bakerstreet | I'm so tired of summer

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 ‧:❉:‧

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[if he's not happy about being in this stupid fucking situation, then what the fuck is she? it's not like she'd made a snowstorm happen, and it's not like she'd controlled whether she'd had to go to school earlier or when she could leave — and it's not like she'd asked to be stuck outside in it, the wind easily cutting through what layers she'd thought to throw on this morning.

("you should've worn a coat," had been the first thing out of cassian's mouth upon seeing her this morning, in that infuriating i'm so right about everything voice of his, and, in the immediate moment, she'd scoffed. then, she'd blithely informed him that not everyone's as big of a baby about the cold as he is before telling him to fuck off.

as her teeth chatter now, as she can barely feel her fingers and at least half of her arm, the memory comes back to her with a sinking realization that, actually, he had been right.

it's a realization that just makes her angrier.)

anyway, fuck everything — and especially fuck her fucking stepfather who's always trying to tell her what to do. just for good measure, she shakes the doorknob exactly four more times.

then, she whips her head around, looking up through narrowed eyes.]

You're supposed to have one, too. [turning her whole body away from the door at last, she drops her hand from the doorknob if only so she can fold her arms across her chest.] So where the fuck is it?

[like she wants to be here — and like she shoulders all the blame for this.]

Don't speak to me like that. [ And he gives that a second to sink in, though he does ultimately answer the question. ] It's on the side of a magnet about twice as strong as an MRI an hour away from here.

[ Krennic watches her fold her arms through narrowed blue eyes. He's cold too, but he'd expected a Lockheed to Pentagon to car to house trajectory with minimal time in between. Again, what's her excuse? ]

And where is your coat? You dress like some Victorian orphan.

[ It's the kind of thing Galen would follow up on, were he more attentive, but through no fault of his own, he isn't — so that, too, now falls on Krennic, who made a point of mentioning the windchill at breakfast this morning. It's her fault that she didn't listen. ]

Edited 2024-08-12 23:55 (UTC)

[another order. doesn't he ever get tired of giving orders? she'd be exhausted with herself in less than an hour if she had to live life as a pompous dickhead whose singular purpose is to treat everyone on earth like personal fucking minions.

she'll speak to him as she damn well pleases. and she'll respond as she damn well pleases, too, tossing back a flat,]

That sounds like your problem, then. Not mine.

[another cutting gust of wind blows through, unfortunately causing her to visibly shiver and her teeth to audibly chatter. as subtly as possible, she rubs her arms against herself in an attempt at finding some warmth.

it's ultimately futile, and causes her next comeback to not land as well as she'd like.]

I don't ask you why you dress like an asshole.

[god, she fucking hates her life.]

[ Well, kid, he's not too fond of the Air Force's shift to ACUs, either, but they're stuck with it, now aren't they? (And, of course, the so-called comeback falls pitifully flat, especially considering that it's not him dressing himself like an asshole and more... the United States government. She's capable of better than that.) ]

I didn't ask for your reason. I asked where your coat was.

[ But he's sure Galen won't be happy that she's out here shivering, and if she's cold for too long, she could end up with pneumonia, which would be expensive to treat and stressful for her father (Orson does not consider himself her father, regardless of the law's opinion on the matter) and a logistical nightmare where doctors' appointments are concerned, considering that both of the two parties in this household with driver's licenses work more than an hour from home.

All warm, fuzzy calculations running through his mind. ]

We can start a fire on the grill. Do you have a lighter?

[ It's truly a tonally neutral question: Orson Krennic is a disciplinarian, not a moralist. He stays out of it; if the kid wants to smoke cigarettes in the girls' room until her lungs rot, let her. It's not his business. And, as long as she doesn't come home reeking of marijuana or make a show of it in places where she might be associated with either of the two of them, if she wants to hit a mediocre blunt under the bleachers with that Andor kid, that's fine, too. He did worse at her age and went on to become an architectural engineer. ]

[he can ask, and she can just not answer. it's a free fucking country — which isn't something he can argue with when he's up the military's ass, now can he? that's the exact kind of shit all those people at those work functions she sometimes gets dragged to say.

instead of answering, she rolls her eyes in front of him, directly in his line of sight. it's a display, see, of how much respect she actually has for that fucking question.

that much, though, has distracted her from her efforts not to shiver, and so, before long, it's uncontrollable; even rubbing her own arms isn't working anymore. if this is how she dies, it would be truly stupid. it —

takes a moment for jyn to drag herself out of her own thoughts, and actually comprehend this question. there's a reflexive answer, the lie of no that saves her detentions, which she finds her mouth half-forming before she clamps it down.

(that doesn't do anything to silence her chattering teeth.)

she fumbles around in the front pocket of her hoodie with half-frozen fingers (it would help, probably, to wear more than fingerless gloves in the future, on days like this) for almost a solid minute, until she produces a lighter. wordlessly, while still keeping her other arm tightly tucked to her chest, she holds it out to orson.]

[ She rolls her eyes at him again but she also does produce a lighter, as she damn well should, considering that there's no way she didn't have one on her and he knew that when he asked. Orson takes it and puts it in the pocket of his ACU jacket. ]

Thank you. Grab some twigs on the way.

[ As they walk around the side of the house, or—trudge, really, through two feet of snow, Orson carries a yellow plastic snowshovel over his shoulder, which he uses to unentrench the gate to the back yard enough to wedge it open when they get there. He has to use a good amount of force to pull the thing open against the resistance of what snow he wasn't able to remove, but he manages it, slipping through first and trudging to the sheltered back porch, sure to hold the railing as he climbs the steps even despite the decent tread on the soles of his sorely-out-of-place desert tan tactical boots. ]

There's ice on the steps. Be careful.

[ It would serve her right if she slipped and busted her ass, wearing shoes that impractical on a day with a snowstorm forecast, but she could break a rib or something if she fell down those steps, raising the same issues as potentially contracting pneumonia. She's truly his charge for now, with absolutely no assistance from Galen whatsoever. Naturally this would happen during an absolutely miserable ordeal.

The grill is there, untouched—they're two gay men in their late forties working full time an hour away from the house, who the hell in this household would be grilling anything, though they do still have one, albeit just a small portable thing with no mechanization (wedding gift). There are still charcoals in there when he removes the lid; the whole thing has maybe been used once. Fortunately, the accompanying bag of briquettes and methanol lighter fluid are there still, and it'd have to be a lot colder than this to freeze methanol.

Krennic drags the grill backwards, away from the edge of the porch and closer to the house, then pulls up two of the chairs sitting against the wall of the house and circles back for the briquettes and lighter fluid. He sits, holds out his hand expectantly for the kindling he's asked her to collect while following behind him. ]

I'm so tired of summer

i'm going to fucking cry

(krennic voice) style is a STRONG word, jyn...

she is ✨expressing herself✨

auch jyn somebody has broken into your closet and cut off the bottom half of this green day tee shir

no subject

grilling and smoking meats is heterosexual culture to him