It’s not that bad, she thought. What’s a little snow? she thought. How bad can it get? she thought.
Cissie regrets her decisions. At the moment, she mostly regrets her decision to leave her house and head out in this snow storm. It didn’t seem like a white out blizzard when she left, but clearly she was mistaken, or maybe delusional. She can’t rule that out as she plows her way through the heavy snow, shielding her face from the wind and snow with an arm. She lowers her hand enough to squint around, looking for any familiar surroundings.
Cissie knows it would be all too easy to get herself turned around and hopelessly lost in conditions like this, and she would really like to avoid that.
As she squints into the flying snow, she spots lights, flickering ahead. She heads toward them, hoping they’re lights from the inside of a house, and that whoever’s living behind the door she’s about to knock on is feeling kind, and won’t mind a surprise visitor. She promises herself that if they let her in, she won’t even complain if they lecture her about being out in this weather.
COLD CALL
It’s so nice to be out of the house after being cooped up inside thanks to the storm. Cissie doesn’t even mind that there’s so much of it. The fresh air feels amazing, and she can’t help but notice how pretty it all looks. She gives in to temptation and drops back into the snow, making several snow angels before moving on to a not very good snowman.
While she’s working on her snowman, she spots others out in the snow. Cissie is a very mature eighteen year old, the product of being a little girl forced to grow up too fast, but sometimes she doesn’t hesitate to embrace her inner child and act her age, or younger. This is one of those moments.
She packs up a snowball and takes aim, launching it at the unsuspecting passerby. She’s been hitting her targets since before she could walk; she may have made a career out of her ability to never miss a target with her bow, but her throwing aim is basically just as good. Enjoy that snowball, friend.
Cissie King-Jones | DC Comics
It’s not that bad, she thought. What’s a little snow? she thought. How bad can it get? she thought.
Cissie regrets her decisions. At the moment, she mostly regrets her decision to leave her house and head out in this snow storm. It didn’t seem like a white out blizzard when she left, but clearly she was mistaken, or maybe delusional. She can’t rule that out as she plows her way through the heavy snow, shielding her face from the wind and snow with an arm. She lowers her hand enough to squint around, looking for any familiar surroundings.
Cissie knows it would be all too easy to get herself turned around and hopelessly lost in conditions like this, and she would really like to avoid that.
As she squints into the flying snow, she spots lights, flickering ahead. She heads toward them, hoping they’re lights from the inside of a house, and that whoever’s living behind the door she’s about to knock on is feeling kind, and won’t mind a surprise visitor. She promises herself that if they let her in, she won’t even complain if they lecture her about being out in this weather.
COLD CALL
It’s so nice to be out of the house after being cooped up inside thanks to the storm. Cissie doesn’t even mind that there’s so much of it. The fresh air feels amazing, and she can’t help but notice how pretty it all looks. She gives in to temptation and drops back into the snow, making several snow angels before moving on to a not very good snowman.
While she’s working on her snowman, she spots others out in the snow. Cissie is a very mature eighteen year old, the product of being a little girl forced to grow up too fast, but sometimes she doesn’t hesitate to embrace her inner child and act her age, or younger. This is one of those moments.
She packs up a snowball and takes aim, launching it at the unsuspecting passerby. She’s been hitting her targets since before she could walk; she may have made a career out of her ability to never miss a target with her bow, but her throwing aim is basically just as good. Enjoy that snowball, friend.