love bites (closed)
interweb-slinger
Okay, the point of sketching outside in the wintertime was that there would be no bugs. That was the entire idea. The entire idea. Steve had bundled himself up in every single coat he had, he'd risked life, limb and a possible cold to practice his life drawing skills in the park, and what happened?
Bugs. Bugs happened. Lots of bugs happened.
First, one bit him on the nose and almost made him drop his sketchbook. Then one got him on the neck. He felt one crawl down his coat. By the time he realized a swarm of the little angry red bastards were streaming out of a knothole in a nearby tree, he'd already been bitten half a dozen times.
This. This is how I die, Steve thought. Running through the snow while smacking at myself like an idiot. At least he wasn't the only one- some guy with a tripod was trying desperately to fend them off while packing away his camera.
Steve used his sketchbook as an over-sized flyswatter to keep the things off of the photographer for a few precious seconds, then the two of them booked it into a nearby cafe to escape the swarm.
Slumping against the wall, Steve pulled the scarf off of his face so he could breathe, and also in the hopes that it would make the bites there itch less. "Why," he asked the universe at large as he stared up at the ceiling.