The Black Pot

Balthier feels a bit belated on the subject, but since the current one is something he'd have to think on, especially after the other opinions had been made, he decided he'd just go ahead and mention his bit on snowmen. A much lighter subject, at least, lighter for himself.

"In Archades, it doesn't often snow enough to build anything from it. A quick jaunt to Bur-Omisace, however, quickly could solve that problem. Paramina and the surrounding area is doubtlessly in excess of snow. Thick enough even so one might not see the Emperor Aevis stalking them in the storm. Needless to say, I wasn't often there, much less long enough to build something." Balthier explains, sounding mildly amused at the prospect. He places his chin in his hand, "Though if I ever were to make a snowman, I'm certain I would've made one in my likeness, or at least, I would've attempted to. Though, now that I think on it, making a snowman, is something I'd assume children are more want to do," he pauses to chuckle, "I can imagine myself attempting a snowviera. She would have to be taller than me, naturally, fire stones for eyes..." Balthier's voice almost to a mumble as he imagines the sculpture in his mind as he describes it, "Possibly some sticks padded down with snow for the ears, if at all possible," he mumbles before he looks up, "...Ah, apologies. It seems I found myself more curious on the subject than I thought I would be."

Giving a shake of his head and a quiet snort of laughter, Balthier leans back in his chair, allowing someone else to speak.

Draco stands at his table. It's to one side, and he can face the rest of them without having to move, so he sees no need to.

"I have never made a snowman, not like people here are describing." He shrugs. "It's really more a Muggle thing and my ... " he avoids looking at Lucius "... my parents ... frowned on that sort of thing. Unbecoming, and all that." He glances around, frowning faintly. "It would appear from the sounds of things that I didn't really miss out. Still, it did snow where I lived, and I played in it as a child. Mostly charming snowballs to chase the house elves - or the children of my parents' acquaintences, really." Draco's smile is also faint, and it doesn't touch his eyes.

"I suppose if I were to create a snowman of myself, it would involve ... ." He can't think of anything. "Snow. And it wouldn't be one of these round blobs of a small ball on top of a medium-sized one on top of a large one. What's the point in being a wizard if you can't create a proper sculpture of yourself? My snowman - snow sculpture - would actually look like me."

This time, the smile is more genuine, although it's not exactly a friendly one. His tone is pleasant, however, when he adds, "And it would hex people I'm not fond of."

He doesn't look at anyone in particular when he says that.

Somehow, it's easier the third time 'round, to stand up in front of everyone and speak his mind. He's got his hands wrapped around a mug of tea, steaming slightly, and he's smiling that silly bright smile of his as always.

"It's...been a long time since I've seen snow. When I was at school it was rare that it even rained, let alone snowed more than just enough to make getting from lecture to lecture a dangerous past time. I have some faint memories of snowball fights, and mattress sledding that one year when it dumped buckets on us in a freak snow storm...but not any of snowmen." He looks a little embarrassed, covering it with a soft laugh. "'S a silly thing, really...never having made a snowman, I don't know how you'd make one of me..."

"But I suppose it would involved some ice of some sort, because my hair style isn't exact conducive to snow, one would think. That's one thing I did get the chance to mess around with - Ice Carving. Say what you will, there may not have been much rain, but it got damned cold, and there was always someone willing to let you use the chem lab freezers to freeze a massive amount of ice."

"I can do a rather nice swan, if anyone would like one..."

Goku stands finally. This has been a topic that has tied him in fits. He casts a glance in Sanzo’s direction but he’s unable to meet the his eyes; Goku’s embarrassed by how the mere hint of snow used to make him feel so helpless.

“I never made a snowman,” he begins. “In fact, I hated the snow. I hated that it was so pure and white and ... and oppressive. I hated that it dampened down all the other noise, made everything silent. It made me feel like I was the only living thing in the world.

“Yeah, well, I got over it,” he shrugs finally. “An’ maybe this season, I’ll try my hand at building one.”

Goku sits back down heavily, contemplating the empty glass before him. He’s heard the term ‘liquid courage’ before, and now he thinks he understands what it means.

I was the youngest, but for my sister, and as a result I was able to enjoy something of a childhood. In retrospect, I must say it was beyond idiotic for my brothers to refrain from assassinating me in those days, when I was far more vulnerable than I was as a man, but I suppose they were rather busy at the time trying to kill one another. They could deal with me later.

I don't remember whether it was even winter the day I built the seven snowmen. There was always snow at Stormhold, as high as we were in the crags of Mount Huon, and it could have been June for all I recollect.

Seven snowmen, one for each of the sons of the Lord of Stormhold. I gave them enough detail to make them recognizable: Secundus's spectacles, Quartus's hideous hat, and so forth. And then I killed them, all but the last, driving my dinner dagger into their chilly hearts.

As I patted my victorious snow-self on the back and turned again to the keep, I saw Una watching from a window, and I suddenly had the most curious vision. I saw all the snowmen melted, and Una still looking on, untouched.

I blinked and it was gone.

Reinette makes her way from the back of the cafe to the space at the front. She is dressed now in a long skirt, and a blouse and waistcoat, more conservative than anyone her age would dress, but modern fashion. She doesn’t look entirely comfortable.

“I’m sorry if my absence has been notice these last two months. I have been,” she tries out the new word, “busy.

“I found myself a small house on the edges of this town. Although I spent my childhood in Paris and most of my adulthood at Versailles with the court, I find myself most attracted to the quiet there.

“I had also been reading history. Not my immediate future, I could not stand that. But I have read about the Republic of France and the unification of the Germanic states and the technology of the new wars. I had though that this would, perhaps, be a grand adventure, or a quite place to live awhile. Now I feel more and more than I want most to return to my own time and live my life as it was intended.

“I know that this is a month of celebration, and of winter. We had grand decorations in honour of the season in France. I might have created a snow version of myself this month; I have no done such a thing since— in many years. But it is very cold and I preferred to be inside.

“That is all I have to say for the moment, except that I hope to spend more time here in the coming months.”


[Reinette speaks for me, except for the history part. Happy New Year!]

"Myself as a snowman, huh?" Renji thinks for a long moment before grinning. "I could probably manage the basic body, but how'm I supposed to make this hair an' these tattoos outta snow?" He laughs as he points at his head. "Are we allowed to paint the snow, or do I gotta freeze a bowl of red noodles?"

Before he sits back down, Renji adds one last detail. "Any image of me ain't complete without my comrades beside me - it's 'cause of them I'm still alive." Clearing his throat, he pushes on past the sentimental statement. "Only one of 'em is here with me in Margate, though, so that's only two snowmen I gotta make." Renji grins again, this time at the young man who, as always, shares his table. "Though his hair ain't any easier to sculpt!"

[OOC: Apologies to all for sporadic play, and for not following up on promising storylines. There's been a death in the immediate family and everything's been turned inside out and upside down for the past month. Life is slowly returning to normal, and I hope to have more time soon.]

Dr. McCoy sits in the far corner of the cafe, near the heating vent, holding a cup of coffee between his hands. It's gotten a lot colder in Margate than he's comfortable with. And of course, people wanted to get in the spirit of the season and talk about the cold. Great.

It's his turn to talk, but he doesn't rise. These gatherings don't really seem as formal now that everyone is starting to get to know each other.

"I've never made a snowman. I was born and raised in a warm climate that very rarely saw any kind of cold weather with snow. My father wasn't the vacationin' type, so it wasn't until well into adulthood that I saw my first real snowfall. And I can't say I particularly enjoyed it. I don't like winter sports. I don't like riskin' my neck slidin' down the side of a mountain on a slicked up piece of wood. No thanks.

"The last time I was in wintery conditions, it was on a planet going through an ice age, and I very nearly froze to death. Doesn't seem as cold here, but it's cold enough for me."

He takes a long sip of his coffee before continuing. "On the Enterprise, word of my... dislike for snow and the cold got around the ship. So someone came up with the funny idea to leave this in my office."

( Dr. McCoy pulls out his tricorder and there's an image on the screen. )

"So I guess that's the only snowman I've ever had. Found out later that it was Scotty who came up with the idea. He went to engineerin' the next mornin' to the main jeffries tube bein' full of cotton balls and gauze." It had taken him all night to do it. He smirks a little at the memory of the angry chief showing up at his quarters, and the look on his face had made the effort worth it.

Rincewind stood, clutching his pencil, as if for moral support. Standing up in front of all these people made him think of the lectures he’d attended at Unseen University. He still had nightmares.

“We don’t get much snow in Ankh,” he began, “not like they do in the Ramtops.” He shot an apologetic glance at Nanny Ogg. "It does snow sometimes, but mostly it ends up all sooty and grey by morning or else it's mud. It doesn’t fall in the Shades at all if it can help it.” He grins to show he’s joking, and he is- sort of. “I’ve never even seen a snowman, let alone tried to make one. And making a man out of mud seems, well, silly.” He shook his head. “I’ve heard,” he continued, stressing the word, “that snowmen are supposed to be idols made of the Ice Giants. Some sort of response to ancient and unacknowledged memories. It’s the eyes,” he said helpfully, as if that explained everything. He sat down hurriedly, in case something happened that someone wanted to blame on him.

Rincewind would like to take this opportunity to wish everyone a Happy Hogswatch! Don’t forget to leave out a pork pie and a glass of sherry for the Hogfather and turnips for Tusker, Rooter, Gouger and Snout.

Severus set his mug of tea on the table - it was awful tea, really, but with enough sugar and milk it was drinkable, in an I-almost-like-it-but-can't-tell sort of way. He'd been so busy for weeks on end, it was almost rather nice to just sit in the cafe and listen to the stories told about snowmen.

"I made a snowman once," he said, getting to his feet and tugging straigth the sleeves of his robes. "I was seven. Where we lived, there were no other wizards or witches around other than myself and my mother. My father was at work, and my mother let go out to play in the snow, which was something my father never allowed. Some of the other children came over... my mother saw, and called out the window that she'd make us all some cocoa." Severus reached down and toyed with his tea mug. "Our snowman wasn't great by any means. My father had come home early - when the other children saw him, they ran off right away."

He sat down. "I never made another snowman."

OOC: I'm sorry, mods, I fail at tags! *headdesk*

He isn't human today.

On the topic of snowmen, there's nothing he can contribute without incriminating himself - in the case of the anatomically correct snowman he made in seventh year that kept calling out 'swish and flick' (with accompanying gestures, of course) in a voice that sounded disturbingly like Professor Flitwick's - or incriminating somebody else - in the case of the snowman that he and Regulus had built by climbing up onto the roof of the observatory tower at No. 12 (it didn't count as leaving the house, technically), and which they had subsequently pushed off the roof and straight down Cissy Bla- Malfoy's brand new dress-robes.

It still makes him smile now, remembering Regulus telling Andi (who was supposed to have been minding them) that they'd done it in Cissy's best interests - making her an Ice King because she was such an Ice Queen. And the way Andi's lips had started to twitch before she remembered herself.

He's pretty sure that Peter was the one behind the snowman - or snowwoman - with the cat ears that Professor McGonagall referred to earlier. He'd muttered something about being pounced upon by the Professor when he was a rat and she a cat. Still. It isn't the first time he's been blamed for something Peter's done, but with any luck, it'll be the last.

This isn't really the time or the place to get into any of that, so he yawns, scratches behind one ear, shakes out his fur, and curls up at Remus' feet, content to stay and listen to what everybody else has to say.

Mal's mostly sat in the back and listened while everyone else has stood up and said their bit. When it finally started getting down to the last few people, though, he knew he'd have to say something.

So, he stood up, brushed some nonexistent dust from his coat, and cleared his throat.

"'Fraid there ain't much I can say on this bit. Hardly ever seen snow, and surely not enough to make anything with it. The terraforming and weather satellites 'round the worlds of my 'verse regulate the temp and humidity. Sure, there's some places on the Rim that you can find snow, 'specially if you go high enough into mountains or close enough to the poles, but I've never been. Ain't exactly a fan of cold, y'know?

"But as far as the other part goes -- what one o' me would look like -- I guess it doesn't matter too much how you build it. Just put a gun in its hand and browncoat over its shoulders, and you'll get something close enough."

He starts to sit down, then stops halfway and bobs back up.

"Oh, yeah. And if you happened to have a shiny hat, you could put that on, too. Always wanted one o' them."

One by one, the patrons of the cafe walked to the stage, stood, or merely sat and spoke about their experiences with snowmen. To Navarre, the concept of forming a man out of snow seemed utterly ridiculous, but times had truly changed since he was born. Children, he'd learned, no longer were allowed to work, for instance. Things necessary to life could be had for a small price, a price even the poorest appeared able to pay. There were no fields, no crops that he'd seen in his walks around Margate; the society of this day and time seemed more concerned with going other places, doing more, having more.

And yet, their young played.

Was it such a bad thing to build snowmen? To play, to be happy? He himself had never played that he could remember. Life was much too serious for that, and before he'd reached the age of thirteen, he was conscripted into the Guards. Shortly afterwards, his family--his brothers, his parents--had been slain by...

Wolves.

If only they had lived. He would move heaven and earth for that, for them to build a snowman, just once. He would even help. The thought made him smile. Isabeau would be proud of him, always teasing him about how serious he was.

Isabeau would build a snowman, he knew. And he'd give her his clothes to put on it.

If ever I leave this place, I shall build one, with her.

If. No, when.

He stood when it appeared that no one else was going to speak. Not that he could speak; nevertheless, standing up on the stage would be interesting. Some of the reactions he'd had to his presence in Margate had been...fascinating. And, it would give him a good look at these people of Margate, amongst whom apparently were many like himself; prisoners in this God-forsaken place.

He padded sedately up to the stage, and sat in the middle of it to stare out at the audience.

The young man slips into the café unnoticed. The door falls shut behind him. He's staring at backs of heads and impatient fingers rubbing over grimy glasses and chipped cups or repeating the sequence of lighting the cigarette, smoking and knocking ash on table and clothes. They speak in turns, childhood stories, mostly, in a wild variety of accents and stylised language.

He shuffles to an unoccupied table, slips off his sneakers and crouches on the chair. His fingers go for the foil-wrapped Santa Claus. His head is cocked as he glances at it, the sweet held between thumb and index finger, dangling back and forth. He unpacks it slowly, gaze flickering through the room to catch faces and conversations, long glances and glares, hidden gestures and open hugs. Hugs. Some people hug some more than others. They are talking about snow.

( Read more... )

Nanny Ogg was enjoying herself immensely. She had procured a large mug of brandy from somewhere, and was now settled in the comfiest chair available whilst listening to other people's stories. It was all very interesting- people seemed to have come to this little village from all over the place, whether they chose to or not, and more importantly they all had good back-stories. This sort of meeting did tend to bring out people's histories if they had anything preying on their minds, and Nanny drank it all in like a fish.
She didn't bother standing up, being quite comfortable where she was and wary of anyone eyeing up what was clearly the catseat, and so when the last person's speech died to a lull her own voice came from buried between cushions.
"I always liked snowmen. Don't look much like men, mind you, but they're good fun and don't talk back much, like the scarecrow we have in Lancre. I always get a good load of snowmen made for me every year, and they're always lovely... even the ones that aren't more than a pile of snow. You can't go telling the kids how to make them mind, you've got to let them express themselves." Nanny thought about Pugsey's heap of snow last winter. The carrot, briefly drafted as a nose, was inevitably eaten. It was the only vegetable he'd eat so it couldn't be too bad a thing.
"We get plenty of snow every winter, so there's always opportunity for the kiddies to have fun. It's not as good for us older ones of course- people get snowed in, and the passes in the mountains get barred up so we have to go on the broomsticks to get supplies across. It can be harsh." Nanny looked thoughtful for a second as she worried about what would happen to the people in the villages she was responsible for if she didn't get back in time for the coming Ramtops winter. The concern didn't last long though, as everything usually sorted itself out in the end and the three witches left would be fine if it came to it. She grinned again. "But the weather's good for snowmen."

Rusty takes a quick look around and one last swallow of his near-empty beer before he gets to his feet. He smiles like the kid in tenth grade science class who didn't do his homework but has gotten called on anyway and is gonna try to wing it.

( Baby, it's cold outside )

An unenthusiastic Susan Ivanova stands up next. She finally has some period-appropriate clothing, pants and a long-sleeved shirt, instead of the uniform and its assorted military insignia. Her hair is even worn loose this time instead of severely pulled back.

"Let me think, recreate myself in a medium mostly associated with a holiday I don't celebrate, and in the other gender... I know I had short hair back when I went to university, but not that short. Yeah, I think I'll pass on being recreated as a 'snowman.' I made a snowman with my brother a long time ago because he wanted to try it, and I didn't enjoy it very much. And I think my father thought the snow menorah was slighty inappropriate. Although the snow-Centauri with broom bristle hair, well, that was something special. If I had to be rendered in snow..."

She sketches out a snow double on a paper towel. "Let's see, get some face going, maybe do a uniform and wig..."

When she's finished some coloring and scribbling, she holds it up, not exactly thrilled with the whole exercise. "Don't ask me how it'd be constructed, because I don't know and I don't care. It's not like I'm going to make one."

( Snowvanova )

Making snowmen was a tradition in our house. I remember being no more than three – Bill was five – and Dad took us to the garden to roll big balls of snow. It was a short and stocky snowman, built as it was by two boys, and Dad gave Bill the two pieces of coal for the eyes. I was given the carrot for the nose.

When Percy was older, he was assigned the red Bertie Botts for the mouth. I remember well the way he placed them perfectly side by side. He took ages doing it, but the snowman ended up with a symmetrical grin.

Fred and George, years later, pretty much stuck the turnips on each side of the head, which gave the snowman a lopsided set of ears. It was funny, that face with the perfect smile and one ear a few inches above the other. After they were old enough to know better, they kept the tradition of Fred placing his turnip lower than George's. It made us all shake our heads, fondly smiling at the twins' twisted sense of humor.

Ron did a semi-okay job with the real buttons Mum didn't have use for. And then, just as Bill was getting too old for the fine art of snowmen building, he would hold Ginny in his arms while she proudly set Uncle Bilius's top hat on the snowman's head and awkwardly tied a Gryffindor scarf around its neck.

Old Snowman Weasley, we called it, and he stayed with us throughout the winter. After the spring thaw Mum collected the re-usable items and in December it would start all over again.

Sitting here in Margate, as far from the Burrow as I can manage these days, I see the snow falling outside. There will be no snowman building this year. But I try to visualize what it would look like, a snowman with one ear only, the hand that used to place the turnip lower than its twin immobilized forever.

And this new snowman looks eerily like George.

Xellos has only taken one glove off, and only for a moment. He puts it back on, although his sort of glove isn't much good in this weather, after wiping his hand clean on his cloak--also made for warmer regions. It doesn't matter that he's leaving a trail as he drifts off to stalk the wild Hot Chocolate; what he's leaving can't be used.

It had occurred to him, before he began, that drawing winter's eye and wrath to focus on anywhere but a stone quarry or blasted battlefield is a little unkind, but ( kindness is misplaced in the war between ice and breath, and anyway, nice is different than good. )

( Sympathetic Magic Isn't: a lightning rod. Smile! )
Warning: large image and areas of low contrast.
Note: Ironically, this post was conceived before the player's car froze over and AAA's 'five minutes' took an hour and made her very late for an important class. n,n;

There's an amused smile on his lips, and a bit more of a sparkle in his eye than has been seen since he arrived in Margate. Listening to the silly, the quiet, the serious, and the outright indignation has put him in a light mood. Even still, he can't escape the fact that there's only one snowman he ever made like himself. He starts out quietly, a bit afraid to bring things down.

When I was young I made snowmen that looked like other people. People I wanted to meet, people I wanted to be. My mother used to help me, and those are some of my favorite memories. The feel of itchy mittens and the way the cold air would burn in my lungs. Those things used to lift my spirits with no other provocation. There was just something about this time of year.

( And then there was Callisto. )