(no subject)

[whatamigoodfor.livejournal.com]

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.

Comments

[allfather-odin.livejournal.com]

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..."

[bipolar-uriel.livejournal.com]

Uriel shrieked rather non-angelically as Destruction attacked him. He tried to kick his attacker away, very unhappy. Angel wings could take a lot, but snow between his feathers wasn't nice, and a man -- or a man-shaped person -- hanging over his wings definitely kept him from flying. He was somehow staying in the air still, but it definitely wasn't easy -- or high.

At last, he decided that Destruction wouldn't let go of his wings. Therefore, he simply folded his wings, hoping to make the man's grasp disappear. As soon as he hit the ground, he rolled to the side, then glanced around only to see his ally's helpless position and the latest team of the snowball fight heading for the hill.

Now, that wouldn't do. The hill would be theirs! He waved his hand, and suddenly the remains of War's snow fortress were coming down at the two men charging up.

Unfortunately, this took up his concentration, leaving him open for an attack from behind.

[entropyoptimism.livejournal.com]

Destruction landed on his stomach in the snow, but got up onto his knees immediately, panting. Aha! The angel had his back turned. And there was a conveniently deep snowdrift... right... there.

With another battlecry Destruction launched himself at Uriel's knees, knocking him face-first into said pile of snow, and landing on top of him.

[bipolar-uriel.livejournal.com]

Uriel would have cried out, had he been able to do so. However, being face down in snow, his mouth full of the said cold, white substance, he couldn't do that. It was really fortunate that he didn't have to breathe, or he might have had some trouble -- especially as there was a rather well-built personification of destruction lying on top of him, preventing him from getting up. All he could do was lie there and hope to get up soon -- well, that and do everything he could to get a well-placed kick through to his assaulter.

Now, this was definitely not fair. War and Destruction were letting the two newcomers get to the hill with no resistance at all!

Somehow he managed to struggle one of his daggers out of his sleeve and into his hand. With a thought he made it radiate enough warmth to start rapidly melting the snow bank around him. Well, rather vaporize -- he wasn't keen on getting any more wet than he was already, so the snow decided to skip one step of the process and go straight into mist. Uriel himself was invulnerable to the warmth. However, unless Destruction shared this ability, he was sure to get rather uncomfortable soon. All the better, that -- maybe he'd even let go.

[entropyoptimism.livejournal.com]

Destruction was having fun sitting on the angels arse in a snowdrift when he suddenly realised that there was less snowdrift than there used to be. Around this time he felt an odd sensation, kind of like sticking your face over a hot mug of tea... except everywhere.

"Shitshitshit!" He cried, leaping up. "Oh, you'll pay for that." The rest of the snow had vaporised now, and the angel didn't even seem flushed, so Destruction promptly sat on his head.

[bipolar-uriel.livejournal.com]

Now, this was something Uriel definitely didn't like. Destruction wasn't exactly light, and having him sitting on top of your head was definitely not fun.

Angelic strength aside, it was practically impossible for him to rise with Destruction sitting on top of his head. As he was lying face down on the ground, he couldn't even try to bite the man (even though at the moment he would have really liked to).

So, he had the dagger in his hand, and he could have used that, but now that wouldn't have been very fair, would it? Considering that it was supposed to be a snowball fight.

...Snowballs... Right.

As he could not move much anyway, it was easy to concentrate his mind on something. To be exact, on the snowballs that were kindly forming themselves in the snow around. And momentarily melting, and then freezing again into nice, round ice balls.

'If this doesn't make him leave,' Uriel thought as he ordered the first ball to hurl at Destruction's head very hard, 'I really have no idea what will.'

[entropyoptimism.livejournal.com]

"Gah!" Destruction cried as a ball of ice spontaneously leapt at his head. He reflexively brought his arm up and caught it. "Crap!" He yelled. "Ow! Not fair!" Where-upon he proceeded to beat a hasty retreat away from the miniature hailstorm, pausing to shove the ice-ball in his hand down the back of Uriel's robe.

"Hey, War!" He called. "How's it going? You look wet!" He understated with a saucy grin.

[bipolar-uriel.livejournal.com]

Now, Uriel certainly shrieked as the ice ball was shoved into his robe. Then he simply decided to not feel the cold. Rolling to the side to avoid the last of his own ice balls, he then leapt up and looked over to the hill, which one of the teams was currently running up.

Now, that certainly wouldn't do. These two had no wings to mess with -- he still thought that was unfair of Destruction -- but they definitely had legs. It wasn't much of a trick for him to gather snow around their feet and then simply freeze it, sticking their feet onto the ground.

What with all the supernatural forces at play, he didn't think the two were going to be stuck for too long. However, it certainly was long enough for him to launch a bunch of snowballs at them before turning to see how Famine was doing.

Famine was doing not very well, it turned out. Deciding to help his ally, Uriel hurried there, ordering a couple of his ice balls to fly towards War.

[polldancer.livejournal.com]

Apocalyptic Personifications may not need to breathe, but they did feel cold and having someone shove large handfuls of snow into one's face and coat was quite unpleasant. Famine couldn't see the angel coming to his aid, but even if he had he still would have pushed himself up enough to shove a few handfuls of snow down the front of War's shirt and into her hair.