![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
black ice waiting
After three days of heavy snow, it feels like the clouds are about to pass us by at last. The look that snow brings to this city isn't unlike the appearance of Gotham in winter. Ornate whorls and jagged lines of brick alike become nothing more than white as snow falls to blanket it all, the early morning leaving the surroundings looking pristine and untouched. Those who have to walk the streets know that the layer of white, however pleasing to the eye, is nothing more than its own death trap, black ice waiting underneath, mixed with broken glass from a drunk's late night crawl for home. In the evening, I watch as heavy flakes fall, perched on rooftops and swinging from building to building. Although the materials of my suit are no longer the same as they were before, functionally, I still have enough to help me soar through the air, and so it is enough. As long as I can head home without my feet having to touch the street, it is enough. Fast. Reliable.
No reason to complain at all.
But in the daytime, snow and slush alike become a burden I'm none too happy to shoulder, an umbrella in my hand protecting me against precipitation and eyes keenly glancing over my surroundings. In another couple of hours, the sun will set. By the looks of the clouds, the snow may abate by this evening as well. With a sack of baked potatoes under one arm, I heft the weight further up my hip and start along my way, before I see someone familiar walking in my direction. A part of me would rather have found the path clear all the way home— a part of me is glad for the company.
"Well, if it isn't Miss Parsons," I smile, raising my umbrella in greeting, a gust of wind sending a chill through my woolen overcoat; my shoulders raise instinctively. "A bit chilly for a simple walk through town, isn't it?"
No reason to complain at all.
But in the daytime, snow and slush alike become a burden I'm none too happy to shoulder, an umbrella in my hand protecting me against precipitation and eyes keenly glancing over my surroundings. In another couple of hours, the sun will set. By the looks of the clouds, the snow may abate by this evening as well. With a sack of baked potatoes under one arm, I heft the weight further up my hip and start along my way, before I see someone familiar walking in my direction. A part of me would rather have found the path clear all the way home— a part of me is glad for the company.
"Well, if it isn't Miss Parsons," I smile, raising my umbrella in greeting, a gust of wind sending a chill through my woolen overcoat; my shoulders raise instinctively. "A bit chilly for a simple walk through town, isn't it?"