Re: NYE: Cat & Reece
He knew she was coming. Cat wasn't one to take and not give, especially when it came to 'punishment.' She was like the personification of revenge. The hot personification of revenge. And Reece—though he often preferred the idyllic of his own denial too—knew all of this. His comeuppance was on its way, each salvo cradled so gently catspaw, and his face just like, right there for the hitting.—He did try to escape. He took a step backward, then forward, trying to figure out the best way around the predator that stalked him.
But, before he could find the traction he needed on the soppy snow, she was close again and he was distracted when she came close, instead of just lobbing her (stolen) ammo. "You can't trick—" But, she did. Her words were tickling at his ear when ice bolted down his spine and smashed into his face. Double whammy. Reece yelped a little, pulling on the back of his jacket so the snow would slide out and wiping his face with his still-snowy glove, which, truth be told, felt counterproductive. His nose was now redder with cold than drink and Reece sputtered a little.
He didn't stand still long. True to his word, he didn't employ his eye to track trajectories and probabilities of Cat's direction over the snow, so he wasn't able to like, throw a ball that would then meet here, even based on her intended evasion of the ball. If that makes sense. Anyway, whatever, he wasn't doing it. So, he was slow, yeah, but, hey, he was trying and he was fucking drunk.—Reece slipped near the arsenal of snowballs, but he managed to grab one and lob it quickly before he was fully on his face. Then, he was up on his knees, protecting his little hoard like an eagle over her eggs.
"I might be bad at it, but you're unarmed." He smiled, picked up another snowball and launched with enough force that it might hit Cat. He did the same with another, though he had to close one eye so there weren't like, six Cats sprinting around him.