SNOW BLIND This snowstorm reminds Reyes, awfully, of the ice planet Voeld — except this time there’s no thermal armour, no spacesuit neatly sealing away the freezing environment and circulating heated air across all his limbs instead. This time he can’t feel his fingers, and despite the scarf he’s wound tight around his neck, the wind is still blistering his cheeks and condensation is freezing in his nose and he can barely see even a foot in front of him.
This is how I die, he thinks, bleakly and a little (more than a little) melodramatically while he trudges forward through what he thought was the village street, but is mostly an endless snowdrift. Who thought he’d ever miss his toxic, radioactive planet? At least the sulphuric hot springs were, well, hot.
The shadow of a house finally comes into view, and he makes a decision.
A moment later the front door bursts open, and in comes a bedraggled darkhaired man, breath steaming in the air, wind blowing in more gusts and flurries behind him.
JUMPED-UP It really isn’t the most dignified position.
He’d made the mistake of leaping from one rock to another while trying to cross the river, only to find himself floating inexorably up into the air, that single leap carrying him up into the sky. It’s like wearing jump-jets again, except as far as he can tell, there’s absolutely no way to control it — which leads to one (1) smuggler windmilling through the air, drifting slowly upwards, finally colliding with a tree branch and clinging to it for dear life. He eventually manages to step delicately downwards to earth, but even the gentlest step pushes him too far away from the ground, and then the whole damned cycle begins all over again.
Spotting someone from the group who came with him, Reyes perks up. “Find me something heavy, will you?” he calls out to them. “Or, better yet! Get over here.”
no subject
This snowstorm reminds Reyes, awfully, of the ice planet Voeld — except this time there’s no thermal armour, no spacesuit neatly sealing away the freezing environment and circulating heated air across all his limbs instead. This time he can’t feel his fingers, and despite the scarf he’s wound tight around his neck, the wind is still blistering his cheeks and condensation is freezing in his nose and he can barely see even a foot in front of him.
This is how I die, he thinks, bleakly and a little (more than a little) melodramatically while he trudges forward through what he thought was the village street, but is mostly an endless snowdrift. Who thought he’d ever miss his toxic, radioactive planet? At least the sulphuric hot springs were, well, hot.
The shadow of a house finally comes into view, and he makes a decision.
A moment later the front door bursts open, and in comes a bedraggled darkhaired man, breath steaming in the air, wind blowing in more gusts and flurries behind him.
JUMPED-UP
It really isn’t the most dignified position.
He’d made the mistake of leaping from one rock to another while trying to cross the river, only to find himself floating inexorably up into the air, that single leap carrying him up into the sky. It’s like wearing jump-jets again, except as far as he can tell, there’s absolutely no way to control it — which leads to one (1) smuggler windmilling through the air, drifting slowly upwards, finally colliding with a tree branch and clinging to it for dear life. He eventually manages to step delicately downwards to earth, but even the gentlest step pushes him too far away from the ground, and then the whole damned cycle begins all over again.
Spotting someone from the group who came with him, Reyes perks up. “Find me something heavy, will you?” he calls out to them. “Or, better yet! Get over here.”