[ SNOWBALL ] - "Catch! ♪"
The warning comes from nowhere and everywhere, and is punctuated with the sound of laughter as a half-formed snowball bursts into flurries the same shade as the hair they land in. This is simply the nature of a story such as theirs, picked back up as easily as a conversation no matter the tragedy between the lines of dialogue.
As such is her cue, Cyrene enters stage right with her fingers knitted behind her back, the smattering of snowflakes on her gloves a betrayal to the innocence in the fluttering of her lashes. She is smiling to her eyes, all the warmth that their backdrop lacks.
"Sorry, I just couldn't resist. How was my throw?" And then that laughter bridges to something softer, impossibly fond. Hundreds of thousands of lifetimes worth of weight to the gentle sway in her words. "It's so strange, to see you here."
He will understand what she means, she trusts. That here is anywhere other than the earth beneath Amphoreus's sky, that here is somewhere beyond what might have once been fate.
"You practically blend right in~"
it's so strange, to see you here.
the cold of compact snow seeps through his hair quickly as phainon turns around to see where it came from; pale blue eyes widen, blink quickly, not sure how or where or why or... a hand reaches up to dust the remaining snow away from where it's sticking to hair at the back of his head as she speaks in a voice so uncanny, it's nearly unnerving. and when phainon finally replies, he doesn't echo the remark that stuck with him the most. "I was actually just thinking of trying to sneak up on some bears to observe them outside the city, didn't seem like I'd truly need a change of wardrobe..." words trail off into a quiet chuckle, and he shakes his head before looking down and away to the snow beneath his feet.
( it seems entirely possible she won't be there when he looks up again, somehow. if so, that would be perfectly fine... wouldn't it? )
knees bend as phainon's hands reach down into the snow, then start cupping a fair amount to form a little ball of his own before he continues speaking. "what brings you to the frigid jarilo-iv, cyrene? were you here for the earlier festivities, too? if so, I don't think I saw you around... there were some good food stands in the city plaza that I'd love to visit again, but I suppose those need to shut down for now." the sphere of soft ice in his own palms is nearly complete, perfect, just barely indented with the shape of his own fingers. then, posture straightens again.
--- he's almost afraid to look up in earnest.
but ---
phainon tosses the snowball in his hand, up and down... then makes a different offer. "think you could actually catch it, without the surprise involved? I've seen some of the children around here playing this game, and it seems they can't be caught... maybe you could be the exception."
and, at last, the snowball flies.












