, sir? Perhaps it would not sound as nice from my lips, especially if you have heard it before from the good doctor - soon to be doctor. [ a tease as ever. ]

[fitofgrandair]

Nice or not, I must have it. You give your life's story when you give your name. There is a harmony created between pitch and knowledge that no other can replicate, a truth that no other can replicate. Even our good man who stands on the brink of doctordom has not the knowledge or skill.

You, and you alone can say. Ah, fair lady, be not so cruel as to withhold this favor!

[musichetta]

How insightful you are! Can it be that all this wine fuels these words?

[ the girl is tickled and she clasps her hands under her chin, clearing her throat and making a grand show over her name - a pretend name, a name chosen for herself, but a name nonetheless. ] In any case ...

I am Musichetta, Monsieur.

[fitofgrandair]

Bravo! [he applauds, unrestrained.] What vigor! What vibrance! What charming abandon, this elocution between a wisp and a roar!

Ah... Musichetta, Musichetta, Musichetta... [drawing out the final pronunciation, he frowns in feigned aggravation.]

But you see? I soil the name by speaking it. I am a creature of turbulence, too burdened by an oafish tongue. I do you no justice; you must forgive me.

[musichetta]

Oh, all is forgiven, I assure you. Though I see little to forgive in this instance.

[ she giggles, a tinkle of a laugh, into her palm before turning her full attention towards him. this is quite entertaining and much unexpected, for she had thought their business at the cafe separate from her own. she is just a companion, after all. ]

You are much too harsh on your own vocal capabilities. Monsieur Grantaire, is it not? I am certain that our Joly has mentioned you more than once.

[fitofgrandair]

Has he? Ah, Joly, such a fine old soul. [She has marvelous eyes. An easy observation to make of a woman, but who is he to argue with truth? The question is of what those eyes have known. The question, a question, always a question, but he has ceased to need the answers. If some suggestions comes, so be it. If not... Well, so be it. The wine flows, either way.]

You see what I mean about the use of one's own voice, though? Lovely and lilting as your voice is, you make of my name something tame and gentle.

But you have me, yes: Grantaire. And now you have heard it from my lips, make of my reverberations what you will. Grantaire; the great, the grand, the capital R; winesop of those gods who fell so long ago. [He has risen while speaking, throwing the final words toward the corner where Enjolras and Courfeyrac huddle. No response. Grantaire expected none, and he grins (for what is the use of a grimace?), lowering himself to the table again.]

[He nods toward the bottle closest at hand.] Care to join me?