ＡＣＴ ＬＩＫＥ ＷＥ ＡＬＬ ＳＴＡＲＴ ＯＶＥＲ ＷＩＴＨ Ａ ＰＲＩＳＴＩＮＥ ＳＬＡＴＥ
(New York has never been known for its temperate winters, but it's easy to forget that if you don't experience them firsthand. For the past few years, Paige had managed to keep her schedule fully booked during the winter months, moving from country to country, never staying in one place for too long and only coming back into the city when it could no longer be avoided. Warm blood creatures like her didn't survive easily in places like this. But this year she wasn't quite so lucky, ending up trapped there in the height of winter. Hopefully for only a week or two. All necessary scheduling/clearance issues should have been worked out by then.
Unused to the weather as she was by now, staying cooped up in the apartment was never an option, and her last few hours had been spent wandering around Central Park. Bundled up in multiple sweaters, the warmest coat she owned (which just happened to be a bright pink), hat, scarf and mittens, she looked better prepared for a trip into the tundra than a walk in the park. Always prepared, this one. It had been snowing all day, fat white flakes that grew increasingly wet and heavy as the day went on, until it became less a hike through her very own winter wonderland, and more of a slog through slush and drifts that went up higher than her boots, which rendered them pretty useless in the end.
By the time Paige maked it out of the park, and into a nearby diner (purely for the heat) she was a mess. Her cheeks and nose were windbitten and red, her boots soaked and her hair, where she hadn't been able to shove it under the hat, was wet and tangled. Her camera, clutched firmly in mittened hands, has made it through the entire ordeal fairly unscathed and despite everything, the smile stretched across her face was as broad as ever as she slipped onto a stool at the counter. What's a little frostbite for the perfect shot, after all?)