neutral_omens | (no subject)

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Michael smirked and nodded, satisfied with the answer. Of course, he hadn't expected much else. He then willed his sword to disappear again -- after all, this was meant to be a snowball fight, and using a sword of fire would have kind of defeated the purpose, right?

"Oh, definitely," he said, glancing around to make sure nobody was coming after them at the moment. Glancing then up the hill, he added, "You know... Once we make it up there, it should be easy to rebuild that fortress. That'd give us even better grounds." With these musings, he then started to run up the hill.

De Carabas only allowed himself to be startled by the appearance of yet another angel for just a moment, before he turned to Wednesday with a grin. "Let's approach from different angles," he suggested. "Unless they work together, they can't get at all of us."

"Sounds good." He smiled at the Marquis in as fond of a way as his mouth was capable. He was quite glad that the Marquis had come to the manor. "Head up there, I'll cover your progress." He stuffed a few already packed snowballs in the crook of his arm and let them loose.
He hated to admit it, but this was quite fun.
If only there were some Valkyeries for after the battle.
Oh well.

The marquis did not even pause to agree, or thank. He merely bolted up the hill, at an angle different from Michael's, zig-zagging to make himself a more difficult target. After all, time was of the essence, and they could cover Wednesday's approach as soon as they were up there.

Wednesday watched as Michael and the Marquis gained the hill. For a second he felt like pulling a Loki and attacking them both, taking the hill all by himself, but with a deep breath he reigned in the impulse. He wasn't Loki. He had to remind himself of that. And he and the Marquis had a pact, and while a little deception in a snow-ball fight wasn't the end of the world, he figured it wasn't probably the best idea. To take his mind off of the whole notion he peppered snowballs at the thin man in black, just for the hell of it.