7779/Attack of the Snow-Women

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Attack of the Snow-Women
Date of Scene: 10 September 2021
Location: Ski Resort
Synopsis: Michael comes across a strange being apparently made of snow! It is not, but hey, got to have fun with things.
Cast of Characters: Cassandra Cain, Michael Erickson




Cassandra Cain has posed:
Whump.

The sound comes from outside, as a recent snowfall dislodges itself from the roof of the lodge and falls in a wave to the ground outside. The fact that one is indoors right now is lovely, because that looked like it'd be a bad place to be, and cold likewise.

It is apparently also a truly excellent if unexpected way to find onlooking watchers, because after the snow hits ground there's a scuffling noise and some kind of voiceless shriek. A moment later, one could hear snow being kicked, and stomping sounds that are heading toward the front door. Oh, boy. Someone's in a bad mood now.

The door swings open, and what appears to be a snowman stands in the doorway.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    The cold. How he hates it, this man who wears a human name. The sporadic snows of New York City aside, it's been nearly fifty years since Michael willingly spent his time out in open, cold country, and that was on a different planet. In sealed, climate-controlled armor. In the relative warmth of burning city streets. But here he is at the ski lodge, standing by a window where he and his vintage (to the rest of the world) Yamamoto Kansai sweater, trying to look unobtrusive because he really, really does not want to be here.

    But then the door opens, and a snow creature arrives. For a moment he actually wonders if some bizarre nonsense is about to break out, but then he perceives that it's likely just some poor soul covered in snow and he is much, much happier for his situation. And sympathetic toward them, of course.

    But he doesn't go over to freeze.

Cassandra Cain has posed:
The snow beast punches the door frame, and some of the snow falls off of its own frame as the impact shocks the white particles from its exterior coat. There does appear to be some form of human underneath, though the way it moves keeping its posture rigid would suggest that half of the snowfall went down the back of its coat, and it is halfway to death with pissy.

The staff of the place have dealt with this before, and someone steps forward with a broom and mop, to push the snow from the building. They direct the ...person...to one side, and it starts to shed its outer layers.

A moment later, a female human is revealed. How revealed? Very, very revealed, as the staffer's eyes widen and someone quickly moves to grab a towel to cover the female up. "What the hell, lady?"

The female glares, but speaks no words. She simply shakes out her sports bra, then begins to pull it back on. Apparently snow got...everywhere.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    What the hell, indeed - with a faint squint Michael watches from across the room as others look away, not in the hungry or gross way of some but with distant eyes, cameras bearing witness or the flst gaze of a bored housecat. That, certainly, is a spirited person. But Earth is fairly jammed packed with such people. It's why he likes it here. But soon she is shaking our her clothes, and Michael finally looks elsewhere for the moment. Tracking faces, furtively, from his perch encased in the loud sweater.

Cassandra Cain has posed:
A moment later, divested of snow, the female human has divested herself of the help. She has on a top, the type and shape hardly mattering, and is wearing standard earthen snow pants. The rest remains at the door, thrown there to dry. Or to rot, for all she cares.

She flops into a seat nearby, then puts her left hand over her face. She doesn't leave it there though, looking through fingers directly at Michael, her eyes sharp and discerning. Still no words, though. Just that odd stare, as if she's already seen through him and is deciding how to proceed.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Well, Michael's lived on this planet long enough to receive all sorts of penetrating stares; he matches it, bland and stony-faced, looking at the restored snow-woman. Nods to her, once, but he doesn't really push off the wall. Strange woman. Might be some kind of investigator. Fifty years of Imperial intellgence cadre training and quiet experience have him gauging her just like she seems to be gauging her.

    Snow women. They must be a staring bunch.

Cassandra Cain has posed:
She actually rolls her eyes then, as if Michael had said something to her. When she looks back at him, she shifts her head to a chair next to her, a glance indicating the empty location with the merest of affectations. Whoever the snow person is, she clearly acknowledges him and ...what? Hard to tell, most of these humans can't -wait- to engage in some witless inanities in their guttural tongue.

This one has simple noted his presence, and moved on. She does look about, her gaze keeping him in the corner of her eye. Professional, she's noted the most dangerous person in the room and is scanning the environment for others.

No visible threat though. It may be logical to kill her before she attacks.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Well, Michael wouldn't be so severe upon the human species as to call them /inane/ -- but he isn't the sort to talk unless he has something to say. Instead he continues to watch her, the only interesting thing in the room at the moment. But it's also a predatory look; the longer he looks at her, the thinner the veil of normality becomes. Humans are prey animals that learned to become predatory, it's said, but the look in the man's eyes are more of a falcon's than an ape's, blue and sharp, watching every fluttering of movement.

    His movements, too, are unusual - there's so little action wasted, potential energy bound up and ready to go. Ready for something to happen, and to react immediately. Is he a killer? A fighter? Security? Worse?

Cassandra Cain has posed:
The conversation between them becomes differently open, as the young woman responds to his readiness. To his darkening of tone, to his choices. She lowers her hand and assesses, giving him the more fullness of her attention. Her muscles bunch slightly, as her eyes seem to shift in thought.

She hides it very well, but the giveaways show through. She's assessing positions, deciding who has the superior and dominant angles. Who would be better prepared, right now, to attack. And it's him, so she shifts her feet slightly inward.

The change, tiny as it is, alters the dynamics massively. She's prepared to kick backwards, toppling her own chair to put it in his best attack pathways. She's used the least amount of effort, but how she gauged it so well is unknown.

Then she smiles. Not threateningly, but something out of place. The smallest nod comes with it, as she acknowledges that he's seen the change. And she'd like to see what happens next.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    In a human, this behavior on his part would indicate conflict; in his case, of course, it simply indicates interest. and so he approaches, pushing off from the wall and walking across the lodge floor to where the snow woman sits. He walks carefully, if politely, looking from the outside to move casually - but to the fighter's eye, he is anything but. And taking his seat on a sofa on the other side of the coffee table from her, his brows lift.

    "You aren't my target," he affirms in a rich baritone voice. "And this is an arrest, not an assassination."

Cassandra Cain has posed:
She shifts as he moves, but there's a moment when he begins to speak that the woman visibly relaxes. It's odd, but it's not when you'd expect her to do so. Just at the very beginning, when he's decided what to say.

Her position does not alter to track him, she stops maximizing her own response angle and lets him have the position. There was even a moment when he could have simply acted, and she did...nothing.

She gets to her feet then, a small nod toward him, but her response isn't to him at all. It's in what she does, not how she does it. Because what she does then is goest to the service counter, and claims two drinks. A cup of cocoa, and a bottle of water.

She returns seconds later, profferring the cocoa. The water is mine, she says without words. Mine.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    It's interesting when one can share silence - especially with a stranger. He takes the cup of cocoa, lifting it ever so slightly in salute, and just...sits there. Quietly. Sipping cocoa. And there they remain, until his phone buzzes, and whatever he sees there causes him to get to his feet. The strange snow woman gets a nod, this time of obvious respect, and he goes to take his leave, ugly sweater and all. Game recognizes game, after all.

    And off he goes, out of the lodge, into the frozen night. Hopefully not to suffer the same snowy fate as the lady he's just met.