"Nawp. Name 'em and you might get attached." It just slips out. Cricket's not exactly known for being a smartass, but he's got a streak of it. He gives a sheepish little duck of his head after the fact, and sobers at the warning.
"Sure thing, sir. Y'watch yourself, too."
He watches him go for a moment. Surely if he were who Cricket thinks he might be, he wouldn't just walk right into the Cafe--no, wait, why wouldn't he? Even where there's no storm, there is still Winter.
How bad is that, he wonders, and decides it's better not to look for trouble.
When he turns, with the intention to head back inside, himself, he means to use the tracks he's left already, but lifting his legs feels strangely easier than it was a few minutes ago. The pain is still there, the weakness, but there's a lightness, as well, and when he steps onto unmarked snow it just...doesn't sink beneath him. It feels soft, like walking on a thick carpet, which is a remarkably soothing sensation. Another couple cautious steps and he finds he's still not sinking.
Oh, it's a bit slippery, and no matter what he's still going to need the cane for balance, but it's a huge difference. He paces in little circles, leaving no footprints, but only the marks where his can presses into the snow. It's one of the strangest things he's ever experienced, and after a few minutes he finds himself cupping his hand over his mouth to stifle laughter.
This seems like a prank, or some very pointed magical commentary, but if it is meant to be funny, Cricket is in on the joke, for once. He hops a couple times, cautiously, realizes falling would be embarrassing and stupid, and stands still again, rocking onto his toes and marveling at it.
A moment later, he realizes he can't tell a soul about this.
People are already angry, getting toward the edge of what's civilized behavior. If he tells people he thinks some random old man gave him the ability to walk on top of the snow, the best case scenario is people will think he's lost his mind. The worst case scenario, which is all too likely, is that the dots will be connected, and no one in the shelters is a fan of Reynard North just now.
He doesn't think he'd be attacked, like a witch in Salem, but there would be awkward questions, and dark looks. Bullying, maybe, or worse if the noose around the shelters tightens. No, he can't even tell his friends. Not worth the risk of getting them in trouble.
He folds the fluffy collar of Loki's coat up closer to his face and looks back at the Cafe. The windows and doors are pretty insulated to keep heat in. He doubts anyone has seen him hopping in the snow as of yet, and anyway, he's always been good at being overlooked.
He retraces his steps back to the tracks he left earlier and walks close alongside them to get back to the door. He's still no good for scouting or expeditions, but he'll figure out something he can do with this. Best to just take his time, for now, think it over and see how things develop around him.
Still, politeness never hurt anyone. "Hey...thanks," he whispers in the direction of the sky, and then steps back into his own old footprints and goes back indoors.
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"Sure thing, sir. Y'watch yourself, too."
He watches him go for a moment. Surely if he were who Cricket thinks he might be, he wouldn't just walk right into the Cafe--no, wait, why wouldn't he? Even where there's no storm, there is still Winter.
How bad is that, he wonders, and decides it's better not to look for trouble.
When he turns, with the intention to head back inside, himself, he means to use the tracks he's left already, but lifting his legs feels strangely easier than it was a few minutes ago. The pain is still there, the weakness, but there's a lightness, as well, and when he steps onto unmarked snow it just...doesn't sink beneath him. It feels soft, like walking on a thick carpet, which is a remarkably soothing sensation. Another couple cautious steps and he finds he's still not sinking.
Oh, it's a bit slippery, and no matter what he's still going to need the cane for balance, but it's a huge difference. He paces in little circles, leaving no footprints, but only the marks where his can presses into the snow. It's one of the strangest things he's ever experienced, and after a few minutes he finds himself cupping his hand over his mouth to stifle laughter.
This seems like a prank, or some very pointed magical commentary, but if it is meant to be funny, Cricket is in on the joke, for once. He hops a couple times, cautiously, realizes falling would be embarrassing and stupid, and stands still again, rocking onto his toes and marveling at it.
A moment later, he realizes he can't tell a soul about this.
People are already angry, getting toward the edge of what's civilized behavior. If he tells people he thinks some random old man gave him the ability to walk on top of the snow, the best case scenario is people will think he's lost his mind. The worst case scenario, which is all too likely, is that the dots will be connected, and no one in the shelters is a fan of Reynard North just now.
He doesn't think he'd be attacked, like a witch in Salem, but there would be awkward questions, and dark looks. Bullying, maybe, or worse if the noose around the shelters tightens. No, he can't even tell his friends. Not worth the risk of getting them in trouble.
He folds the fluffy collar of Loki's coat up closer to his face and looks back at the Cafe. The windows and doors are pretty insulated to keep heat in. He doubts anyone has seen him hopping in the snow as of yet, and anyway, he's always been good at being overlooked.
He retraces his steps back to the tracks he left earlier and walks close alongside them to get back to the door. He's still no good for scouting or expeditions, but he'll figure out something he can do with this. Best to just take his time, for now, think it over and see how things develop around him.
Still, politeness never hurt anyone. "Hey...thanks," he whispers in the direction of the sky, and then steps back into his own old footprints and goes back indoors.