nexus_sages | In which Winter has a thematically appropriate query

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In which Winter has a thematically appropriate query

Not all Nexus days can be sunshine and beautiful frost patterns. Days like this are a grim, sombre grey. The mist is so thin in places that all it does is make the distance fade away sooner than normal, but it does apply a more reserved filter on a place often filled with joyous shenanigans. No, this is unmistakeably a day which makes the multiverse feel close, secretive.

It's in this clandestine scenery that Reynard strolls about. Far from hopping or skating through the landscape, he strolls about the place, setting ice on the path and covering it with a dusting of snow. In the residential and commercial districts, he's sent ice along as many pipes as he could find. As he goes he rumbles a low slow tune. Some might recognise the sea shanty when he reaches the familiar 'Ho... Ho... and up she rises...'. He's not a bad singer, all things considered.

He looks up from his work and fixes his eyes on the nearest stranger, singing fading into a deep hum and then silence before he speaks. "What is the coldest thing you've ever done? The most cold hearted act you've ever brought yourself to commit. Go ahead. I'm not one to judge."

Just as the quiet settles back into place, he pipes up again. "Actually, you can tell me the literal coldest thing you've ever done too, if you'd prefer. I can't resist a good ice story."

((Reynard is still handing out Winter Curses & Blessings and causing trouble if you would like to avail of any. Other than that: Caution to those who talk to spirits, they are proud and fickle people.))

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"Hmm..." Reynard strokes his beard, peering thoughtfully at the stranger before inhaling sharply and shaking his head as he pulls a face. "No... No, that doesn't cut it for me. How about you tell me a story, and if I like it enough, I'll stop making it quite so cold."

"Fair enough." Kaz smirks, shifts his weight back and forth slowly, crunching the snow beneath his combat boots.

"Any preferred genre?"

With a wave of his hand, he shrugs. "As I said, something cold."

"Cold ... cold ..." he mutters to himself. He looks down at the snow while he thinks.

"There's a story they used to tell in Japan about a woodcutter and his son. Let's see if I can remember the whole thing ..."

After a minute, Miller looks back up at the charming, icy man and launches in: "A woodcutter and son were out working one cold winter when a blizzard rolled in. As luck would have it, they stumbled upon an abandoned hut. It was cozy enough once a fire was lit, and they settled in for the night, hoping the storm would pass by morning and they could head home.

"The woodcutter woke up in the middle of the night to find that the fire had died and the door to the hut was thrown wide open. Then he noticed a woman standing in the dim light. Her skin was pure white, her hair dusted with snow. She approached him and leaned down as if to give him a kiss, but before their lips could touch, she exhaled a long, cold breath. His face crusted over with ice and the old man was immediately dead.

"The woman turned to the son, who was now awake. He was shocked to see his father frozen to death beside him and a beautiful woman staring him in the face. She decided he was too young and handsome to take his life, and spared him on the condition that he never mention what he had seen that night. If he broke this promise, she would kill him.

"Years later, the woodcutter's son fell in love with a woman and started a family of his own. One evening, he was lying next to his wife, watching her in the moonlight. She asked him what he was thinking about. 'About how lucky I am to have such a lovely wife. I've only ever laid eyes on such beauty once before in my life...' and he described the night of the blizzard.

"His wife stood up, and without so much as sparing him a glance, she said, 'For the sake of our children I won't kill you.' A chill wind blasted through the room and she disappeared in a swirl of snow, never seen again."

Story concluded, Miller's eyebrows are both raised expectantly. "So ... cold enough to spare me a little warmth?"

That is an interesting story. One he might investigate one day. Maybe.

"A little warmth indeed..." About a degree Celsius. Isn't he generous! "I had been expecting a story about you. Of course, you could always persuade me to ease the biting cold with more tales."

Miller's eyes roll behind his aviators. Standing still is making him colder and negating the miniscule warmth he earned.

"Alright. Fine," he sighs sharply.

"So, similar theme: there was the one time in college that a girlfriend of mine got pissed when she found out I'd been cheating on her. She locked me out of her apartment in a foot of snow. Without shoes. Or a shirt ... or, uh, pants. Just boxers. I had to bum a quarter off of someone on the street and call a friend from a pay phone.

"Not as poetic, but there you go."

Short and sweet. The story clearly entertains Reynard who, after a mock sympathetic inhale, chuckles and grins. "A woman scorned can be the coldest creature of all."

Alright, he'll drop it a couple of degrees and make the air dry, much easier to deal with the cold that way.

"Do I get another?"

"Don't I know it..." he mutters, and then falls silent for a few moments to think of another cold anecdote.

"Okay... Here's one: growing up, I got a lot of shit from the neighborhood kids for being a hāfu. This one kid in particular was relentless -- called my mother a whore, called me a bastard, mongrel, half-breed. Picked fights. Typical bully.

"Anyway... one day I had enough of his crap and shoved him into the harbor. The water around there was filthy and it was ... late fall, I think? So cold as hell. It was right by a seawall, too, so there wasn't an easy way out of the water.

"In retrospect, I guess the kid could easily have died if people hadn't be around to haul him out. I got an earful from my mother for that stunt."

He grimaces at the memory. Kids can be vicious.

It slowly becomes a somewhat more bearable cold day now. The temperature dropping slightly as Reynard nods thoughtfully. "I like that story. A dash of questionable justice, and treacherous ice water... You should tell me your name. I wouldn't want to know you just as hāfu."

"Kazuhira Miller. 'Kaz' for short." He pulls a hand from his pocket for shaking. "And you? Something easier than 'the guy who makes it cold around here and likes a good story'?"

"Kaz." The near unnoticeable wry grin at the offer of a hand is explained when he goes to shake. Without his gloves on Reynard's hands are a sharp, intense cold that clings to the skin. "Reynard North, spirit of Winter."

He realizes his error the moment their hands touch. To his credit, he keeps a valiant smile through gritted teeth. He can't bite back the hissing breath, though.

"S-s-spirint of Winter ..." he echoes. "That makes sense."

The handshake is brief and Kaz clasps and unclasps his fist to work off the chill. "So a seasonal gig, huh? What do you do in the off months, Mr. North?"

It's alright, Reynard will take that as a compliment, not an insult. The same way he grins openly at Kaz's attempt to warm up his hand afterwards.

"Mountaineering. Kayaking, hikes, canyoning... that sort of thing. Mostly making sure people don't die up mountains and getting paid extra for looking dashing and being charming. What about yourself?"

"Damn! Sounds like a dream job," he says with a laugh.

Kaz pushes up his sunglasses before crossing his arms. It's warmer, but not that warm. "Me? I'm the executive officer of a private military operation. Mostly in charge of all the organizational bullshit. Sadly, I don't get any bonuses for being attractive or charming, but it certainly helps when courting new clients."

Someone also has a very high opinion of himself.

"It is, for the most part."

"It's been a long time since I heard anyone claim a job like that." His eyes flicker to the tightly crossed arms and his mouth pulls into a grin. "I suppose you meet them in places like sunny Costa Rica. I don't expect they'd be charmed at all if they saw you trembling like that."

"As luck would have it, a lot of mercenary work comes up along the equator. I've been in Central America for the past couple of years -- tequila and sandy beaches." There's a foggy sigh at the thought of it.

"Don't run into a lot of martial types, huh? You come from a peaceful place?"

Reynard will be wrinkling up his nose at the description. "Sounds like you're working very hard."

"Not these days. Not unless they're on holidays or training runs. I've made damn sure to stay as far away from any more wars as I possibly can."

"War isn't for everyone," he concedes, shifting his weight to one leg, than the other. "Sounds like you might have an interesting story of your own. Care to share?"

"I have a thousand interesting stories. A thousand dark tales. A thousand amusing anecdotes... But I gave you respite from the cold for yours. What would you give me for mine?"

Miller's lips press together in thought. "How about some spirits for a spirit? I'll buy you a drink ... if the bars around here'll take my pesos."

His head turns one way and then another, as if debating, before he nods. "I think that should do quite nicely."

"Do you have a favorite watering hole?" He does a half-turn on his heel, taking in this particular block of the Commerical District (which they were totally in this whole time, right?) "I'm still getting my bearings here, especially when it comes to night life."

Reynard gives him a strange look for about half a second before chuckling and shaking his head. Laying a heavy hand on Kaz's shoulder in a pat, he starts walking. "Follow me. I know somewhere that might suit you."

Of course he strides confidently along, completely unaffected by the ice he's laid down. After a few twists and turns and checking several times to make sure Kaz is still with him, he leads them to a tall building that bulges out slightly from its neighbours.

With a smile, Reynard opens the door for Kaz and stretches out a hand. "Ladies first."

Inside is quite a bizarre sight. From the ground floor they can see all the way up the many layers of the building. Each with its own style poking out over the balconies. It's noisy in the same way all bars are, but somehow the sounds of the different floors never quite mix. Unless Kaz starts going somewhere else, Reynard is making his way to the stairs and up to the bar of whites and pale blues. Seasonal. Probably. Maybe.

The pat on the shoulder gets a wince, and he dusts the lingering frost from his fatigues.

Kaz keeps up through the streets, happy to have an excuse to move his chilled limbs. The 'ladies first' jibe gets a snort, but once he steps inside their destination, he lets out an impressed whistle.

The temptation to wander is great, but he restrains himself. Plenty of time for that later. He dutifully follows North, quietly hoping his choice in bars offers a more comfortable temperature.

"What's the story behind this place?" he asks once he's back in earshot.

Kaz will surely be thankful to find that it is a far more comfortable temperature. Even the bar Reynard is heading to, which has a counter imitating swirling ice patterns, is on the warm side. The Winter spirit doesn't really mind.

"As far as I know? A compromise. A co-op. Bar owners getting their own sections and a fascinating reputation, and being able to serve all kinds of clientele. The bar below us has seats that mould to your shape." He shivers dramatically but grins. "A very strange sensation."

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