Re: NYE: Cat & Reece
Cat wouldn't call herself the personification of revenge exactly, but she did like paying people back, for good or ill. But this? It wasn't even revenge. It was booze, and it was pot, and it was a new year ringing in. It was the fact that he'd showed up, after she'd buried him, and now he was here, tossing snowballs at her. It was the fact that he was vulnerability, standing there, and she wanted to protect him, and she wanted to shove him away. He was confusing, and that was the impetus behind the snowballs shoved down his shirt and in his face.
And, alright, perhaps there was a tiny bit of classic revenge there. Why not?
She ran. The woman who'd been a girl made for rooftops, she ran, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd run for anything resembling fun. She'd been a hedonist once, and everything in her life had to be thrilling. She'd eschewed responsibility, and then the military had changed all that. Fast forward, and she'd left all the heavy stuff behind after a tiny incident with a nano-bomb. But that was years ago, and what was she now? Ah, the thoughts that came with the dawning of a new year, and Cat shoved them all away with each footfall in the powdery snow.
Was she unarmed? Yes. Did she care? Not really.
Reece fell, and Cat laughed. Warm, sensual, almost heated enough in her insobriety to melt snow. But she was unarmed. He threw his snowball, and another, and he managed to catch her on a shoulder, on a knee. She stopped, and she turned to look at the boy kneeling over his arsenal. Another chuckle, and she walked back to him. Her sway was slightly sloppy, and she stopped in front of him. She didn't crouch this time, but it was a near thing. "Does it help if I stand here?"