on such a winter's day
Until today, I never actually missed California.
I missed the people, some of the places. Mostly the people, though. What is there to miss about a life spent on the run, fighting off bad guys in all shapes and sizes? Not much. I mean, I was committed to the fight, don't get me wrong, but it's kind of nice to be in a place my parents didn't %#&! up, you know? So yeah, I miss Molly more than I can say and Victor more than I'll admit to the others, but our situation? Our state? Not so much.
Until today. Because today? It's snowing. When I woke up this morning, it was already cold and grey out, which didn't strike me as all that odd at first. I mean, a little morning fog when you're living beachside isn't exactly out of the ordinary. Like I do most mornings, I hightailed it for the Compound, dressed a bit warmer than usual, sure, but making no other real concessions to the change in weather. That stuff usually burns off by the early afternoon, so I just figured this wouldn't be any different. Except that by the time I hit the Compound, it was already starting to snow.
I've dealt with snow before, but this isn't like, little flurries or a trip to Big Bear or even that one time we were in New York in the winter. It's coming down hard out there. In the middle of June. And for the first time I can remember, I really do miss living in SoCal.
Because, you know, if something like this happened back home, we'd be able to figure out what was causing it. It wouldn't just be some freak snowstorm in the middle of summer, leaving everyone scrambling indoors to take shelter in the crowd, since you know those huts, comfortable as they are the rest of the time, aren't really going to protect anyone from this kind of cold. It'd be some villain, some absurd monster, and we'd take it down and free Los Angeles from the unnecessary ridiculousness of a blizzard. (I mean, okay, there was snow in L.A. the other winter, but a) that was winter and b) global warming. I guess Al Gore knows more than anyone ever actually thought.)
And now? Now I'm chilling in the Compound - not literally obviously, since that's what we're in here to avoid - trying to find a spare spot in the rec room where I won't get overrun by people more freaked out than I am. I may not like it, but that's no reason to spaz out. I mean, it can't last all that long, right?
Perched up on the edge of the pool table, I can't help laughing when the jukebox spins into a rendition of the Mamas and the Papas' "California Dreamin'."
From not far away, freaking Veronica Mars glances up from a book, eyebrow arching. "Well, you've got to give the place points for having a sense of humor." I'm pretty sure she doesn't mean that at all.
"Yeah, real funny," deadpans the guy circling past me, and I have to admit I do kind of a double-take when he turns out to be that guy from The O.C. Not that I ever watched or anything (no one calls it that, okay?). He takes up one of the cues, apparently bored - who isn't? - and leans it against the table, racking up the balls. "It's a laugh a minute around here," I agree dryly. "You better not hit me with one of those."
[Indicate in your tag which of the three you want. ST/LT/newcomers welcome, and I'm actually gonna be ST for a couple hours myself starting right now.]
I missed the people, some of the places. Mostly the people, though. What is there to miss about a life spent on the run, fighting off bad guys in all shapes and sizes? Not much. I mean, I was committed to the fight, don't get me wrong, but it's kind of nice to be in a place my parents didn't %#&! up, you know? So yeah, I miss Molly more than I can say and Victor more than I'll admit to the others, but our situation? Our state? Not so much.
Until today. Because today? It's snowing. When I woke up this morning, it was already cold and grey out, which didn't strike me as all that odd at first. I mean, a little morning fog when you're living beachside isn't exactly out of the ordinary. Like I do most mornings, I hightailed it for the Compound, dressed a bit warmer than usual, sure, but making no other real concessions to the change in weather. That stuff usually burns off by the early afternoon, so I just figured this wouldn't be any different. Except that by the time I hit the Compound, it was already starting to snow.
I've dealt with snow before, but this isn't like, little flurries or a trip to Big Bear or even that one time we were in New York in the winter. It's coming down hard out there. In the middle of June. And for the first time I can remember, I really do miss living in SoCal.
Because, you know, if something like this happened back home, we'd be able to figure out what was causing it. It wouldn't just be some freak snowstorm in the middle of summer, leaving everyone scrambling indoors to take shelter in the crowd, since you know those huts, comfortable as they are the rest of the time, aren't really going to protect anyone from this kind of cold. It'd be some villain, some absurd monster, and we'd take it down and free Los Angeles from the unnecessary ridiculousness of a blizzard. (I mean, okay, there was snow in L.A. the other winter, but a) that was winter and b) global warming. I guess Al Gore knows more than anyone ever actually thought.)
And now? Now I'm chilling in the Compound - not literally obviously, since that's what we're in here to avoid - trying to find a spare spot in the rec room where I won't get overrun by people more freaked out than I am. I may not like it, but that's no reason to spaz out. I mean, it can't last all that long, right?
Perched up on the edge of the pool table, I can't help laughing when the jukebox spins into a rendition of the Mamas and the Papas' "California Dreamin'."
From not far away, freaking Veronica Mars glances up from a book, eyebrow arching. "Well, you've got to give the place points for having a sense of humor." I'm pretty sure she doesn't mean that at all.
"Yeah, real funny," deadpans the guy circling past me, and I have to admit I do kind of a double-take when he turns out to be that guy from The O.C. Not that I ever watched or anything (no one calls it that, okay?). He takes up one of the cues, apparently bored - who isn't? - and leans it against the table, racking up the balls. "It's a laugh a minute around here," I agree dryly. "You better not hit me with one of those."
[Indicate in your tag which of the three you want. ST/LT/newcomers welcome, and I'm actually gonna be ST for a couple hours myself starting right now.]