Juliette Coulombe (clearyourmind) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-01-09 08:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, juliette coulombe, pyr min |
Who: Juliette & Pyr
What: Snowball wars!
Where: Outside Lindwyrm Hall
When: This morning
Rating: PG
Status: Complete!
They had moved their spar into one of the indoor training rooms, which Juliette secretly found unfortunate. With so many people around, certain formalities of combat had had to be observed (though as always, there were a few ways to bend the traditional rules, at least). Still, despite the fact that the snow had stopped overnight, it was still up to mid-calf in the training yard, and the temperature was hovering a dozen degrees below freezing, so that even with her scarf wrapped high around her chin and mouth, the air coming into her lungs once she stepped outside was bitingly cold. They emerged into bright, glittering sunlight. Juliette squinted as she walked forward toward the gate. She had two hours before she was due at Bahamut. A hot tea, perhaps? Tea sounded quite pleasant. Perhaps she would invite Pyr to join― The thought cut off abruptly as something hit her in the back. She whirled around to see Pyr, gloved hands covered in a telltale sprinkling of white, grinning at her. Her first thought, tellingly, wasn’t to round on him with words or outrage (considering she’d thrown dirt in his face on a few occasions, it seemed a bit hypocritical) but rather to bend in a swift, smooth motion, form her own (lopsided, unpracticed) snowball and throw it back at him. Of all possible reactions, retaliation wasn’t what Pyr had expected, and the snowball―less heavy and compact than Sky or Conan’s―hit him on the shoulder before he could duck. At the impact, he laughed, delighted, and scooped up more snow, pressing it tightly into a ball with his hands. He took a couple of steps toward Juliette, and as she bent to take more snow to, he assumed, fend him off, he said, “You need to make your snowballs more compact, or it’s like you didn’t hit your target at all. Here, see.” He showed her the snowball in his hands, and demonstrated. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her face. The moment she started looking as though she believed he wasn’t going to attack right away, he clawed off the top of the snowball, pulled Juliette closer and shoved the snow underneath her scarf. Then, he ran, looking back to see the look on her face. She should have expected it. Should have, but for some reason, the snow hitting her skin was still a surprise. Pyr had gotten exactly what he wanted, it seemed, with her shocked squawk. It was cold. The fact that he offered something like instruction before accosting her in such a way would, she determined, be his undoing. Her next snowball was indeed more compact—and as he turned to check on her floundering (or so he undoubtedly hoped), she let it fly with all her strength, aimed at his stomach. She was already rounding on him as it hit, aiming to knock him over. If she was going to be cold and wet, so would he be. Pyr had only a moment to realize how dearly he was going to pay for his chosen diversionary tactic before he was flat on his back on the snow. The coat he wore, at least, kept him from getting soaked to the bone, but the cold was inescapable. Once he landed, he gathered a new snowball in his hand as best as he could to fend off Juliette, though he knew it would do him little good. The snow was too thick for him to regain his footing before she could move in to deal the coup de grace—and he desperately hoped she wasn’t going to take lessons from him in this as well. As he lay, he was the perfect target for a handful of snow down his clothes. Unfortunately for him, she wasn’t about to show mercy. Down the front of his jacket the snow went, and she couldn’t help her own laugh as she rolled off of him before he could try to pin her down and give her the same treatment (she would, after all, expect no less). Darting away, progress slowed by the deep snow, she dove behind an empty weapon rack. She needed a few moments to assemble her arsenal in a guarded location while he set himself to rights, lest she wind up with more snow under her collar. No one could ever blame her for poor grasp of tactics. Applying them to warfare in snow, well. She was going to have to improvise a little. The first snowball went flying in his general direction to discourage his advance. Juliette was a fast learner, he couldn’t deny her that. Her strategy was sound, but he was determined to make his years of experience count. He dodged her first shot and continued to advance toward her hiding place, ducking her onslaught as best he could. A couple of times, he wasn’t fast enough, but a few snowball hits were nothing compared to the agony of ice-cold snow melting underneath his clothes. A new projectile was ready in his hands, though he didn’t throw it yet; the time was not yet right. He’d need to act fast, however. Sneaking up to Juliette’s impromptu fortress before she had time to run away, he readied the snowball, grinning. Cover wasn’t much use if your opponent was standing next to you—and that was exactly what he intended. Before she could put some distance between them, he was standing by the weapons rack. Thrown point-blank, the snowball hit its mark perfectly, melting down the front of Juliette’s clothes. Pyr laughed. Her lack of experience slowed her down; she had not quite been ready to pounce on him as he approached, though she had to admit, the fact that most of his clothes were white from her attacks was pretty gratifying. She took the snowball to the chest but retaliated just as quickly with one of her own and shuffled back, the last of the stash of snowballs she had made still between her gloved palms. Her coat would keep her dry, more or less. As long as he didn’t get his hands on her, she would come out of this (mostly) victorious. “You look like a snowman,” she informed him, watching for his next move, ready to throw if he came closer. Pyr grinned. “Jealous?” In his hands, he held another snowball, ready to be deployed should Juliette start attacking. She very nearly threw the snowball at his face when he started advancing. Very nearly, but it was cold, she’d been molding it awhile, it was crusted with ice, and somehow ending this game with a split lip seemed something of a shame (even if ending a spar that way might be par for the course). “Not terribly,” she said. She feinted throwing the snowball at his head after all, changing trajectory at the last moment to get him in the shoulder, then ran. Not an easy task, in the snow, and she didn’t go far before Pyr reached out with his free hand and snagged her coat. Buttoned up to her neck as it was, she had no time to shed it before he pulled her down on her back. “That’s mean,” he said, not sounding at all upset, and tackled her before she could stand up. Snowball at the ready, he batted her hands away as she tried to defend herself from what she must know was coming, and he looked down at her as he gripped her collar, to gloat. And stopped, frozen in motion, snowball held as though he’d forgotten, for the briefest of seconds, what he was supposed to do with it. Juliette’s hands dropped to her sides as she stopped trying to push him off, and there was something about the way she looked he’d never noticed until― The shock of ice-cold snow smeared over the side of his face made him yelp. Before he could resume his attack—why had he stopped?―Juliette made use of the opening and threw him off. Oblivious to whatever was going on in his mind, and unwilling to bet on another stroke of such luck, Juliette backed away again. Just as she was considering how to take him down, however… He sneezed. Rather loudly. And then a second time ― and as if she was unwittingly imitating him, she followed suit. Her sneeze ended on something like a laugh. “If I get sick and miss training,” she said, “I am blaming you. And if you get sick and send your brother to run with Councilor Cassul, I am certain he will blame you, too.” She eyed him warily, but held out a hand. “Truce?” she suggested. That hot tea was sounding better and better. Perhaps after a hot shower. She still had time before she had to go to Bahamut, though not as much as she’d hoped. Pyr couldn't help a pang of disappointment, though he knew she was right. "Okay, I guess. Truce." He shook her offered hand, not yet dropping the snowball in his other hand (just in case it was a trick; she was proving to be a fast learner when it came to fighting dirty, too). She made no move to attack, however, and so after a moment he followed her, away from their impromptu battlefield and toward the guildhall. Every few steps he glanced at her, trying to figure out what had happened, but no answers were forthcoming. Another sneeze. Pyr rubbed his nose and huddled inside his cold-as-ice sweater. Whatever it had been, he could figure it out later. First, he needed to change before his next lesson. The alternative, having to do pushups in drenched clothes, did not bear thinking about. |