4651/S'now Problem

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S'now Problem
Date of Scene: 08 January 2021
Location: North Woods
Synopsis: Snowball fight for the win!
Cast of Characters: Illyana Rasputina, Cindy Moon, Warren Worthington

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
January starts with a bang or fallen ball, and things only roll downhill from there. Crazy carpets and shrieking kids make a mess of the hill in the Northwoods, with tracks streaking the slope, and a queue formed near the top before they hurl themselves at speed through the thin, icy white path of doom. A few regular snowfalls have left at least some humpy snowbanks for adults and children to play on, and a parade of misshapen bodies suggest snowmen created when there was more powder than half-melted ice. Still, more flakes are falling to restore the damage a bit. Enough to make a difference to the not-so-wondrous winter wonderland.

Some entrepreneur, and there's always one, set up a cocoa cart on the side of a slippery path. The overflowing trash can of cups suggests a healthy business so chocolate dances in the air along with blustery flakes and every sign of it starting to get more picturesque. Pretty if you like snow, anyway.

For the Russian here, this counts as something like May. Pfft, grass still sticks out in places, it's not true winter. She barely even wears a heavy coat, reviewing her cellular phone with overt displeasure that comes with a cool, penetrating look inherent in all Russian women. Honest. Illyana Rasputina, owner of a cup of black coffee, doesn't even notice the snowflake stuck to her nose or melting in her bangs. She's too busy examining the phone to even pay attention to a snowball pelting her in the back from somewhere over... Well, there. In a zone of radi--err, disasters-yet-to-happen. Squealing little kids scatter as the teenagers fling snowballs at anyone in sight, avoiding whooping too loudly. Surprise attacks are what they are.

Cindy Moon has posed:
It's the new year, which means it has to be better than the last year. Right?" That's Cindy's take on it. The cocoa cart is an absolute must. The Korean girl picks up a cup there, her hands clutching it for some warmth with both hands. She walks on, her path indirectly taking her on towards Illyana, and suddenly, something trips her Silk Sense. She jumps into the air, spinning through a backflip...to avoid a snowball.

Really, powers? REALLY?! She lands, looking a little awkward after her display of superhuman agility to...avoid a kid's snowball. Didn't even spill her cocoa. Oops.

Warren Worthington has posed:
Normally Warren like to view the snow-covered cityscape from way up in the air among the clouds, but there is something to be said for taking a stroll through the snow covered park that every once in a while appeals to a high-flying Angel.

Strolling along the path towards dressed in his warm winter finest, including a long tailor made coat that allow his very noticeable wings protruding from his back free movement, the chill in the air doesn't seem to phase the man.

Warren walks calmly towards the coca cart, letting the drifting smell of hot chocolate on the air be his guide. As he approaches the sudden backflip performed by Cindy catches his gaze, a chuckle escaping his lips as he calls out, "Nice moves,"...mere seconds before he is pelted with a snowball to the back of the head.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Chocolate, marshmallows, even a mini-bar of sprinkles offer respite from dull, piping-hot cocoa that could melt the skin off someone's roof of the mouth. Those sprinkle containers are very sticky but many a mittened hand has made liberal use of them. Sadly Illyana's coffee is as miserable as Lex Luthor's soul -- dark and ominous -- so she has not availed herself of those things. The sting of the wet missile impacting her back erases the thoughts about marshmallows and replaces them with murder. Or so it might seem, with that very pointedly slow rotation, grinding with the finality of a guillotine. The tumbling motion at the corner of her eye earns a sharp turn of her head to track who--Cindy--and what.

But the kids are really the ones at risk. Her coffee cup rises, defensive position arranged, as though she might be ready to fling it at the nearest hostile. A second snowball is, in fact, likely to be thrown at her by a red-cheeked fool probably just this side of a freshman in college. Her frosty glare doesn't deter him, but this time, she can duck, jerking out of the way, coffee sloshing around. The path of defense heads to Warren.

Cindy Moon has posed:
Cindy looks over, wide-eyed and awkwardly, as Warren comments on it. And then gets pelted. "Ummm...thanks. Just adrenaline, y'know, like people picking cars up off their loved ones and stuff?" Dissembling is not her strongest suit. She sees the other snowball throwers, and tries to intimidate them. (Also not her strongest suit.) "If you make me have to spill my cocoa, you're really going to regret it!!!"

Warren Worthington has posed:
Chuckling, Warren looks behind him as he is pelted with the snowball from behind. "Hey, I'm just an innocent bystander here!" he mockingly complains to the kids even as he reaches down to grab a handful of white powder into his hand to start packing his own.

"I just assumed you were a gymnasts of sort..." he starts to reply as he is pelted again with the snowball dodged by Illyana, this time in the face. As the powder explodes, the blonde mutant starts to sputter as he tries to spit some of the snow out of his mouth.

"OK. Now this is war..." he says humorously, randomly tossing the snowball in his hand in the direction that the one that hit him came from.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Some of the coffee is sacrificed to the snow. The loss must sting, but Illyana raises the cup to her lips with a frosty determination matched only by the sharp, narrowed cant of her pale blue eyes. Rime blown off the missile in contact with Warren falls in her hair like so many diamonds strung across it. A sharpening tension in her body is probably indicative of violence about to be unleashed.

"Hold my coffee," she announces, voice rich and Slavic to the ear. Common enough in Brighton Beach, anyway. The cup lands on the counter of the cocoa stand unless intercepted. Gestures quick and precise demarcate an uncommon intensity about this whole snowball fight thing, enough one of the other college students is already scrambling away rather than face two-on-one.

"Da, like cars. Except ice. Have care," she warns Cindy with her cocoa. War, apparently, suits her well as she advances to a snowbank not far from the cart and gathers a handful of snow bare handed.

In Soviet Russia, snow gets you!

Cindy Moon has posed:
Cindy nods to Warren. "Gymnast! Yeah, that's it!" Another snowball whips at her and her head snaps to the side as it goes by without hitting her. For a Spider-Person, snowballs are waaaay too slow to hit. She winces in sympathy as Warren gets pegged, though. "Ooh, careful!" She shifts her own cocoa to a one-handed grasp, and then will reach down, scooping up a handful and compacting it. She'll whip it out at Warren's assailant; Illyana seems to be doing well-enough.

Warren Worthington has posed:
Bending down to scoop more snow into his hands, the winged mutant lets out a laugh as he replies to Cindy's sympathetic cry. "It's just snow. It's not going to hurt me!" famous last words, right?

Using one of his wings to block another snowball, he takes aim at the fleeing collage student, the man sometimes known as The Angel lets loose another ball in the kid's direction. "What? Is it getting to hot for you over here? Just be glad my friend Robert isn't here! He's smoke you!"

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
For a spider-person, is there any snowball except those flung by another spider or a speedster that present a danger? Likely not. Snowflakes fall in such abundance from the sky that everything else likely gets fairly white, feathers and all.

Illyana's missile is fully complete by the time Cindy stoops. She appraises the Korean woman briefly and hands over the completed one. "Bad joke, da? Sounds like a dad," she asides about Warren. Maybe she's begging for a wing in the face, but her head snaps up when someone totes a big long plastic tube of some kind from further along the field. Her eyes narrow. Hard not to place the resemblance to something that shoots rockets, except the low, soft *whump!* it emits clearly comes from something else, much more in line with a t-shirt shooter at a stadium.

Or automated snowballs. At least six get sprayed in a relative arc. She yelps and ducks lower. "They cheat. Did not like your threat, Warren!"

Cindy Moon has posed:
"Holy. Crap. They have automatic weaponry for /snowballs/?! Who does that??!" She'll whip the snowball Illyana hands her in the direction of the "rocket launcher" wielder. Not full-power, of course; she could honestly hurt someone with a snowball at full power. But she'll give it a good 'ol whip at the side of the user's head.

Warren Worthington has posed:
"Me? A dad joke? That would be something Scott would do, not me!" quips Warren to Illyana as he brings his wings up in front of him to give the young women a safe space for a brief respite of the barrage of snow.

"No," he agrees with the Russian, "No, they did not," he admits as he crouches to gather up enough snow to make a pair of snowballs, "...but if we don't have Bobby, we at least have tactics on our side. You ready for a barrage of your own?" he asks, "Count of 3...2...1...". He drops the winged cover and launches a pair of snowballs in the direction of the snow-blower.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
College students with too much free time. NYU Engineering represent, apparently, as the triumphant, thin array of cheers make the game too hard for the little ones and much more in line for the teenagers. Kids scramble to join, getting scruffed by their parents, or they flee for cover.

A whump becomes a parade of more snowballs. He has to stop to reload, and it's not like there's an automatic snow-scooper. Friends rush up to hastily stuff the tube with snowballs, and spheroid bombardment will commence.

"Go for the big wingy dude," clearly, is a great strategy when shouted. When he throws, Warren earns a hasty parade of shouts and running bodies. Not Mr. Snowball-shooter though, no, he rampages with the succession of thumpity-whumpity noises and a few missiles splatting impressively against a tree.

Illyana can scoop and shape snowballs pretty fast, all said. It's a matter of necessity, but the grim look on her face suggests war isn't all about fun tactics. "Da, he cheats with that. How boring." Fingers curl into the snow and she murmurs in Russian, all jagged edged syllables crashing together, ominous, invoking some kind of horrible future. Or mostly it's a "Hey this is cold" kind of moment. But with a pretty good jerk, she yanks a chunk of icy crust up and warns, "Duck," in that cold deadpan tone of hers.

Why? What's a reasonably big blob of snow and ice already falling apart like an Antarctic ice sheet going to do? Fall, of course, crashing into a twinkling blink of nothing that vanishes in an instant, only for it to reappear and dump on another student's head at a distance.

Cindy Moon has posed:
That gets a blink and doubletake from Cindy. "Wait. The snow..." She looks to Illyana, then looks to where the snow appeared over there. Blonde. Snow powers. "Holy crap, are you Elsa?" she asks, as she stares. She's so dumbstruck for the moment a snowball actually tags her.

Warren Worthington has posed:
After sending the barrage of snowballs, Warren covers everyone using his wings as a makeshift shield, especially when he is specifically called out. The soft but rapid thumping sounds of impact against them muffled by the feathers.

"No, she is certainly no Elsa," Warren chuckles towards Cindy, "Careful, she may take offense to that." To Illyana he grins, "And you don't think that is cheating? How much snow did you just dump on them anyway?"

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Snegurochka," Illyana admits. That has to mean something to someone. No exclamation follows as she turns her face towards the snow-dumped student. "He cheats, now fair."

A roll of her shoulder follows as she peeks around one of Warren's wings just in time to get pelted with snow and ice reflecting from a glancing throw. Shoulder and back now, accepted with equanimity. "Only a little bit. A meter is not that much snow." Visions of Arctic bergs dance in eyes not much darker blue than them. She smirks at Warren. "You have enough snow on you to be a yeti."

Cindy Moon has posed:
    Cindy looks at the wing, and then at the other two. "Since we have a shield, we could charge them and see what happens?"

Warren Worthington has posed:
"Not hairy enough for that," he quips to Illyana with a grin, "Besides, it is all part of my plan."

That being said, Warren flairs out his snow covered wing in the direction of the snowball-machine-gun, letting the buildup of loosely packed frozen water fling from the feathers in a surprise attack.

The shield raised, Warren pelts a few more hands of snow at any viable targets screaming in a militaristic voice, "Go! Go! Go! ATTACK!"

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Thump, thump, thump. Snowballs aren't shot so hard as to hurt, or else the NYPD might be brought in. Illyana looks longingly at empty space for a moment, then decides against whatever she had planned. Arms full of snow isn't much use, so she stoops to grab two blobs that can be shaped into balls. A ululating war whoop pierces her lips, and that keening sound might be enough to stop lesser souls in their tracks. Certainly any hidden demons facing down the Demon Queen of Limbo on the field.

A snowy field. Against human combatants, armed with a pile of snowflakes and a Spider-Person behind an angel. Things could really be worse.

Cindy Moon has posed:
"Right then!" Cindy will charge full-tilt with the mutants. Thankfully, she's got the agility to scoop up snow as she runs, compact it, and throw it, so she'll be peppering the opponents with "suppression fire" snowballs as they close up. Either the Queen of Arendelle there, or the guy who can literally shoof an entire WAVE of snow with a wing can be the heavy hitters; she's fine playing distraction.

Warren Worthington has posed:
Warren's tactic is to take to the air. He leans down to grab an armful of compacted powder and with a great flap of those mighty wings on his back he sours into the sky, divebombing the machine gunner with a snow-bomb. "Flank him!" he calls to the ladies, "We will have them surrendering in no time!"

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Reckless and relentless, the trio storm the college students who fire back as hard as they can or just bend over laughing with snow running off them. It's more fun with people who can dodge behind trees or consider a full-body tackle all in the name of success. Powder blooms everywhere, leaving Warren out of reach of most of the land-bound assailants.

Cindy's throws knock out a few who don't have nearly her speed or accuracy. Illyana goes for the accurate brutality method, true to her origins. She swings around at the command, having no trouble visualizing which way to go. A dart off to the left, and snapping a snowball to distract him her way. "Go, Cocoa Lady!"

Cindy Moon has posed:
Cindy will flank off as Illyana orders, throwing more snowballs. It's been a heck of a day!

Warren Worthington has posed:
Air assault over, Warren flies back over the heads of the college kids and lands a few feet form them, "Yield?" he asks, a grin on his face even as he bends to gather more snow. "If you do, I'll buy a round at the cocoa stand. Otherwise, I'll tell 'Yana really let loose...and trust me you don't want to be on the receiving end of that."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Yield? "Aww, man, you jammed my Ballomatic," groans the rushed college student, dropping to his knee and trying to scoop snow out of the tube where he pops the back open. "I don't want to lose a month's work, just lemme go. See, it's gotta dry out." It's not entirely a bad rig, really.

Illyana waves her arm and stops a ball from getting her face, mostly. Her wrist takes the brunt of it, the shower of white going everywhere. The sleeves of her coat are frosted liberally and she looks like she waded through powdered sugar, but all that to stand authoritatively opposite Warren. "He's right. You lose."

Warren Worthington has posed:
Looking over the Ballomatic, Warren reaches into the pocket of his pants and produces a small silver case. Flipping the case open, he produces a business card and offers it over to the young man, "Tell you what. That looks like it is an impressive piece of tech. When you graduate, why don't you come by Worthington Industries and maybe we might have a place for you."

The winged mutant looks over to Illyana and chuckles, "It was all in fun, 'Yana. We don't need to rub it in. Besides, the more we sit here and banter, the colder your coffee is getting. Need me to buy you a new cup?"

Without waiting for an answer the billionaire moves towards the cocoa cart and produces a money clip that rivals the thickness of some wallets. Pealing off a few bills he passes them over to the cart's owner, "Here...that should cover your costs for the rest of the day and then some. Just hand out drinks till your inventory is gone."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Look, I didn't me-- WA.... Wait, you mean a job? The hel---err, heck?" The poor baffled student takes the card in a snow-clotted mitten than he strips off so he can hold it in hand. Checks it back and front, too. If it were gold he'd probably bite into it just to be sure. "You seriously that Warren Worthington?"

All the fight's gone out of him, and clearly he's struggling, but it has to count for something. He waves off one of his friends, stuttering a little. "Uh, thanks. I mean it, thanks. Sorry about your suit. Your friends! Those wings, like... Right, I'm getting up before this gets any worse." Narrating that, he scoops up his plastic snow-shooter and scrambles off.

Illyana stands by, watching. Safer this way not to cause any kind of deep despair or discomfort, all said and done. Once Warren completes his acts of philanthropy, she has mostly squeezed the water out of her coat sleeves. No helping the pants. "That was nice of you."

Warren Worthington has posed:
Warren shrugs, brushing the snow off of his clothes. "It was an impressive piece of technology. Someone with that level of engineering is someone to keep an eye on when it comes to the private sector. It's good business, and if he comes in an interviews and he is as impressive as I think he is, it is good for the company. The cocoa, well, the sooner he sells out his stock, the sooner he can go home and get out of the cold. I am sure he would rather spend the holidays with his family than out here slogging cocoa."

The Angel smiles, turning his gaze over to Illyana, "So, how have you been? I don't remember the last time I saw you."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Off goes the student to tell his Engineering pals what just happened and tinker away on his gadget. That leaves the pair to regard how the world turns, Warren confident and the cool-eyed sorceress running her fingers over her damp hair to shake out the remaining unmelted snow. "I should not have done that," she says. "In front of others. Too foolish, but it will haunt me later."

Whatever concern there is comes from a cool, chilly reserve. Her hands go to her pockets, her gaze rooted on Warren briefly. A shrug to his question, but it's not out of the ordinary. "You? Enjoy the city, party, life is full and bright?"

Warren Worthington has posed:
"I am sure you will be fine, it was minor and I think the only one that really noticed was that girl that was with us. Besides, I the overt one here. If anything, they were staring at me. As far as life, I don't have any complaints," agrees Warren with a nod as he picks up Illyana's coffee cup and offers it over to her, as well as his own cup of hot cocoa. He lifts the steaming glass to his lips and takes a sip, wincing just slightly as the hot liquid burns the roof of his mouth. "Hot," he comments like Captain Obvious.

"You still over at Xavier's, or have you moved on?"