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andiwasscared

I’m right out here for you Just let me in

#{ let me in }

robin-buckely

#{ let it go }#{ let me in }

jeanprouvaires

#{ ice is my life }#{ let me in }

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whentheoceanmetsky

some people aren’t books, they’re poems.

#{ under the ice }

glemtfyrste-deactivated20140603

{♔}-— Again, he receives no answer but the wind and its chill whips at his coat. “Blasted…” The curse fades on his tongue with the cold seeming to bite through the layers of his clothing. It could simply be an effect of the weather, but the man could almost swear the a flurry encircles him. Dances, almost right before his eyes.

"Better to get inside," he decides aloud before turning back to the beaten path stretched out before him. As he takes his steps though, very faintly those red rimmed ears of his can faintly still hear the teasing voice of a child. Playful and demure. Shoving blistered hands into his pockets, Hans contemplates in passing the fables his dear aunt recited to him once upon a time. Stories of a hellion, varying in age and sometimes intent, who could will the sleet and snow.

Eyes which had not seen rest fell upon one of the few homes still standing so far from the village from whence he came. A shock of curls, russet and crowned by snowflakes, appears and then suddenly thoughts of the embodiment of winter are far from his thoughts.

'Papa!'

With ease, the man stoops to gather his child and draw them close. “Hello to you as well,” he chuckles with little arms wrapping about his neck.

'Hey, Papa. Papa, who's your friend? Papa, who's that?'

His brows knit. Friend? When Hans does turn about, he can only tilt his head. A boy, he observes.

"You weren’t throwing the snow back on the road there, were you?"

andiwasscared

Well, it's not like he really has anything better to do than to follow the other. He walks along with him, chattering idly here and there -- of course, he realizes the other can't hear it, so more of it is critical than is probably polite -- and only pulls himself up short when he sees the little shock of red hair bouncing through a doorway.

-- oh. The man's a father? Maybe he's been a little too harsh.

Smiling at the child, he can't help but to wiggle his fingers in the little one's direction, chuckling softly.

"Well, hello there!"

His own face lights up a bit -- adults don't ever see him, but children do occasionally, and if that statement's anything to go by, this one certainly can. He twists his hand, sending a small flurry to melt against the child's forehead, like a kiss, before leaning on his staff easily. He parts his lips to address the child once more, but stops when the man turns and...looks at him. Blinking in a little confusion, Jack cocks his head to one side.

-- "...who, me? Are you -- are you actually talking to me?

Help me out here, kiddo - is your papa talking to me?"

He immediate begins twisting this way and that, peering through the fog and snow to see if he can locate whoever else the man might be addressing -- as he can't see anyone, though, he turns 'round again, expression delighted.

"You can see me now? Is that...is that really all it took?"

#glemtfyrste #!replies