neutral_omens | (no subject)

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Date: December 20, 1999
Setting: The grounds
Status: Public
Summary: War starts a snowball fight.

There’s all sorts of speculation on why wars break out, and though not many say it, most of it is due to boredom.

War had been bored. She had been bored in 1812 and re-fought on the sea a conflict that had already been settled on land. She had been bored in 1914, and had succeeded in getting millions of men to sit in miles and miles of pestilential ditches and shoot at each other for no good reason. There was nothing like a good bloody battle for light entertainment.

And she was bored now, and had had no way of relieving the ennui of the tentative, resentful peace in the Manor. An all-out skirmish would not be permitted, at least here, so War had designed the next best thing to ease the passage of a tedious day.

She was propped up on the edge of a tightly-packed fort on an incline on the lawn. She smiled a smile almost as cold and biting as the air around her, and her breath rose in thin tendrils of steam as she packed snow into a hard icy ball. She examined it, tossing it to herself a few times: it was heavy, sculpted into almost a perfect sphere, and about as aerodynamic as snow could be. Her smile sharpened. This baby was going to sting.

War wrapped her mink-trimmed coat tighter around her, kneeled to peek over the top of the snow-fort’s walls, and lay in wait for prey.

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War laughed aloud and blew him a kiss. "Sweet of you, but don't worry about him, he couldn't hit sand in the Sahara. It's the angel I'm keeping an eye on."

Famine glared good naturedly for a moment before being hit hard in the face by Destruction's snowball. He blinked snow out of his eyes and threw snowballs at them both. "So I guess all those hits earlier were just flukes, eh, Red?" He threw another at her head before taking off after her.

Uriel smirked as he saw Destruction joining War's side. This was seemingly going to get rather interesting indeed.

"So sweet of you to have faith in me, Ruby!" he yelled cheerfully while throwing himself into the ground, rolling aside to avoid the snowy attack. "Now, let's see how you like this!"

He jumped back onto his feet, calling several snowballs into being. Then he started to throw at them at both War and her new ally -- just for distraction, though. His real attack was the large snowball currently forming on top of the hill. Large, as in, its top would probably reach War's hips when it was ready. The large snowball was specified to soon roll down, and to the side, and to the other side, too, if need be, until it hit War. And preferably Destruction on its way to her, too.

He only specified about half of the snowball to melt upon contact, too. After all, he wasn't that mean.

Destruction rolled his eyes. "Bah, angels!" He yelled, and leapt into the fray. Well, actually he leapt into a snow bank. But he metaphorically leapt into the fray.

Uriel heard Destruction's words -- how could he have missed that shout? -- and was not pleased. Seeing the man's next move, he got a wicked thought. Waving his hand a bit, he made sure that the snow bank was just a bit softer than Destruction had expected -- that is, just soft enough for a man of his build to sink in as deep as there was snow. And, with another wave of his hand and an evil-ish giggle, Uriel made sure that there was a lot of that snow. At least four or five feet.

After all, what was the point of being an angel if you couldn't use your powers for anything?

"You don't hit as hard as you'd like to think, Fam--" War started to call back, before ducking most but being hit by more than a few of Uriel's snowballs. She laughed aloud. "Isn't that the point, angel? Faith?"

She leapt a little closer and knelt down to re-arm herself, remaining tense and ready to spring into attack mode or fend off any attack-- any attack from the front, anyway.

Famine grinned as he watched Destruction fall into a snow drift and Uriel's giant snowball form itself above War. He carefully worked his way to the side and slightly up the hill, maneuvering well out of the way of the snowball and hoping to get into closer range before War recovered from it.

Destruction suddenly found himself in a rather ridiculous position. The leap onto a suddenly-unstable substance, through which he had fallen, retained momentum and caused him to do a thorough face-plant in the snow. "Mmmph." He mentioned. Well, he always had liked the taste of snow.

Uriel giggled evilly once again as he saw Destruction sinking into the snow. Then he made the rest of the snow bank collapse on top of the man for good measure, too.

This was most certainly getting rather fun, he decided. Gathering some more snow and forming it into perfectly round balls, he eyed War challengingly. Well, as challengingly as he could, anyway -- he could hardly keep himself from laughing aloud as he saw the giant snow ball getting bigger and nearer to War all the time.

He glanced towards Famine and noticed that his ally had moved out of the way of the giant ball. Excellent.

The marquis de Carabas's personal tour of the Manor having covered all the rooms he found interesting, it was no surprise that he eventually found himself outside to explore the grounds.

He raised his eyebrows when he saw the scene in the yard, however. The man face-down in the snow seemed somewhat... familiar, as did the redhead (who was, it seemed, about to be hit by a very large snowball indeed), and the thin man with black hair. The only one he felt no recognition for was the man in the robe, although something about him made the marquis feel a bit uneasy.

Well, far be it for de Carabas to attack the disadvantaged, and besides, in coming around the side of the Manor he had found himself behind the robed figure. He grinned, knelt down, formed up a snowball, and let fly at the back of the man's head.

"Is this a private battle, or may anyone join?" he called out, rather pleased with the belatedness of his question.

Being too concentrated on War, Uriel's angel senses didn't pick up the "threat" from behind. Therefore, he was rather unprepared as a snowball hit the back of his head -- rather hard, even.

Yelping a bit in surprise, he turned around just in time to hear the newcomer's deliberately belated question. Brushing snow off his neck, he glared at the man, then let his snowballs fly, half of his mind occupied with scooping snow from the ground, forming it into balls, and hovering those balls at an appropriate distance to be taken into use as soon as he ran out of ammunition.

"Anybody's free to join," he shouted out, "but in this battle, there's no giving up before the end!"

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the large snowball finally hit War's back, half of it immediately melting into icy cold water. Crying out in triumph, he then jumped aside to avoid the newcomer's attack.

It wasn't often that War was directly hit and thrown sprawling to the ground, but this was one of those times. And to cap it off, she'd been drenched with freezing water as well.

She gasped, then her voice rose to a shriek. "Talk about fairness!" Whose fault would this be but the angel's? She glared at Uriel. "If that's the way you want to play!"

War pushed the remains of the gigantic snowball off herself and sprang to her feet, racing down the hill toward Uriel with every intention of getting him as wet as she had become.

The marquis managed to dodge a bit of the barrage of snowballs, and was laughing as the rest hit his coat. He ducked behind an embankment of snow, making several snowballs and throwing them at the man, who dodged rather nicely.

He grinned when he heard the woman's exclamation, and commented, voice drifting out from behind the drift, "Sounds as if you've made a dangerous enemy, sir! But don't give up before the end!"

Wednesday had been watching the snow fall outside his window for most of the day. Made him... distinctly *not* homesick... *contemplative* about the Northlands. Here in Britain, snow was unusual, and was seen as something not entirely welcome. For him, it brought a feeling of belonging. He basked in it.
Then, just as he was about to indulge in a sauna, he felt a familiar feeling. Jumping to his feet he ran down the hall and out through the large double doors. With a berserker cry, and a bloodshot eye, he threw himself into the snow and began to pepper snowballs at everything that moved.
OK, it wasn't Ragnorok, but as he began to be pelted by other snowballs, he felt the blood course through his veins again in a way that it hadn't since being in America.
"Valhalla, he was coming."*
*Immigrant song- Led Zep

Uriel grinned as War and the latest fighter both shouted at him. "Never have I made an enemy I haven't been capable of winning!" he shouted back self-confidently. "Now, as for you..."

Just as he was about to attack his opponents, a man he vaguely recognized rushed out of the Manor with a wild cry. Then he started throwing snowballs at everyone around; obviously he didn't have a side.

"Choose your side!" shouted Uriel as he started to throw balls at the man in treutrn. "This isn't an all-on-all battle!"

De Carabas stood up as Wednesday rushed into the fray, grinning hugely, like an extremely self-satisfied tiger. "We form a side, then!" he shouted. "Wednesday, I believe this shall begin the better half of our deal!"

It was, as far as the marquis could tell, two on two on two now. He began throw snowballs at the robed man, while he was busy attacking Wednesday.

The crazed look dimmed slightly from Wednesday's eye as he recognized a few faces, but the fire of battle surged through his brain. He smiled insanely at the Marquis. He wouldn't choose anyone else to be next to.
"Yes! This can be the Beginning!" He reared up, grey suit covered in snow, looking like an ice giant (though he wouldn't have been pleased if anyone had said it).
He sized up the other combatants. An angel... fighting him would be fun. Destruction... it would be pleasant to detroy the destroyer. And the other two. He couldn't place them, but he found himself strangely drawn to the red-headed woman. He watched her throwing snowballs with a will. She reminded him of another being from so long ago. Her dark companion reminded him of Hel and her domain.
With another death-cry, he increased his furious attack.

Uriel smirked a bit. So it was a three-side battle now, then. Well, that was just better. He was already having a better time than he could remember having at any point during the last few centuries.

With a glance he took in the events of the battleground. Destruction was still face down in the snow. War was running down the hill towards him, soaked and obviously out for revenge. The latest additions to the battle were now both firing snowballs at him, most of which he subconsciously avoided but was hit by a few. And to the side, stood Famine.

...And the top of the hill was now clear.

A grin spread onto his face as he got an idea. Willing the back of his robe to open, he unfolded his wings. Quickly rising into air, he headed for Famine, ignoring the snowballs fired at him. If he only could get his ally to the top of the hill with himself, they'd have the best ground in the battle. That thought sure was appealing.

"Ready to take over the hill?" he shouted to Famine, unable to wipe the wide grin from his face.

Famine grinned broadly and waved to his ally. "After you, my friend," he called back. Defeating War herself, even in something as simple as a snowball fight, would be immensely satisfying.

The marquis's eyes widened as the robed man's wings unfurled, and he gave ground a step before catching himself. An angel, then?

A slight twist of fear, which he sought to ignore. After all, the battle was already begun. And, in the context of a snowball fight, this angel was not a real threat, surely? Not to mention, he reminded himself, the rules placed on the Manor by the Antichrist himself.

So he turned to Wednesday, and grinned a little, and said, "I believe they're trying for the hill! Shall we stop them?" He began pelting the angel's thin ally, then, in an attempt to down him before his reinforcements arrived.

Famine was very surprised when he was suddenly pelted from the side, and wasted a few moments locating his attacker. "Why gang up on us?" He laughed despite his show of annoyance and threw a few snowballs back before making a run for it up the hill.

Destruction, spluttering, finally crawled out of the snowdrift just as War got snowballed. He couldn't help but snigger a little, then remembered what side he was on. "Right," he muttered. "Now then." The angel was heading for the top of the hill... and he had his wings out. Well, that could be fixed. He backed up till he had a clear path, then grabbed a snowball in each hand and took a run-up.

"Hey, Odin!" Destruction yelled cheerily as he sped past. "Watch this!"

"YAARRR!" The huge redhead cried as he threw himself bodily at the Angel, hooking his arms over the wings and smushing the snowballs into them.

War smirked as she saw Destruction grab Uriel, both of them being heavily pelted, and changed her path. Instead of heading for the angel, she raced head-on for Famine, all but lowering her head as she charged him.

Famine was distracted by the attack on Uriel, and didn't see War come barreling toward him. He had already turned to aid his ally when he was suddenly hit by a very fast-moving apocalyptic personification. His footing was already bad due to the thick snow and icy ground and he went down instantly, snow flying into his face and a red blur coming down on top of him. He shoved a handful of snow into her face and tried to flip her off of his chest.

Wednesday grinned approvingly as Destruction wrecked havoc on the angels wings. Snow white angels wings, he thought to himself and laughed. Wednesday turned to look at the Marquis. "The Hill. Prime stretegic point. He who sits at the top will be the King! We must make our way there to ensure victory!"
Wednesday paused for a minute. King of the Hill. A child's game. He was slightly disturbed at his thoughts. It wasn't right for him to be enjoying this as much as he was, it was... ungodly. It made him think...
Until a tightly packed snowball hit him squarely in the back of the head, causing his glass eye to soar onto a nearby snow bank. High pitched angelic laughter echoed in his ears.
Needless to say it knocked him out of his reverie, and again his blood boiled. He looked to the Marquis. "Come, friend. To the Hill!"
On top of a snow drift, a grey eye stared unblinking into a white English Vestri Strönd! ... Eða hæð... hvað sem, hver sem er, hver sá..."*

*"To the Western Shore... Or hill... whatever..."

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