It's a crisp day outside, and last night deposited what is perhaps the absolutely perfect amount of snow for a snowball fight. The sun is bright and the snow sparkles pristinely
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Ben startles a bit, and looks down at the missed projectile, his mind starting on the long task of pulling back from his deep ponderings; it will only take a few seconds, but its a few seconds the unseen shooter would have to recalibrate his aim, and...
Splat! Okay, that gives direction, and an estimate of distance. Ben peeks out of hiding, quickly, then ducks and rolls to another position, hoping to catch a glimpse of the attacker.
"Its do or die, man! Snowballs at 12:00, fifty paces!"
"Oh and somehow stealing ammo is fair," says Yrael from below as he quickly configures a Charter spell to create something like a snowball-guided missle.
Ben throws one or two back, duking behind cover, and keeping moving while firing snowballs, making himself a harder target. But then stops, staring at the... flying woman?
Rachel waved at the previous target of Yrael's assault, amusement evident even at that distance. "Duck" she instructed simply as she stuck her tongue out at the not!cat and sent her two stolen snowballs towards both Ben and Yrael.
Yrael rolls to the side, out from behind his snowfort, then rises up to send the Charter-spelled snowball (a rather large one) up at Rachel. It's spelled to hit whatever it is aimed at, so we can see if it works.
Of course, looking up to see if it works leaves him tragically open to attack.
Hmmmm, homing-balls. That was a bit of a problem it seemed, as it would be cheating to just put up a teke shield...
So, with a grin, the flying woman plummeted, barely out racing the snowball as she streaked downward, then a few inches from the ground to duck just barely behind Ben...
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Ranging shot.
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And the sound of laughter.
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He just needs to find out from where the shot came...
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"Its do or die, man! Snowballs at 12:00, fifty paces!"
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Or so the floating girl up in the air would have people think as she eyed Ben and Yrael speculatively.
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Pot. Kettle. Black.
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Of course, looking up to see if it works leaves him tragically open to attack.
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So, with a grin, the flying woman plummeted, barely out racing the snowball as she streaked downward, then a few inches from the ground to duck just barely behind Ben...
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