bakerstreet | ( let it snow )

❄ 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

[ It isn't the first time reconnaissance takes a turn for disaster, and likely it won't prove the last. They've drenched, the wind won't yield for hours, and whatever hope he'd misplaced in their odds of finding lived shelter weren't long to linger. Northward. He should have known better than to take them Northward, not with the locals so begrudging of the cold season, not with such a timid knowledge of the lay of the land. Arrogance, he is reminded with every claustrophobic moment of being grounded, is rewarded.

He doesn't question how or why they've come upon a deserted cabin in the middle of white wasteland; certainly, he doesn't ask what might have driven the inhabitants away - knows, immediately, that it must have been snow and the unending cold. This same cold living in his bones. But it gives a roof over their heads, the door will hold, the walls are strong oak. It'll do.

He should be kinder, when he shoves Reyson in, but he's long lost the patience and inclination to abide the inevitable talk: they will take the empty cabin, lack of ownership be damned, and they will be the happier for it. ]

You've slept in worse.

[ As apologies go, this sounds poor even to his ear. ]

As the trek had continued, his wings had begun to feel ever heavier, and even the thick clothing he had wrapped around himself failed to keep the cold from creeping into Reyson's fingers and toes. It was at times like this that he remembered the old days when, falling behind a flock of seemingly tireless Hawks, he bitterly regretted that the Goddess had not blessed him with the strength he wished for so desperately.

He felt some of that regret now, although that was quickly swept aside by a wave of indignance at being shoved into the cabin. Much of the snow that had collected on the outer plane of his wings dislodged, falling to the floor with a dull, indifferent thump. If left alone, it would no doubt melt and pool. Beorc dwellings were designed to keep the weather out, not deal with it once it was already inside.

"I certainly have," he said, irritated. Why take out their frustrations on him? "But unless you plan on bringing the entire winter in here with you, next time kindly let me enter on my own two feet." He did his best to sweep the snow back outside with his wings, though they felt clumsy with cold.

"Request noted," he hissed, every sliver of obstinacy within him at war against the notion that a show of regret wasn't only appropriate, but due. Diplomacy had always been his lesser skill, and he rebelled against it, lightning-quick to mete Reyson half a grin's worth of sharp teeth.

"Welcome to your evening's humble abode," he introduced with the mock-bow of a courtier's grace. Unlike his companion, he gave no thought to the snow - it would fall where it pleased, outsides their confines or within them - and turned instead to walk the room, scavenging for remains: little by way of furniture, a desk, candle, rusted blades and worn blankets. Food, he admitted, would have made too great a gift. But he was a deft hand at trades, and with this in arsenal he could buy Reyson a tolerable night's sleep. Good. Excellent.

His eyes lost their steel. "You'll be fine once you dry."

If Reyson was impressed by Tibarn's display, he certainly didn't show it. He met Tibarn's gaze with clear eyes, despite the exhaustion.

"You sound more like Naesala than the Hawk King," he said simply. "Get some rest, Tibarn."

It was obvious that he needed it. Reyson himself took up a spot in the corner, folding his wings up over himself and fluffing up his feathers to trap as much warmth as possible. He could sleep standing up.

Trust Reyson to find just the implied insult to put him in place. He laughed, nodding once to acknowledge the scolding, before meeting the nearest window. Beyond it, too much white for his comfort.

"Give me an hour," he whispered absently, arms drawing to cross over his chest. There was no explicit need to stand guard, but between their weather, their travel, and the newness of their... accommodations, too many of his nerves stood on edge. "Catch your sleep."

Reyson nodded, then closed his eyes, slipping into a kind of fitful half-doze. Outside, the snow continued to fall.

He dreamt of Serenes Forest.

( let it snow )

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