While Mr. Muggles had long since learned better than to step foot outside with the streets filled with puddles and ice alike, Claire was starting to think of the whole change in terrain as an experience that she couldn't let herself miss out on. If everyone's predictions were right, then London wasn't likely to last longer than the month, and after
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He immediately spun around to see who it was, only to lose his balance on the frozen ground and fall sideways into a pile of snow. Sputtering and shouting he jumped back up, dusting himself off.
"Oh, it is so on!" Sam called out. "Once I find you. And make a snowball. And get close enough to hit you with it? It will be on. And then off right away so you can't retaliate."
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"Meaning I've just got to keep you from stalling long enough to make a snowball, right?" she called out his way, once the snowball was already hurtling through the air.
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Sam turned toward her to offer some sort of witty remark... only to turn full face into the snowball she had just throw. It didn't hurt, she had thankfully not packed it that hard, but his pride was damaged. Bruised. Shattered in a way that could only be repaired by the blood of his enemies. Or, you know, by hitting them with a snowball.
"Claire Bennet!" he shouted in warning, crouching down to gather up his own snow ball, "So help me, you will be nicknamed Frosty I'm going to cover you in so much snow!"
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"Them's fighting words, Witwicky," she taunted in return, sticking her tongue out in his direction as she hurled another couple of snowballs his way. "You sure you wanna make a promise you'll never be able to keep?"
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"I can devote as much time as I need to toward making sure that you get what's coming to you."
He really hoped that wouldn't be too much time though, because the longer he went when it came to following through on his promise the more leverage Claire would have to mock him. Keeping low, he kept a packed snowball at the ready for the moment he saw blonde hair pop out from behind her shelter.
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Crap.
"Besides," she added, trying to move herself, "I call BS on you actually having mapped the full city out. You're in foreign waters, m'lad."
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"I don't need to map out the full city, just the important sections!" he called back, upset that she had called him on knowing where she lived. "And I know all those petticoats can't be easy to run in. I'm going to catch you eventually."
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The whole point was to get dirty.
"But yeah, the petticoats aren't easy to run in," she agreed, rounding a nearby lamp post. "I just figured you'd need a bit of a handicap!"
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"You wouldn't have hit my face if I didn't turn!" he shouted. "In fact, I think I hit your snowball with my face, not the other way around."
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"Yeah, like hitting a snowball with your face is worthy of being boasted about," she stuck her tongue out in return, feeling younger and freer than she had in months, possibly even since well before her arrival. "I had awesome aim, okay? You can't deny."
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"And it's very boast worthy. Why don't you try it and see if you can do it? It's harder than it looks and I'm pretty sure you wouldn't be able to."
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Sometimes, she was pretty sure that Sam would get twice as much done if he simply knew when to stop tripping over his words.
Not that she minded him doing so. It was part of the charm.
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"Okay, that's it, no more free shots to the face. I think we've demonstrated that I can hit your snowballs with my face. I've proved I'm good at that."
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Finally crawling out on the other side, Claire rose with a few snowballs on her overskirt, which she held up around her waist like a bag.
"Gimme your best shot."
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"And you are a tiny target, okay?" he teased, laughing as the threw the snowball and scooped down to make another.
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"Uh-huh. Never mind that I'm, like, at least three-quarters of your size, okay? So you really can't claim too much of a disadvantage there, kiddo," she called out.
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