Into the Woods || Callista & Ezra
When Callista was very small, she’d believed that snowfall came when the angels of Heaven were having a party. When it came on Christmas in London, they were particularly happy for what was supposed to be a joyous occasion anyways. She loved to go out in it, spin around in her coat and catch the flakes on her tongue. It didn’t usually snow all too heavily back home, but the thrill of it had pleased her to no end.
But now, with the ongoing and raging blizzard, she was starting to wonder how she ever could have believed that angels in Heaven would cause something like this.
If she were able to, Callista would take back the comment she’d made to Lucas not too long past. I like the snow. I don’t think the snow is so so very bad. Wrong. Wrong. So many levels upon levels of incorrect it made her head spin.
Or maybe that was the hunger. Or fear, because there was somebody else around. Somebody who wasn’t Lucas or Reaper or Deadshot or Rosemary. No, any of them would have come up to her, prodded her side, told her to head back to the camp. No, there was somebody else out here with her. She wanted to vomit, wanted to crawl into a tree and wait for it all to pass.
But that wouldn’t be the strong; wouldn’t be what a proper spy would do. Plus, if someone were out to get her, staying in one place would only serve to help them in their goal. They’d find her, a skinny blonde British spy and that’d be it. Zip, zap, done. She didn’t know what she’d become when the war ended, but she didn’t actively wish to die. Perhaps the thought of it was somewhere in her mind, but it wasn’t here, certainly not right now when she was shaking from the cold and the active worry that somebody else who wasn’t her brother, angry with her for sneaking out into the woods, was somewhere in the snow-covered forest.
At least she had a book this time -- one she’d borrowed from Rosemary, but she figured that the excuse of trying to find a place to read wasn’t exactly going to work against the enemy, at least not in the middle of the woods -- and she couldn’t exactly pull off a wholly convincing German accent. Assuming they were German and not from somewhere else.
Callista knew she had to get rid of the scout or spy or whoever it was in the woods with her. She continued to make her way through them, sucking on her lips to keep them warm and wrapping her arms around her body, fingers digging through the fabric of her coat and into her ribs from holding them so hard.
All of a sudden she felt her body slam into somebody else and a scream escaped her lips unwillingly. She backed away, her breath making an increased number of puffs into the air and the cold air caught in her throat making it ache, before she noticed -- “Sergeant Gates?” She bit her lip, hoping her slight recognition of the man was correct and not a possibly deadly mistake. “Right? Please tell me that’s you? I -- there’s somebody else out here. I need you -- your help.”
