spiritofwinter: (melancholy | emo kid)
Jack Frost ([personal profile] spiritofwinter) wrote in [community profile] bigapplesauce2016-04-17 02:20 pm

A Real Good Storm (Event: Snow Day) (open)

The snowball fight with Greta and Iman has revitalized Jack. It's December, and by all rights this is his season. He just needs to get his head back in the game; he knows for a fact that Manhattan can be tons of fun in a snowstorm. Now's the time to start, too -- with a little luck and a little nudge to the clouds here and there he could stretch a Tuesday night flurry into a Wednesday snow day.

The few people who can see Jack might catch glimpses of him hurtling through the sky late in the afternoon of December 3, whooping up a storm. Literally whooping up a storm, it turns out; aside from all the joyous yelling there's a definite chill in the air as clouds form and snow starts to fall, slowly blanketing the city in fluffy white.

Or…not so slowly. Jack's standing atop a low-rise building, surveying his work, when he realizes that something isn't right. The gentle but steady snowfall is picking up now, and a harsh gust of wind makes him clutch at his cane as it nearly knocks him off the rooftop. It only gets worse from there: as the afternoon wears on the clouds continue to gather and darken, the wind goes from a few gusts to a constant howling force battering against the city, and the snowfall comes so thick and fast that one can't even see across the street. By morning the city will be at a standstill, buried under the snow.


[And thus starts the Snow Day event! Due to the severity of the weather, characters will be unable to completely ignore this event, but anyone with a decent stock of supplies can simply wait it out at home. Otherwise, feel free to have the power go out at your character's residence, strand them on the wrong side of the city, etc. The weather will warm up throughout December 4 (April 18-21 in real time), leaving tons of slush for the next several IC days.

Please feel free to use this post for threads or to make your own. All threads that take place during the event should be tagged "event: snow day".
]
andhiswife: (neutral - in the woods)

[for Rashad]

[personal profile] andhiswife 2016-04-17 09:07 pm (UTC)(link)
Greta's wardrobe update came not a moment too soon, it seems. By evening, the weather isn't fit for man or beast. But when Ruckus stands by the door and lets out a pointed whine, Greta sighs and starts to pull on her things. The weather might be nasty, but it won't take long, and they won't go far. It'll be a sort of test run for her new coat.

"We're making this quick," she informs the dog just before they head out into the storm.

The wind is so bad that it almost tears her hat right off of her head, and Greta has to hastily clap it in place with her free hand. She ends up executing a whooping, windswept spin on the ice-slicked sidewalk before she finds her feet again, and then she looks down at Ruckus. She had half a mind to say something a bit snide - look what you've gotten us into - but the dog is hunched against the gale and already looking a bit miserable. No need to pile it on.

"Come on," Greta says gamely, shuffling down the sidewalk. Ruckus shakes herself off, then trots alongside the drift that's piling up at the edge of their building, nose to the ground. Greta turns away - knowing how intelligent the dog is, it seems rather rude to watch - and instead looks up at the streetlights. Their glow seems reduced in the storm, the light scattered by all the snowflakes whipping past. She can barely make out the far side of Park Avenue. Beyond that, the city may as well not exist.

She glances back at Ruckus, frowning to see the dog still snuffling about in the snow. "We were going to make this quick," she says pointedly, raising her voice a little to be heard over the wind. The dog ignores her in favor of shoving her head deeper into the drift, and Greta's frown deepens. "What are you doing?" she asks, toddling over to see what has the dog so intrigued.
omnomnom_feels: (calculating | mood lighting)

[personal profile] omnomnom_feels 2016-04-17 09:19 pm (UTC)(link)
There is nowhere for him to go, and so he does not go anywhere when the snow picks up. Perhaps it would have been better to take shelter underground, but the weather is extraordinarily unlikely to kill him no matter how severe. He will wait this out; eventually the storm, like all things, will pass.

Anyway, this is what the people of this city want from him: his suffering. He has been made able to suffer, therefore it must be his new purpose.

Rashad's body temperature has dropped to a point that ought to be dangerously low now that he has stopped bothering to clear the snow off of himself. He sits in darkness, mind foggy and limbs leaden, and at first he does not notice the damp nose pressing against his arm. It comes again, more insistent, and Rashad wakens enough to sluggishly raise a bluish hand from the drift and push the animal back.
andhiswife: (indignant)

[personal profile] andhiswife 2016-04-17 10:09 pm (UTC)(link)
What, is there a rat under there or something? The dog ought to be too sensible to get distracted by something so trivial in weather like this. When a hand emerges from the snowbank, Greta lets out a shriek of surprise, overbalances, and ends up falling to the sidewalk with a bump. There's a person in there?!

She gapes at the hand as it withdraws back into the drift. For a moment, she imagines being a typical city dweller: the sort of person who would just pretend not to have seen this, tug their dog along, and hurry home. The appeal is, to her shame, undeniable.

But she is not a typical city dweller. Greta gets up into a crouch and edges up to the drift, brushing away at the snow. "Um, I--are you all right? Can you--" she stops abruptly, her throat seizing around in the rest of the question as a familiar face is finally revealed. She snatches her hand back, her mouth moves soundlessly, and then she says, "You," her tone caught somewhere between astonishment and disgust.

She could have gone without ever seeing Rashad again. Having him turn up in a snowbank is the last thing she would have expected. He's an otherworldly creature with enough strength to dent an elevator door; surely protecting himself from the elements isn't too tall an order. "What are you doing out here?" she asks. Lying in wait so he can suck the emotions out of any passing pedestrians? Ugh.
omnomnom_feels: (calculating | interested)

[personal profile] omnomnom_feels 2016-04-18 03:49 am (UTC)(link)
Surprise? There's surprise and fear nearby, too defined to be the dog. Rashad retreats his hand back to his side. Perhaps he ought to move. It seems like it would require a great deal of effort, though. Easier to wait here until the snow finishes falling and then melts around him. He cannot feel the hand he extended. Likely there is a great deal of frostbite over his body by now.

He blinks slowly, struggling to clear his eyes of snow. "Oh," he says sluggishly. Then there is a pause as he attempts to remember the answer to her question. "Waiting," he finally concludes.
andhiswife: (taken aback)

[personal profile] andhiswife 2016-04-18 04:02 am (UTC)(link)
Ugh. He looks a mess. She thought she already knew what he looked like at his worst - hard to top writhing on the floor and squalling like a toddler - but this is different. It's more like he's hurt, or drastically weakened.

What might he do to strengthen himself? Feed off some hapless pedestrian until it's them lying in the snow, in a senseless heap? He might kill someone that way.

He might kill her that way.

It's just Rashad. He's done horrid things in her presence. She owes him nothing. The storm hasn't killed him yet; he might very well survive it if left to his own devices. Some bitter little part of her adds: and so what if he didn't? Nobody would miss him, probably.

But he looks rather pathetic just sitting there. Whatever strength he has, it doesn't seem to be enough to stave off frostbite. Is she really going to just walk away and leave him here? What would that make her?

Ugh.

Greta takes a slow, careful breath, endeavoring to feel nothing worth taking (just in case he is feeling peckish). "What are you waiting for?" she asks.
Edited 2016-04-18 04:12 (UTC)

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singthesong: (Lift)

[for Steven and later Jack]

[personal profile] singthesong 2016-04-17 10:08 pm (UTC)(link)
In the morning, the snowfall is light and beautiful. The Balladeer was delighted by it, and more eager to go out and busk than he's been in a while. Cold fingers can make playing difficult, but he's never seen real snow before! All the songs make it sound so wonderful! It's worth a little bit of chill. He was worried that it might be too cold for Steven, who's used to living on the beach, but he was excited to come along as well. He brought his own warm clothes, and the Balladeer recently bought some of his own, so it's not like they're unprepared. If they need to, they'll just head home early!

It all starts off well. Parkgoers seem to be enjoying the winter weather too, and they like seeing musicians braving the cold. The Balladeer's distracted by the fun he's having - and, of course, the gathering dark clouds don't immediately strike him as a problem anyway. That's just what the sky always looks like when it snows, right?

But eventually, the crowds thin out into nothing more than a few odd passers-by, hurrying along with worried glances upwards. He's not experienced with meteorology, but the Balladeer can sense a distressed populace a mile away. He follows their gaze. The flakes are coming down harder. He hadn't thought much of that before. "Hey, maybe we should start packing it in," he ventures. People's instincts about things are often right.
cheeseburger_backpack: (concern)

[personal profile] cheeseburger_backpack 2016-04-17 10:34 pm (UTC)(link)
Maybe the gathering clouds should have worried Steven. He's more familiar with thunderstorms than snowstorms, but when things start to get darker than normal, that's usually bad news. The Balladeer doesn't seem worried, though, and they're having fun. It feels like things are finally getting back to normal, and Steven doesn't want to call it a day when they're having such a good time. It might be colder than he's ever been in Beach City, but he's well-dressed. He can handle it!

Then again, there's not much point in busking now that everyone's headed indoors. Steven gives the sky a dubious look, then nods. "Okay." He unzips his ukulele case, and the wind almost snatches it out of his hand. "Hey!" he says, half scolding and half impressed. He'd better do this quick. Back to the wind, he hurriedly gets his ukulele zipped into its case, then slings it securely across his back. "This is pretty bad, huh?" he guesses, pulling his mittens out of his pockets. He's never been in a snowstorm before, and he's not sure if the cold bothers him as much as it should, but the wind is really starting to whip the snow around, and the flakes sting when they hit his cheeks.
singthesong: (Horizon)

[personal profile] singthesong 2016-04-17 11:18 pm (UTC)(link)
"Seems that way." The guitar case is much sturdier, so the Balladeer has no trouble with his own instrument. His brow creases as he watches the wind whip at Steven. But the boy doesn't seem all that concerned - if the Balladeer had to guess, he seems half-entertained by the temerity of it.

He straightens, shifting the case's weight on his shoulder so that he can pull on his gloves. The cold is biting at every inch of exposed skin, and he's very grateful for his scarf. He's never been this cold before in his life. That's not a very high bar to clear, though; it doesn't mean much on its own. "Does it ever snow in Beach City?" he asks, and has to raise his voice to be heard over the wind. Well, the city's windy on the best of days. He suspects it's to do with all the skyscrapers.
cheeseburger_backpack: (smile - exposition)

[personal profile] cheeseburger_backpack 2016-04-18 12:18 am (UTC)(link)
Steven pulls his hat down more snugly around his ears, then shakes his head. "It rained, and it got kind of chilly sometimes, but-" a gust of wind hits, and he has to lean into it to keep from losing his balance. He lets out a startled laugh. "This is bananas!" he says appreciatively. "Beach City definitely doesn't have storms like this!"

But hey, it's not so bad once you get used to it. He trudges up to the Balladeer, using one mittened hand to fend off the worst of the wind. At least he can mostly keep it from blowing into his eyes. "It'll probably be okay down in the subway, though."

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wildmage_daine: (polar bear calm)

Open to Multiple

[personal profile] wildmage_daine 2016-04-18 05:44 pm (UTC)(link)
Daine is actually enjoying herself - as much as anyone could, in weather like this. For the first time since she learned it, her polar bear shape feels as if it's getting a workout. She sits on her rump in the middle of the otherwise deserted sheep meadow. The snow hides her well; it's falling so thick and fast that folk probably wouldn't be able to spot a fire truck until they walked into it. There's little danger of a white bear being spotted so long as she avoids lumbering across any roads.

She lifts her nose to the wind, unperturbed by the snow piling up on her windward side. This shape is marvelously suited to this sort of weather. Hunting in it might be a bother, but she could stay out here for hours without feeling the cold. Her nose catches something interesting, and she heaves herself up to investigate.

[ooc: Daine's going to be puttering around in assorted cold-weather shapes. If any rifties are in need of an escort back to their residences, Daine would be happy to help! Hit me up if interested. It would be easy to arrange her finding someone just about anywhere.]
Edited 2016-04-18 18:04 (UTC)
boneshaker: (oh shi)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-04-23 04:19 am (UTC)(link)
How did this happen? One minute the sky was relatively clear - well, cloudy, but not unloading the frozen hell of a thousand winters. He'd thought he could handle a bit of snowfall, but it picked up so ridiculously fast, now he's trudging through knee-high pile-up, the wind biting straight through his thin clothes, visibility at absolute zero. He has no idea where he is. Somewhere in the park, maybe? He already has a shoddy sense of direction in this new city, and now there is no hope of getting his bearings. He tries to fumble around with the map function on his phone for a bit, but his fingers are too frozen to be of use, and he can barely read the screen. He pockets the device again and keeps trudging. Maybe he'll come across a building he can stumble into. Those are everywhere, right? Except in this enormous fuck-off park.

He's starting to get sluggish, starting to worry that he might actually die of exposure out here, when he sees a flicker of movement against the snow that almost seems like - well, not snow. He's not sure what it was. He stands absolutely still, letting it get a little closer, before he realizes-

"Oh holy shit," he breathes, barely able to hear himself over the blustery wind. "Oh fuck. Oh shit."

It is a god damn bear.

These ones are supposed to be extinct. But there it is, staring him down. If he wasn't already freezing his extremities off his blood would be running cold.

He takes a sharp step back; the snow greets his foot with heavy resistance and he almost falls backwards. He just barely manages to flip himself over and takes off at a run that is not as nearly as fast as it needs to be. He shouldn't even be running. What, is he asking this runaway fucking goddamn polar bear to chase him at top bear speed? He's not thinking straight. Delirious. Staggering through the snow like a drunken fugitive. He chances a look behind him. It is chasing him. Lumbering heavily through the snow like it's nothing. Oh god oh god oh god.
wildmage_daine: (polar bear roar)

[personal profile] wildmage_daine 2016-04-23 06:26 pm (UTC)(link)
She thought she smelled someone, but it's still a shock when she sees him. He's not even close to being dressed for weather like this, and he looks as if he's been wandering through the storm for far too long. Well, he'd have to have been, just to make it this far into the Park in these conditions. Mithros, he must be half-dead by now.

Daine hurries towards him, and is, at first, bewildered to see him turn and attempt to run away. What's possessed him? Does he really think he's going to make it out of here without help? It isn't until she opens her mouth to call out to him and produces an ursine grunt that Daine realizes her mistake. She's in bear shape. Of course he's terrified of her.

She lets out a huff of impatience at her own stupidity, but keeps after him. If she loses him now, he might die. She reshapes her mouth enough for speech, then calls out, "Wait! I'm not truly a bear!" Her voice echoes oddly through this massive body, and the wind snatches at her words, but hopefully he can still understand her. "I want to help!"
boneshaker: (thousand yards)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-04-24 05:29 am (UTC)(link)
Did that bear. Just talk. Is he actually losing his mind? He couldn't quite make out the words, something about 'bear' and 'help', but he's pretty sure they actually came from the bear.

It doesn't much matter either way, because his foot sticks and he falls straight down, faceplanting into the snow. He lies there, too tired and cold to get back up. He might die here. Maybe dying by bear is better than by snow. Or maybe the bear wants to help him?

Maybe one of the rifties is a talking fucking bear. It's not impossible. It is, however, getting really hard to think straight.

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erratic_hematic: (frustrated)

...a million years later

[personal profile] erratic_hematic 2016-05-14 09:39 am (UTC)(link)
Spike is hugging what looks a large bag from a department store to his chest and pushing his way through what, moments ago, seemed like a manageable storm. He definitely shouldn't have cut through the park. He's vaguely aware of where the path is supposed to be, but there doesn't seem to be much sense in following it when it and everything else is covered in the same layer of snow. Where he can he's cutting straight across towards the apartment building. Or rather...the direction he's fairly sure the apartment building was in before visibility dropped down and he got turned around.

He feels cold, and his movements are getting stiffer as he goes. He doesn't really need body heat to function, but without it each motion he makes is more difficult. It's a bit ridiculous, he thinks, to be hauling an electric blanket through the snow and not even be able to use it. But this was for Sunshine, and he doesn't want do disappoint her or frighten her by not showing up again.

He presses on, but not without grumbling to himself. "Maybe I'll just lie down and wait to pop up in Spring like a bloody daisy."
wildmage_daine: (polar bear calm)

... with Starbucks!

[personal profile] wildmage_daine 2016-05-14 08:35 pm (UTC)(link)
It's not easy to track anything in these conditions, but Daine isn't deterred - both because this is the best possible shape for it, and because there's a tinge of blood on the air that makes her worried someone's gone an injured themselves. This storm is hard enough to navigate for a healthy two-legger. If someone's wounded, they'll need help for sure.

The wind drops for a few moments (probably just gathering itself for a really terrible gust), and that's when Daine spots him. Her startled huff ghosts in the cold air. She knows him. It's that fellow from the roof - Bee's friend. Spike, right?

If it's their building he's aiming for, he's gone off course.

Daine reshapes her mouth. "Spike?" she guesses.
erratic_hematic: (holy shit)

[personal profile] erratic_hematic 2016-05-15 12:27 am (UTC)(link)
The sound of his name draws his attention, but when he looks up from his trudge through the snow he definitely isn't expecting a polar bear. He lets out a startled yelp and take a few hurried steps backward, then falls back into the snow. Because he's still holding onto his bag, he hits the ground hard, sinking deep into the snow. Some snow falls into his lap, but at least his jacket is keeping his arse dry. Small mercies.

It belatedly occurs to him that if the bear is talking to him, it's probably not an actual bear. "You must be the shapeshifter. I still want to have that sparring session." ...but definitely not today. Right now he just wants to take a moment to sit in the snow and feel like an idiot.

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andhiswife: (oh dear)

[personal profile] andhiswife 2016-05-03 02:39 am (UTC)(link)
Greta's had a longer night than usual (though nothing compared to Jack's). Although Rashad's been gone for several hours, she hasn't slept all that well between the sound of the storm and a broad, impotent worry for all of her friends who aren't here in the building and accounted for. She never even bothered dressing for bed, instead opting to doze fitfully on the couch with her phone within easy reach.

The thud is loud enough to partially rouse her, and Ruckus takes care of the rest of it, letting out a sharp, suspicious huff of air that's closer to a cough than a bark. Greta lifts her head, blinking her eyes into focus as the dog trots over to the door and snuffles at the cracks. By the time Ruckus whines in a manner that means it's a friend on the other side, Greta's heaving herself to her feet.

A quick prod of her phone confirms that no one's texted her. Iman would just let herself in, and Steven or the Balladeer would knock properly. Who could be out there? Greta opens the door, then lets out a soft, surprised, "Oh!"

It's Jack. Thank goodness; she'd been worried about him especially. But why didn't he just knock on the window? Her brow furrows as she realizes how tired he looks - more than tired, really. Exhausted. Has he been out in the storm all night long?

"Jack..." She reaches out to take his arm. "Are you all right?"
andhiswife: (baroo)

[personal profile] andhiswife 2016-05-03 03:00 am (UTC)(link)
"Of course," she says before he's even finished asking. "Come inside." The poor lad. Even for a wintery sort, that can't have been an easy night.

She ushers him into the apartment and straight over to the couch. "I don't suppose you got any rest out there," she says with a sympathetic wince. "Is there anything I can get you?" She's got the impression that he doesn't strictly need to eat, drink, or sleep, but that doesn't necessarily mean he couldn't - or that it wouldn't do him good, given the unusual circumstances.

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james_t: (Default)

(for Johnny)

[personal profile] james_t 2016-05-15 03:56 am (UTC)(link)
Jim is tucking a couple books under his arm at the Yorkville Library when a gust of wind rattles at the main doors loud enough to draw the attention of everyone on the first floor. He sets his books down and walks over to look out, a few others trailing after him to do the same.

"Doesn't look too safe out there." The snow is piling up faster than he's ever seen and visibility is dropping in a way that makes him think he'd be lost three minutes out the door. It hadn't taken him very long to walk here, but going back to the apartment building now might be a dangerous proposition for a while yet. A few moments later, one of the librarians receives a phone call that confirms his thought. Because of the severity of the storm and because public transport is down, they're going to be a makeshift shelter until the storm lets up.

A brief announcement is made, and Jim herds the remaining people looking out of the windows back, then makes a few suggestions to the librarians about how he can help out. A few minutes later he's hauling out bottled water and bags of chips and arranging them out on one of the study tables. One box he keeps stuffed with a little of both and makes his way around to the people sitting nervously listening to the storm. He chats with an elderly woman for a little while, helps her find her medication in her purse, then moves on to the next person. It's actually kind of fun, he thinks, that the storm has given him the opportunity to talk to all of these people.
johnny_truant: (bewildered)

[personal profile] johnny_truant 2016-05-17 05:11 am (UTC)(link)
Johnny visits libraries somewhat frequently, but it's a compulsive habit more than a thing to do. He goes in, wanders to a couple different sections (both Fiction and Non-Fiction - Na, Tr, Za), and when he's satisfied it isn't anywhere, he leaves. It's not just libraries that get this treatment, it's bookshops both corporate and individually-owned, coffee shops that have little mini-libraries, and, when he has occasion, the personal bookshelves of other people. It's just what he does.

He checks the internet periodically as well, but there's no reference he can find to Will Navidson, Karen Green, Zampanò, or himself. Nothing about The Navidson Record or the existence of an Ash Tree Lane, much less a house on it. No Whalestoe Institute and certainly no Pelafina.

This is all good, and expected. His universe is somewhere else far away, presumably circling its own drain. His book still in circulation, or maybe it finally died. But he can't help but check. It got worse after he met the Balladeer, who actually seemed to know about it - knowing that it was just sensing what was in his head didn't really make it better, though it should have. The possibility still exists, he knows this, the Rift could change things at any time, or the book could still be somewhere without any references online. It's not like he could find anything about those people or works in his own world (don't think about it don't think about it) - and the book still existed. One never knows.

He doesn't want some poor rift-yorker staggering upon that shitstorm and getting sucked into it just like he did. So he looks. He looks, knowing that if he ever finds a copy, he will steal it, burn it, and never mention it to anyone.

This is what he's just finished doing - another search turned up empty, but he's been to this library a few times and the routine is almost soothing at this point - when he heads back toward the front doors and realizes what's going on. It had just started snowing when he'd come in, and now it's already piled up so high they can't open the doors. Holy shit. No. Fuck. Libraries are one of the actual last places he wants to be trapped. He immediately pulls his phone out of his pocket, but the signal is never good in here and the battery's nearly dead from the effort of staying connected - and of course there's no signal at all in this weather. Like being back in the fucking stone age, that is 1999.

Fortunately prayer is still an option, even if it feels a little ridiculous to use it when he's so close to home and essentially just wants to get picked up - but he's interrupted before he forms the thought. He's just noticed the man who seems to have taken command of the situation, moving from person to person and seeing to each of them personally like the kind of hokey do-gooder Johnny would normally sneer at.

It's Captain fucking Kirk.

He remembers meeting Kirk, all of a sudden, in a dream long ago - only a scrap of a memory, one of them might have awakened before they got very far, but it definitely happened, and he was a starstruck little imbecile. And now here he is, poor guy, looks like the Rift finally snapped him up.

Okay. That changes things. He slips his phone back into his pocket and sets aside the idea of calling Gabe. If there's a single person in all of fiction or history he thinks he could handle being in a disaster with, it's Captain Kirk. Provided he's not a redshirt, which actually he might be, but that's what prayer is for, right? Exactly.

He tries not to smile too much when he goes over. He's still feeling some generalized unease over the whole situation, so his glee is almost manic; he doesn't want to freak the guy out, remembering all too well how fucking weird it was when Eliot told Spike about being from a TV show. If Kirk remembers him, it'll complicate things a bit, but he can gloss over that, probably.

"Hey," he says, casually as he can. "You in charge here?"
james_t: (hay)

[personal profile] james_t 2016-05-19 05:49 am (UTC)(link)
"Gwen and Ian are in charge," he gestures back towards the front desk while he hands over a back of chips to a young woman. "They're the librarians. I'm just helping out-" When he turns around, Jim is struck for a moment with the thought that he's met this man before. He's silent for just a moment before he remembers himself and continues. Besides his odd familiarity, the man seems a little on edge- maybe feeling claustrophobic about being trapped in the building.

He readjusts the box in his arms, then tips it forward a bit in offering. "Take some water and something to eat. There's plenty for everyone." He examines the man's face while he makes a decision, trying to place where he's seen it before, but the answer still doesn't come to him. He doesn't know where to start fishing for that information yet without possibly worrying the man, so instead he decides to see if he can figure out what's bothering him first. "Sure is a hell of a storm out there."
Edited 2016-05-19 05:59 (UTC)
johnny_truant: (mr suave)

[personal profile] johnny_truant 2016-05-23 04:40 pm (UTC)(link)
Johnny can't tell if Kirk recognizes him or not - there was a little hesitation, but that could mean anything. Johnny's used to that reaction. He takes a bottle of water and a bag of crackers as directed.

"Yeah, it's nuts," he says, then holds the bag in his teeth while he uncaps the bottle. He takes a swig and gives Kirk a probably too-friendly smile. "I'm not built for this weather. I mean look at me." He's still wearing his thin-ass hoodie and skinny jeans. "I've lived my whole life in LA so... I haven't even seen snow before. Not like this."

There, that's a step toward the whole coded "new in town" conversation rifties always end up having. He opens his snack bag and starts eating, still eyeing Kirk with mildly inappropriate excitement.

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