we didn't sleep too late;

[thesnowbringer]

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[lagopa]

The weatherman says it will snow tonight. The fox knows better-- she has an instinct for it, something in her very essence that can smell the first frost on the wind and feel the chill before the ice falls thick from the clouds-- but there is a small hope that makes her draw her fur coat around her shoulders for an evening walk. This city unnerves her, just like every city that crawls with the modern man, but it's worse to wait inside for days on end, listening for the return of cat or falcon.

The cold is a comfort. It cradles her pale, human face, coaxing a flush of healthy color to it. A faint reminder of home to ease her way as she wanders, a tentative form avoiding the larger crowds, their noise and their bright industrial lights. Eventually, the skittish spirit finds quiet in the park. Wide, open space. Nothing like the arctic tundra, but good enough. She sits, elegant an unearthly, on the end of a bench.

Large, melancholy eyes turn upwards towards the sky. It won't snow, the fox thinks, but she would like it to.

[thesnowbringer]

Cigarette's worked its way almost down to the filter (damn things never last as long as they fuckin' should) when he finally spots her on a bench on the other side of a field. She's still just speck again against his vision, still so distant and far away, but there's something about the way the dappled moonlight catches on her pale hair. It reminds him of moonrise over the ice-covered branches of a deep-frozen forest.

Kinda like home, he muses idly, though he quickly notes that home -- as an idea -- is relative. Extremely relative, it turns out, when you wander as much as he does, but. Whatever. Point still fucking stands, and giving one last desperate suck to his cigarette, Psonen tosses it and starts a lazy jog across the frost-covered field. He's not surprised when he gets close enough to see the sullen expression on her face. For a moment, it's enough to get him to regret having never properly learned her name. Kinnivit? Quickinit? Quivnannuk? ...oh fuck it.He smiles at her anyway, gap-toothed and unruffled, rocking

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

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?"