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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"Travel is a little complicated for me. I did manage to stay out of the Great War, the Second... was more dicey. Eventually I managed to find myself a spot where I could wait it out."

"And where was that? A place like this?" He nocks back the last bit of tequila with a small wince.

He turns to prop his elbows against the bar and face the rest of the establishment. "Does this place even have seasons. Well, aside from when someone decides to make them?"

There's a pointed look at North.

"No, no. On a mountain, in a forest, after carefully building up a ghost story that kept soldiers at bay."

"Of course it does." That's a complete lie. He's not entirely sure. "How else would I be here? Winter comes first and I come with it, not the other way round. Ha! As if I control Winter!"

Miller gazes out at the other bar patrons, the odd mix you'd expect. "So all of this begs the question: are there others like you? Maybe some hot babe infused with the power of spring ... makes the plants grow and bakes on tan lines?"

"I don't know. I've never met any. It seems a reasonable assumption, but Seasons, I hope not. Spring would be unbearable, Summer would be infuriating... Autumn would be alright."

He snorts at the speculation. "Seems lonely being one of a kind. But at least you can pass for human. And drink booze, apparently."

The bartender has wandered back over to check in. "Want another, North? You earned it, answering all my prying questions."

"In this case, loneliness might be far better than the alternative."

"Well, if I've earned it." He grins and nods. "So what about you? Do you have family? Friends? Secret powers?"

The bartender dutifully refreshes both of their drinks.

"No -- no powers. Just a handsome face and a silver tongue, if anything," Kaz laughs.

"And ... not much left in the way of family. Mostly friends." He looks down at his glass and snorts. "Although that's kind of a misnomer. 'Allies' is a better word."

The joking is met with a grin.

Reynard makes a small sound and nods thoughtfully. "That's true in most cases. Whether people believe it or not. 'Friends' is a word thrown around lightly and meant rarely."

"In my line of work, people care about each other on more conditional terms. 'What does this person have to offer me or my cause?' Not exactly the best basis for a healthy friendship."

The tequila is getting to his head a little. "The moment someone shows the barest hint of giving a shit about you as a person ... kinda takes you off guard. Ha."

He nods slowly in quiet agreement as Kaz speaks, half shrugging before he adds, "And even then, you start to suspect that's an act too, don't you?"

Miller grunts his agreement, "Yep. Most people are looking out for number one. Myself included."

He tips back another swig of tequila and exhales. "You're basically immortal, right? You're probably in a great place to weigh in on human nature. Do you think we're basically good or bad? And none of that shades of grey cop-out bullshit."

"Oh yes, because everything has to be black and white with you people." He rolls his eyes and taps his glass.

"You're no more special than anything else in the world. You make more of an impact, it's true, but in the end, you're animals. As good or bad as the wolf, or rat. You are what you are; animals trying to survive. With all the good and bad that comes with that. In true survivalist terms: You're bad until you benefit the person making the judgement."

"A fair and honest assessment," he says, stifling a hiccup with one hand, raising his glass with the other. "I'll drink to that."

He adjusts his weight against the bar. "You know, all the soldiers in my organization -- they all get monikers when they join. Always animal names. Shark, Chameleon, Snake..."

"Oh fun, appropriate nicknames!" Perking up, he leans closer. "What's yours then? Is it a parrot maybe." He gestures to his own head of hair. "With the... with the plume?"

"And chatty, too! Good guess!" he says after a genuine laugh. "But no. I never got one, for whatever reason."

After a pause, he prods a finger at North. "Mysterious, rare species ... keeps to himself, thrives in cold climates. You'd be 'Snow Leopard' if you enlisted."

"A snow leopard?" He laughs and beams. "You're very flattering today. Most people would call me a fox."

"It crossed my mind, but ... too obvious. Everyone wants that one. Gotta be more creative." He tips back the last sip of his tequila.

"Although you do strike me as one for mischief."

"Handsome, powerful, stealthy and, as you say, mysterious. I could be quite content with your creativity." His grin widens a touch and he curls his moustache one side at a time.

"I do quite enjoy mischief." Sage nodding. "Causing it more than enduring it, naturally."

"You've got the ridiculous mustache twirling down, that's for damn certain."

He props his chin on his hand, his posture getting a little lazier. "What sort of trouble does a winter spirit get up to?"

"Ha! Ridiculous? Don't be silly. You love it really." Don't disagree with the Winter spirit, just smile and nod.

"All sorts. Fun, light hearted playfulness. Or daring game playing that has a chance of fatality... Slippery paths are a favourite. Unstable icicles are fun too. You should see how people jump when they fall!"

If North looks closely, he could probably spot the shadow of his eyes rolling. He's probably just jealous; good facial hair doesn't come easy for this guy.

"I had at least a couple good, icy face plants growing up. Thanks for that.

"And of course I have to ask now: has anyone actually died? Just because they happened to be around when you were bored?"

The thanks only gets a wide grin, sarcastic as it is.

"People have died. But not because I was bored. They died because that's what Winter does. It takes life. It puts the living through a trial. Admittedly, it doesn't care much whether people die of starvation, the cold, or slipping the wrong way. Sometimes it's by my hand, sometimes it's not." He pauses and signals for another drink. "But if you're asking if I've killed for Winter, the answer is yes. Many, many lives. Many, many times."

"Sure. You already made it clear you had a great time freezing the French." He watches the bartender fill the glasses again with some unease. He's in that buzzed grey area that overrules the more scrupulous part of his brain.

"Didn't mean for this to go back to a dark place," he says with an awkward laugh. "But whatever! You said you don't bother with the uh-- what was your word? drudgery of warfare anymore. Do you still cull the herd on a more personal level? Mountaineers and whatnot?"

Reynard shrugs and smiles easily. "It's only as dark as you want it to be."

"Not usually mountaineers, but for revenge? Yes, a couple of times." He takes a sip of his drink and gestures vaguely. "Winter offers me a few favours. Perks of the job, if you will. Revenge, grudges and cold blooded killing? All very Winter activities."

"What about you? Do you ever kill for personal reasons?"

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