Equinox Event: Eggs, ego and endearing endeavours

[shardofwinter]

It's the Spring Equinox in many of the planets linked to the Nexus. The beginning of Springtime gaiety, flowers, longer days and a break from the persistent snow. All through the Winter people have been grumbling about the cold. More than a few have been cursed for their blasphemous words and utter lack of appreciation for the wondrous work around them. For the longest time the thought of Winter's end kept many mouths shut and encouraged people to enjoy the sparkling spectacle surrounding them. Now, however, it's starting to look as if Spring isn't planning on coming to the Nexus at all. In a place that should be dotted with blossoms and daffodils by now, it still looks suspiciously like the dead of Winter. It acts like it, too. Fog, ice and bitter storms kicking up at the drop of a hat.

Reynard is keeping a close eye on his domain. Unlike his mortal, jovial self, his eyes are sharp and cold, his smirk cruel. Perhaps it's the time of year, but he is particularly on edge. Local flower shops all suffered a devastating loss during the last storm, and an increasing number of accidents appear to be happening to sappy couples or anyone carrying eggs around, chocolate or otherwise.

After dealing with a particularly irritatingly cheerful resident, Reynard has had enough of these upstarts thinking they have the right to demand anything of a Season. With a supernaturally loud voice he informs the Nexus, "Settle into this world of Winter! It's going to be like this for a long time to come!"

Comments

[westfallcorndog]

If only he had his helmet, that would make things so much easier. Watching Amelia fret is doubly troublesome. Here's a person he's tried to connect with in the past and failed on nearly every account. On the one hand, he'd like to be her friend, like to learn how not to terrify her. This is a stark and obvious step in the wrong direction. But on the other...

There's something primal in him that arises at the sight of her fleeing. A living human scrambling across the ice, terrified of him... It stirs deep, predatory memories. He steps toward her. One of his hands drifts toward his weapon, but as his fingertips graze the pommel of his axe he draws his hand back as if the cold metal burned him.

No. No no no. He's not giving in to that. Not that easily, not like this, and certainly not with Amelia. His hands clench tightly into fists that he holds in front of him as if he expects Amelia to retaliate with violence at the single step he had taken towards her. He backs away from her quickly, his footing confident even on the smooth ice.

She needs space. He needs space, at least until his face or her nerves are fixed.