we didn't sleep too late;

[thesnowbringer]

Comments

guten morgen. :v

[lagopa]

There's a fleeting moment where Quvianuq is clearly startled, something clearly animal-- some instinctive fear-- widening her eyes until the white shows around ice-blue irises. Her shoulders jerk up towards her ears, arms drawing in close, as if she only wants to make herself small and unseen. But the moment passes. Recognition touches her face, though the surprise remains, less frightened and a little muted. The tension seeps from her body.

"Cousin," she answers at length, hesitating before tipping her head at him in greeting. She knows you, Snow-Bringer. "I... Was not expecting you." Another pause, then a delicate hand gestures at the seat beside her. "Please, sit."

They are different sorts of creatures, the fox and her cousin. Quvianuq, though wander she may, is eternally a beast of her homeland. To be away from the ice and snow makes her heart ache, fills her soul with loneliness. Psônen, like the margay or the falcon, is well-suited to the long and winding road. Better adapted to the modern era. It has been some time, it seems, since the last time she'd seen him.

dear god you're up early aren't you

[thesnowbringer]

"Stow the jitters, coz," he says not unkindly, giving her a sharp little wink. "You know I don't bite." (Heh. 'Nother bird joke. I am on a motherfucking roll.) With a single, graceful motion he hops up onto the bench beside her, the soles of his sneakers making wet tracks beneath him as he settles into an oddly practiced perch next to her. His shoulders lift up to his ears as his head pulls down. "Pretty sweet roost," he tells his animal cousin and glances back up to the sky. He might not be a thoughtful creature by nature, but Psônen's not a moron. Even though it's been a while (some would say too long, but not him, never him), their shared blood makes them of one mind when it comes to an unexpected number of things. That cloudless sky overhead is one of them.

However, unlike little foxy, Psônen knows he can do something about it. He squints at her. At her large blue eyes, the color of icebergs.

"That dickhead on FOX says it's supposed to snow tonight. What the fuck does he know, right?"

[lagopa]

The fox spirit is more at ease in the presence of birds than men, and as it is, there is something strangely comforting about the way he perches beside her. The sharp lines of his face, blue eyes set into pale skin and turned towards the sky-- familiar to her, like the smell of frost in the morning. All their differences aside, there is no doubt that this is her kin.

"The snow is far from here," she answers, hesitating only briefly over the rough slang of Psônen's remark. "It is cold, but the night is clear."

A gentle exhale, fog filling the air where she breathes. There's something wistful about her, something a little forlorn about her face when she goes on quietly, "I do not think it will snow tonight."

[thesnowbringer]

He nudges at her with his elbow -- the point of bone against her side dulled only by the thin stretch of skin over it. "Oi. Not that fucking far," he says with a grin that tugs up to one side, making him look completely up to good at all (never am, never will be, amen to that). His voice, however, is wry as the space between them fills with the mist that quickly dissipates, condensing on their cold, borrowed faces. Lifting to fingers he points at her, though the gesture's accusation still manages a sort of kindness. More squinting, the color of his eyes still showing brightly between his dark lashes.

"Y'know, you're not nearly as happy to see me as you should be, coz." He parrots her, making his voice soft and quiet in rough estimation. "'I do not think it will snow tonight'? Is that supposed to be a challenge? Cause say the word and you know I will backhand clear skies into next fucking week, I shit you not."

Psônen pauses and in that pause, widens his eyes again, making himself look briefly earnest. Another nudge, this time with his hand. "C'mon. Cheer up, foxy. I just got here."

[lagopa]

The little startled look returns to her face for a moment when he nudges her with his elbow-- a gentle little push she feels just barely through the thick fur of her winter coat. Her pale eyebrows arch high on her forehead before slowly drawing back down towards each other, pinching in an expression that is mildly disapproving. She tilts her head almost questioningly, just ever so slightly skeptical.

"I am very pleased to see you, cousin," the fox answers, her quiet tone still sounding a bit reproving. "But, I simply could not ask you to use your powers on my behalf."

She hesitates. She wants to, yes-- nothing comforts her like the snow-- but it wouldn't be right, would it? She is a protector spirit, with responsibilities as a spiritual being. To act on her whims and ask the eagle for such a favor-- would it not be selfish?

"Still, it is very kind of you to offer. You are kind to your kin, Psônen."

[thesnowbringer]

"Nah," he says and gives a little shuffle of his feet, his shoulders rolling as if they were feathers needing to be unruffled before settling back down into his crouch yet again. "Not really. Kiso's a pompous ass and Waddy wouldn't know how to ditch the high-and-mighty bullshit if his life depended on it." Psônen gives his teeth a little snap of irritation behind his lips. He's never liked his brothers, which is fair because they've never really liked him back, so it's more than just a little true when he says: "Hard not to be nice to you, coz. It's those fucking puppy dog eyes of yours, y'know. An' the fact that you never use 'em. That means when you go around flashing the shiny bastards, I know you mean it."

He points at her again and gives a wink before looking up at the sky. A slow exhale, one that he seems to enjoy passing between his thin lips. "Don't worry. It'll snow."

[lagopa]

He's strange and a little charming in his own way, her cousin. Rough around the edges, certainly, and perhaps less ethereal than a spirit of the sky should be, but. It's forgivable, especially when he is being kind to her. The world has become a foreign place to her-- crowds, busy streets, tall buildings-- and in the moments that someone is kind to her, she is quietly moved. The faintest hint of a smile curves at her mouth.

"Perhaps the weatherman would have changed his mind," the fox answers lightly, "If he had known my cousin Psônen was such a generous spirit."

She pauses, then perhaps with a touch of hope, she asks in a softer voice still, "Will you really make it snow, cousin?"