[SWP] we just wanna have fun?

[Random Events]

if there's any to be had

The snow shows no sign of slowing anytime soon. All day and all night it rages, the flurries falling hard and fast. Visibility is severely limited, and going out into the desert where it is the roughest might seem a death wish. The snow drifts are now deep enough to swallow even Torstein alive. And they move much like the sands of the desert, their dunes constantly rolling and shifting and piling up against the walls of the capitol. 

The temperatures, too, continue to plummet. Solterra, once the warmest part of Novus, is now known as the coldest. Finding warmth is difficult, and the already scarce desert food has now become even harder to find. This winter wonderland is quickly beginning to wear on the residents of the Day Court, finding themselves unprepared for such an extreme storm. 

There’s a section of the capitol that provides shelter from the blizzard; the snow continues to fall, but the walls block it so that it scatters gently across the ground. A gathering has started - composed primarily of children, but their laughter and joy has begun to attract other faces.

Many of the horses here have never seen snow before. They begin to explore it, cautiously at first, then with more enthusiasm. A few have tried eating it, others have flopped down and begun rolling in it, and others shy away from its cool touch. 

Will you join in, or are you above such childish play?

 

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[Acton]

Acton was in high spirits.

He did not yet know just what kind of disaster was wreaking its havoc on Novus; he had not yet made his way back through the snowblind canyon with Rhoswen’s help, and found the destruction of Denocte.

Instead he had spent a very enjoyable and not wholly inebriated evening in the company of Bexley Briar, and woken to a white-washed world. It was novel; Acton was no stranger to snow but to see it in the desert made him feel like a colt, like he had the first time he’d ever seen it.

Words like plague and disaster were still far from his mind.

And so he did not much hesitate before joining the youths in their sheltered place, where the snow was only hock-deep and it feel gently, soundlessly, like a wondrous thing and not a terrible one. Bexley was off doing something official, and for a moment the buckskin only watched the foals and yearlings, grinning at their testing, rolling, learning.

There was something he was waiting for, something he knew they’d inevitably figure out – and at last it happened, an older sorrel colt shaping the snow into a round clump, waiting until a back was turned – and pelting his pinto friend full in the back of the head.

For Acton that was invitation enough. Silently he formed his own snowball, packing it into a dense circle with his magic, hefting it into the air --

“Hey kid,” he called, and launched his attack.

NOT YET CORPSES
STILL, WE ROT

SNOWBALL FIGHT

[Eik]

The street urchins of Solterra are hardy and mischievous. They are the sort of children that grow up wild and fearless, scrambling up canyon walls like little mountain goats in the morning and pilfering trinkets from the markets in the evening. Alone they are a nuisance. Working together, they are truly something to be feared. Their greatest strength, aside from numbers, is that they know the city even better than Eik and his endlessly wandering legs, for every street child must be capable of disappearing when trouble comes knocking.

Today they ought to be inside keeping warm, which means, of course, they are not.

He cannot blame them. Watching the children test the snow, Eik is reminded of the first time he had seen the Mors. Never in his life had he seen a desert- sand as far as the eye could see, and then some. He dug at it with his hooves like a dog who wants to bury a bone, although at the time he had nothing to give up to the sands.

(The giving would come later, later, in blood and hope and soul-- but that story has not yet written itself)

He turns silently from the slowly growing crowd and begins to continue on his way when-- splat!-- an errant snowball misses its (very much adult) buckskin target and hits the emissary in the butt. Eik turns his head and blinks in dumb surprise when another flies past his face, nearly smacking him in the nose.

"Hey," he growls angrily. It is difficult to keep a straight face as the pinto child freezes with a guilty expression, wide eyes looking for a place to run and hide. Eik stares him down with ears pinned to his skull, buying time as he subtly and hastily shapes a lumpy ball of snow at his feet. "Your aim is horrible." His snowball breaks into clumps mid-flight and has the unintentional effect of showering not just the pied colt but his friends next to him.

Well shit. The rapidly growing gang of children sets their sights on the grey, who scrambles behind a wall for cover as he hastily packs more snowballs. They have set off some sort of war of child versus adult, and the adults are terribly outnumbered. The colorful buckskin is taking shot after shot, and a small pack of kids have broken off to flank Eik. "C'mon, help us out," he encourages (in his own, gentle way) the grown ups around them. "I'm rubbish at this," he mutters to himself as another of his projectiles falls to pieces mid-flight. His aim is golden, but his snowballs are pathetic.

*
I have let myself go where the dust
E     I    K
Has the color of nothing

art by Footybandit

@Acton and any!