sixthiterationlogs | A Break from the Bad

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A Break from the Bad

WHO: Sam Wilson
WHERE: Near the Police Station/Barn
WHEN: October 30, Day
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: None
STATUS: CLOSED

Sam leaned against the railing of his house, bundled in his coat, and watching the snow fall. It would have been relaxing anywhere else but here, well, it didn't exactly put Sam at ease. It meant food resources were going to get slimmer and they were going to have to figure out what to do about staying warm on top of everything else. For example, Sam was starting to notice that morale was becoming lower than ever. He and several others had been here for months now and with only more obstacles instead of actual answers, well, even if was starting to feel a new level of low. What was the point here? What were they expected to do? He dropped his head, groaning in frustration, "Not gonna figure it out just standing around."

He pushed away from the porch and started down towards the police station to check on Berg, his feet crunching on the newly fallen snow. He paused in his walk and looked down at his feet. He kicked at the snow and a slow smile started to spread as an idea started to occur to him. Sam knelt down, scooping some up and shaping it up into a small ball. His smile grew a little as the ball took shape and he stood up, hearing someone approach. Sam took a few steps off the main path and hid behind a nearby bush. He could hear them getting closer and when they were in range Sam sprang up and hurled a freshly made snowball in their direction.

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He isn't the only one hiding.

Natasha's used to snow and cold, and the draft in her room is easily taken care of by as many layers as she can wear, and she's even managed to get her knit gloves done in time for the snow, although her scarf is still one third of the way finished, sitting on her bed in her room.

But she refuses to stay there, cooped up and cold; this is nothing like the winters she'd faced back in Russia, winters she'd had to ride out in much worse conditions than this, so stepping outside, her only regret is that she doesn't have a pair of sunglasses to guard her eyes from the glare of the snow. But, in all honesty, that snowblindness can work in her favor, especially as she scales a tree near the fountain.

She sees Sam approaching as she crouches in the branches, movement still so as not to disturb the snow on them, breath slow and careful so as not to alert anyone to her presence. She's got a small pile of snowballs at her feet, and she waits. When he pops up to check and see if anyone is coming, she strikes.

One snowball, right for the back of his head.

Sam hadn't considered that others might have decided on the same idea of sneaking around and lobbing snowballs. He certainly hadn't pegged Natasha for it or that she would be able to blend in so well with the scenery. You would think a shock of red hair would be visible in a woods filled with snow and bleak leaves.

So it's no surprise that he's completely caught off guard when Natasha lobs him with a snowball in the back of head. He stumbles forward and yelps loudly. The noise and motion are both very undignified and Sam whirls around to try and spy a culprit. The clearing is empty. "The hell?"

That's his mistake. This time the snowball hits him square in the chest, and Natasha knows that with that one, the angle is too obvious — he'll notice the direction and look right at her. But it wouldn't be fun if he couldn't fight back. She drops from the branch, snow raining down around her as she lands, and she works hurriedly to gather more snow up into her gloved hands.

“Think fast, Wilson!” She yells as she lobs it at him.

"Oof," Sam grunts as the snowball hits him directly. Well that settles it then, his eyes immediately hone in on her because even Sam isn't that oblivious. He catches the flash of red hair and figures pretty quickly who it is -- there's a small number of red heads here after all and one of them is a guy.

"Oh so that's how it's gonna be?" Sam retorts, luckily he's already got a snowball in his grasp because he'd been waiting for someone to show up. Because he sees this attack coming he jumps and dodges to the right. He then retaliates by tossing his own snowball at Natasha, trying to predict where she might be moving.

Sharon was well and truly minding her own business. She really was intent on learning new things, and getting a feel for the place she now called home. Seeing Aunt Peggy had thrown her for a loop, but other than seeing someone rise from the grave this place wasn't too bad.

She rounded the corner and was pelted with a snowball right in the face. She looked up and saw Sam.... figures.... "You are so going to get it Wilson!" She said, wiping her hand down her face and throwing a snowball back at him.

Sam grinned. See, that was exactly what he was talking about. Sharon had seemed out of sorts since arriving. Not that he could blame her seeing as she was dealing with a beloved aunt who she had previously thought dead now brought back to life AND several decades younger. That particular aspect had thrown Sam at first as well, though with all the other strange aspects of this place he had tried not to dwell on it for long at all.

"Sure. If you can hit me," he replied in a completely mature manner. Yes, he was already running for cover and scooping up some more snow as he ran.

Sansa was trying to familiarize herself with the village which was why she was out at the moment. She knew that it made Jon a little uneasy whenever she wanted to go out on her own but she was used to being somewhat independent. Granted she had been under constant supervision by the guards who worked for the Lannisters but she had never really needed to get permission to go wandering around the castle. So she felt that she should be safe enough walking around the village as long as she didn't go beyond into the wilds.

So clearly she wasn't anticipating an attack of sorts. She was merely walking along and minding her own business when she felt the snowball collide with her shoulder, sending bits of snow spraying up across her cheek. It was enough to earn a surprised yelp from her as she jumped and then immediately ducked any other snowballs that might follow.

Then she looked up with wide, pale eyes and scanned the immediate area for the source. Naturally, she scooped up some snow to make a snowball of her own, ready to fire back as soon as she found the person. Which she did since a snowball was fairly harmless and a sign that someone was just playing around.

In hindsight Sam should have considered only throwing snowballs at people he knew. However, that hardly seemed fair and, besides, it was just a snowball fight. Sam peeked around the corner of the house he'd ducked behind. The girl's yelp is what had made him feel a little guilty. He hadn't meant to startle her, at least, not like that.

He aimed a little more carefully this time and threw another snowball. Partly it was to give his position away and partly it was to score another hit--this time on her leg. She was suspecting it now if her scooping the snow was any indication.

This time she was better prepared for the second snowball that came flying at her. It was a good throw that still managed to hit her leg just above her knee but the man throwing it at her had revealed himself in doing so. Flashing him a brilliant and triumphant smile, she forgot for a moment that she should be wary of strangers and she threw her snowball at him.

If it hit him, it would probably be a bit of a miracle considering she had never really practiced throwing things like her sister had but that didn't stop Sansa from scooping up more snow to make another snowball.

The snowball fell short, but it was close enough that its impact dusted him with snow on his pants and shoes. He chuckled, glad that he hadn't miscalculated after all and that the girl was at least willing to engage him in a snowball fight. She even looked to be enjoying it for the moment, or at the very least was giving him a big smile as she chucked the snowball at him.

"Not a bad throw," he called out, scrambling to get more snow together for his own. He didn't want to be caught empty handed, though it might have been too late.

Packing the snow in her hands until it formed a nearly perfect ball, she ignored the chill in her hands as she looked at him again and laughed lightly. "Thank you."

She had almost told him that she really had no experience with throwing things but her father had always told them not to show their weaknesses and the reminder has her holding her tongue. She calculated the distance and how short her last throw had been before chucking the snowball in her hand. This time it sailed right for his head while he was scrambling for his own snowball.

It was the difficult part of a snowball fight -- trying to make new ammo while keeping your eye on your opponent. It was one thing when you were ambushing someone, but once the jig was up then you were exposed and you had to rely on reflexes and speed. Sam, distracted by making a new snowball, didn't have the time to dodge this throw. Instead, Sansa's aim was true and he wound up with a snowball straight up the side of his head. The snowball broke apart, dusting his face and hair with white. The "attack" caught him off guard and he stumbled a bit as he scrambled to get his ammo together.

He threw it quickly after compacting the ball into a nice-sized sphere. This time he didn't stay still after wards, taking off at a run and scooping up more as he moved.

It was also difficult when you weren't as coordinated as the other person, so she found herself taking longer pauses than he needed to scoop up some snow to form into balls. Then it surprised her when she actually found that she had landed the first throw, her eyes widening as she saw the snowball hit him in the side of the head.

Not that he needed long to retaliate, causing her to scramble as she ducked down and started to move around in the hopes that he would have a hard time hitting a moving target. She also threw as many snowballs as she could in his direction, aiming to hit any part of him that she could.

It was harder to hit a moving target, but not impossible. He was trained in this sort of thing -- the ammo was just a little different though. Other than that, aiming at a moving target was actually pretty easy.

Dodging on the other hand, well, that was trickier to do while you were trying to make snowballs and aim. He rolled to the side for a good dodge, but then she was tossing so many his way that he got hit with a spray of snow as they hit the ground and also caught one in his shoulder.

He finally reached shelter behind a tree and took the time to reassess the situation, oh, and make even more snowballs.

Wet cold hits the back of his neck, and for a moment — just a second, really — Steve freezes, before what remains of the snowball starts to melt beneath the collar of his own coat. He reaches up to wipe away what he can even as he backs up a step or two to a nearby tree, only taking a quick glance around it in direction the snowball came from once he's taken cover.

He sees Sam and ducks back out of sight, huffs out a laugh, the breath fogging the air in front of him, and tries to ignore the shiver wanting to crawl down his back in favor of crouching down to dig his hands into the snow. Anyone who would doubt his ability to stay hidden while doing so has obviously never seen him roly-poly his entire body behind his shield before.

"Gotta say, Sam," he calls out in more or less Sam's direction while he scoops the snow, compacting it between his palms, "I'd think you'd know better by now."

Edited 2016-11-18 05:56 (UTC)

If Sam was honest, this was probably one of his top targets. If anyone could use some fun he as pretty sure Steve was on the top of that list. His friend had been through a lot and Sam liked the idea of having a little fun, even if the situation was dire.

Besides, it was just fun to target a guy who normally he wouldn't be able to take on a normal basis.

"You know me. I just go looking for trouble," he calls back with a laugh. He's making sure he's got a few snowballs on hand too, but even as he talks he's looking for new cover and a new place to "battle" his friend from.

Sam shouldn't count his chickens, but Steve can grant him the rest, at least. He peeks his head out quickly to see Sam on the move and ducks back behind his own cover only long enough to grab a snowball, twisting his body one more time around the tree to chuck it at Sam. He's hiding again before he can see it land, but still hears the distinctive paf.

"Least I still got my aim," he calls, maybe a little ruefully, before scooping up his snowballs and running for new cover behind a pile of logs mounted with snow before Sam can close in on him from the side.

This place may have taken away from some of the 'super' out of the soldier, but Steve was right about one thing: he did still have his aim. Sam spluttered as the snowball came close to getting him in the face and when the snowball bursts apart the debris hits him in the face instead.

Sam listens for the sound of crunching snow and catches a flash of movement when he sees Steven making a run for new color. And now guess who is getting pelted with several snowballs in return.

Steve could probably avoid the onslaught of snowballs if he tried hard enough, but it'd only be in service to his pride, and one of the advantages to a snowball fight, unlike a firefight, is that you can take plenty of hits and still win in the end. And he definitely intends to win.

There's still chunks of snow falling from his coat where Sam nailed him when he drops down behind the logs, pressing his back to them. He immediately gets to work on another stockpile of snowballs. His hands are bare, and he can feel the cold in his bones, but he's still a long way off from frostbite. It's one advantage. "So," he calls again, "what brought this on?"

He asks partly out of genuine curiosity, partly to determine how close Sam is trying to get to his position.

If Sam suspects the ulterior motive behind the question, it doesn't phase him because he replies. "Things get too serious around here sometimes. Figured a little friendly fire might break up the monotony of just trying to survive," he falls silent as he gathers his snowballs and sets a course for a new position.

There's a tree nearby with low branches. Sam sets the snowballs by the base, trying to throw Steve off from his plan. "Basically, just cause I wanted to have some damn fun for a change." After that response Sam goes silent, back tracking to another tree a few feet in another direction. The Avengers hadn't invited him to their HQ for just a sleep over. Until the most recent fiasco, he'd been getting lessons from not only Steve but Natasha. He'd learned a few things about sneaking around, especially when it came to getting into high places. Back home, that had been a necessity since he was the literal wingman. Here, it was more just a practical thing. Sam jumped and swung up into a tree -- far from the fake snowballs he'd planted at another tree.

He started putting together new snowballs, making sure to get further in the branches so he'd be out of sight.

Steve accepts that explanation in silence, momentarily resting the most recently formed snowball onto his pile and curling his wet fingers into a tight fist to try to warm them. He flexes them distractedly a couple more times as he glances around the logs, spotting the hidden stockpile. They are a little obvious, and his gaze immediately raises to the branches above. He can't see Sam, but the snow up there has been disturbed, and he collects his snowballs into the crook of his arm and stays low as he moves out from his log cover. Even if Sam's above him, making himself a smaller target can't hurt.

He moves quickly, but Steve is more than halfway to the tree when his instincts and his eyes tell him two things: 1) the disturbance in the snow above isn't fresh, and must've come from an earlier ambush, and 2) Sam isn't in that tree. Which means he's somewhere else.

"Shit," Steve says softly (though it carries well enough in the silence over the snow), and he straightens and runs for the tree, now closer to his position than his previous cover.

Sam has to bite back a laugh when he realizes his plan is working. He watches as Steve makes a stealthy beeline for the far tree. It is, of course, directly in Sam's current position's line of sight and Sam has no trouble what-so-ever lobbing two snowballs. The first is aimed at Steve, though might miss. The second, well, it's more thrown in a prediction of where Steve will likely dodge to get out of the way of the first. Sam laughs out loud when he chunks them because he can't help it. This isn't a wartime situation, so it isn't like he's overly worried about maintaining cover. He's just too amused by the fact that his plan had actually worked and he was able to get the drop on Steve.

Oh, sure, he was probably going to get a snowball lobbed at his own tree, but the look on Steve's face when he realized he wasn't in that tree had been completely worth it. And do you know what made it even better?

"ON YOUR LEFT CAP!"

He had picked the tree to the left of the decoy tree.

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A Break from the Bad

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