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Description
hether or not Sophie was well past the point of patience became an irrelevant point ever faster with the presumable suns suicidal plunge towards the horizon. Light seeped away and with it, what was left of any warm it had presumed to wash upon the land, if you could call it that, that is. Snow came down in fatter flakes and the wind had gone from gently playful to something more akin to mischievous with just a hint of malicious intent; whipping the little white aeronautical sailors upon tumultuous eddies.

Olivers words faded into the background haze along with any conscious thought Sophie might have had about their predicament feet replaced it with a monotonous trudge of frozen boot glad feet or in this case: ice blocks to beat out a weary rhythm.

Hope had become a long distant memory.

It was her Familiar who spotted movement; sharp owl eyes leaving nothing unseen, taking to the trees, trying for a better look.

Now had Sophie not been a human Popsicle on legs perhaps things might have played out just a little differently: a shout for attention and request for guidance. Maybe a smile even in which Sophie (or if that was her name at all) would pepper this new stranger with various questions about her/their predicament. This was not one of those times.

If there was relief she did not feel any at either the thought of rescue or his call to identify herself. His form appeared to materialize out of the surmounting snow as though the elements had sent a wraith of their own making to torment a lost soul. Blue eyes flickered tiredly, hands clutching at arms long since deadened. Sophie took in only vague details till her gaze fell upon the face... his face, nearly gasping in surprise, memory flooded in!

He stands tall, white lab coat cinched with a black belt to support the square pack and gun. Each hand is gloved Red in a material which caught the light at just the right angel; puffed tan work pants spill over the edges of boots with equal polished sheen. Sophie stands in front of this person, talking amicably, their friends (?) discussing something that she can't quite hear. Those eyes... umber... soft, framed in such a way by the strange little flick of skunk patched hair taking its liberty in the centre of his forehead.

Sophie KNOWS she knows this person.

"Friedrich...? Friedrich...!" It's all she is able to manage, heart leaping in her throat for just a split second. Her feet, so numb are unable to find themselves in a position to obey. Sophie's line of sight is interrupted by the surprise cajoling of a snow capped tree root; sending her crashing into a less than loving embrace of the offending tree. Just like that the moment is gone but the memories remain for a time before they too slip away to 'cold storage' of the subconscious mind. The name stays.

Sophie smiles. It is still cold. This strangers clothes are.. odd to her, though she feels they are not the strangest thing she's seen even though she cannot place exactly why.

"L-look Oliver... S-someone else to r-reg- tell your stories too"

She hasn't noticed he isn't on her shoulder anymore.

"w-why do-dont you ask-k Fr-friedr-ch for direct-ions. Th-t would be nice.., he-he looks-s as lo-lost as we are."

Description
hether or not Sophie was well past the point of patience became an irrelevant point ever faster with the presumable suns suicidal plunge towards the horizon. Light seeped away and with it, what was left of any warm it had presumed to wash upon the land, if you could call it that, that is. Snow came down in fatter flakes and the wind had gone from gently playful to something more akin to mischievous with just a hint of malicious intent; whipping the little white aeronautical sailors upon tumultuous eddies.

Olivers words faded into the background haze along with any conscious thought Sophie might have had about their predicament feet replaced it with a monotonous trudge of frozen boot glad feet or in this case: ice blocks to beat out a weary rhythm.

Hope had become a long distant memory.

It was her Familiar who spotted movement; sharp owl eyes leaving nothing unseen, taking to the trees, trying for a better look.

Now had Sophie not been a human Popsicle on legs perhaps things might have played out just a little differently: a shout for attention and request for guidance. Maybe a smile even in which Sophie (or if that was her name at all) would pepper this new stranger with various questions about her/their predicament. This was not one of those times.

If there was relief she did not feel any at either the thought of rescue or his call to identify herself. His form appeared to materialize out of the surmounting snow as though the elements had sent a wraith of their own making to torment a lost soul. Blue eyes flickered tiredly, hands clutching at arms long since deadened. Sophie took in only vague details till her gaze fell upon the face... his face, nearly gasping in surprise, memory flooded in!

He stands tall, white lab coat cinched with a black belt to support the square pack and gun. Each hand is gloved Red in a material which caught the light at just the right angel; puffed tan work pants spill over the edges of boots with equal polished sheen. Sophie stands in front of this person, talking amicably, their friends (?) discussing something that she can't quite hear. Those eyes... umber... soft, framed in such a way by the strange little flick of skunk patched hair taking its liberty in the centre of his forehead.

Sophie KNOWS she knows this person.

"Friedrich...? Friedrich...!" It's all she is able to manage, heart leaping in her throat for just a split second. Her feet, so numb are unable to find themselves in a position to obey. Sophie's line of sight is interrupted by the surprise cajoling of a snow capped tree root; sending her crashing into a less than loving embrace of the offending tree. Just like that the moment is gone but the memories remain for a time before they too slip away to 'cold storage' of the subconscious mind. The name stays.

Sophie smiles. It is still cold. This strangers clothes are.. odd to her, though she feels they are not the strangest thing she's seen even though she cannot place exactly why.

"L-look Oliver... S-someone else to r-reg- tell your stories too"

She hasn't noticed he isn't on her shoulder anymore.

"w-why do-dont you ask-k Fr-friedr-ch for direct-ions. Th-t would be nice.., he-he looks-s as lo-lost as we are."