Saw you last night dance by the light of the moon...
Lesya doesn't mind the snow at all. In fact, she finds she rather likes it, now that she has an alternative to huddling somewhere for warmth whenever it falls. It's probably her upbringing in the USSR combined with her life on the streets of Chicago that contribute to her healthy tolerance, even fascination, of the stuff. And now that it's done falling, she's outside.
It's hard to imagine Lesya "playing", but outside of the Main Gauche, in the middle of the night, that's the only term for what she's currently doing. She's wearing a coat and mittens, hands upstretched to the air, toward the moon partially hidden by clouds, glancing upward with a smile on her face. She turns a little, the icy wind stinging her cheeks from different directions.
She leans down and grabs a handful of the powdery snow, throwing it upwards in the air. Perhaps as a meager attempt to simulate actual snowfalls, or perhaps she just like how it sparkles in the moonlight as it tumbles back down to the ground. Lesya is a girl of simple pleasures and a strange sleep schedule. Feel free to approach her.
It's hard to imagine Lesya "playing", but outside of the Main Gauche, in the middle of the night, that's the only term for what she's currently doing. She's wearing a coat and mittens, hands upstretched to the air, toward the moon partially hidden by clouds, glancing upward with a smile on her face. She turns a little, the icy wind stinging her cheeks from different directions.
She leans down and grabs a handful of the powdery snow, throwing it upwards in the air. Perhaps as a meager attempt to simulate actual snowfalls, or perhaps she just like how it sparkles in the moonlight as it tumbles back down to the ground. Lesya is a girl of simple pleasures and a strange sleep schedule. Feel free to approach her.