❄️ Winter-themed prompts 2023 #1

# “I like it out here. It's peaceful.” - Rez

With the year’s end, the subjugation approaches to a close. Your new [Lord/Lady]’s victory is only a formality at this point - you should expect a convoy with Mastravisch’s orders within a fortnight.

Though the newly claimed terrain is treacherous and wild, securing the wastes en route to the Beyond sends a bold message that the Crown will no longer be able to ignore. The discovery of a crystal mine chain is also a beneficial, though unexpected, development.

Thus, the giddy atmosphere that seizes the camp doesn’t strike you as a surprise. The booze and scent of grilled beast meat permeate the air thicker than the smoke from many fireplaces lit along the escarpment.

The sky here is bright, but the dusk is creeping in. Soon, the fire will be the only source of light for the long night to come.

Taking advantage of the lingering day, you seek a stream to wash the grime and sweat out of yourself. When you start to dress in fresh clothes, a single snowflake lands on your nose. It stays there, unmelted, cold against cold, until you rub it off.

Within minutes, the ground is covered in a thin layer of white that grows denser and denser on your way back to the camp. Pausing halfway there, you notice Rez relaxing on the edge of a cliff, legs dangling off the rim.

It’s rare for [him/her] to stray from your unit, rarer still to sit in complete silence, far from the general crowd. It makes you hesitate before you approach, but you trust Rez to send you away if [he/she] really wants to. Not that it ever happened.

Despite the cold weather, [his/her] shirt is loose, putting the plethora of scars and tattoos on full display. The sight alone is enough to make you shiver.

“I like it out here,” Rez drawls, long before you find yourself by [his/her] side, eyes glued to the forest below. [He/She] recognizes your footsteps, which makes creeping up on [him/her] impossible, even after a couple too many drinks. “It’s peaceful.”

“Since when do you enjoy concord?” you taunt, recalling [his/her] constant complaints about boredom in between the relocations.

“On occasion,” [he/she] huffs, reclining backward until the back of [his/her] head rests against your torso. [He/She] must have been sitting here for a while, judging by the sheet of snow sprinkled over the crown of [his/her] hair.

“Bullshit.” Sending the snowflakes scattering, you drag your fingers through [his/her] strands. They’re unfairly soft, given how little [he/she] cares for them.

“Fine,” [he/she] admits, catching your retreating hand and resting it against [his/her] jaw. [His/Her] breath is scorching, leaving your skin moist. “But you do.”

“What does it matter what I enjoy—”

“Matters to me.”

With [his/her] steady hold on you, disengaging isn’t an option. [His/Her] neck turns, pulling your hand lower. [His/Her] lips sweep past your knuckles, resting on your pulse point. In moments like these, it’s a relief to be dead.

Rez’s eyes are on you, but the weight of [his/her] admission is too much for you to shoulders, and so you watch the horizon instead, the grove and what lies beyond it.

Contrary to the rest of the area, the wasteland houses no residents, save for a few woodsmen and druids. By Mastravisch’s orders, you are to focus on eliminating the nobles allied to the Crown unless they swear allegiance to Overshadow instead.

There are no nobles here, so the little fighting you do is the local monsters or beasts, which gains you the gratitude of the villagers and farmers, though not much else. It is peaceful, like Rez said. But for how long?

“Good place for a house.” Lifting [his/her] free arm to catch your attention, Rez uses the tip of the sword [he/she]’s been polishing before you came to point at a distant hill.

“A witch’s house, maybe. They don’t like company.”

“Like you.”

“Company of idiots.” Pinching the cheek [he/she] so conveniently placed within your grasp only makes [him/her] laugh. “But, look, I’m tolerating you.”

“Once we serve our due, we could stay here.”

“And do what? Forage?”

Rez jostles you as [he/she] shrugs. “I’d build us a house. Plenty of trees here.”

“Would Mastravisch discharge you?”

Rez cackles. “What can that brat do to me?”

True. There’s no army big enough to subdue Rez.

“You’d leave Mirren behind?”

Rez stiffens, letting out a long huff. “We’re not conjoined, you know?”

“‘Conjoined,’” you parrot. “Big words for someone who hadn’t held a book in a year.”

“I held plenty when I was dragging your backpacks around.”

“Ah, if only wisdom could be acquired via osmosis... Ouch!” Slapping [his/her] hand, you massage your sore cheek, prepared to retaliate when a whistling sound pierces through the air.

“Hey, lovebirds, dinner’s served!” your unit’s general calls, while several soldiers cackle in the background. There are even kissing noises, great.

“Fuck off, Rasha!” Rez bellows, decidedly in high spirits despite the profanity, ignoring propriety and the difference in ranks.

The general laughs sharply. It’s a good thing he’s too far away to see you, or you’d die from mortification. “It’s ‘sir’ to you, jackass!”

“Fuck off, sir!”

“Fine. I’ll have your share, then—”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Jumping to [his/her] feet, Rez is already half-sprinting before [he/she] remembers to turn to you and say, “Talk later.”

“Yes, yes.” You wouldn’t want to deprive [him/her] of a feast, would you?

# “Check it out, I'm a dragon” - Flavio

You’ve been watching the snowstorm for the past two hours through the glass walls of the SPD headquarters. There’s nothing else to do while you wait for the official meeting to end, and it’s already been stretching past the usual overtime.

Shuffling the documents on your own brings you little to no progress, and without a concrete lead, you’re stuck in place. The last bus had fled the scene half an hour ago, but with your luck, you’ll be dismissed just in time to catch the first drive the next morning. What a life.

Entertaining yourself with another cup of lukewarm beverage, you sip the drink in silence, interrupted only by the buzz of wind knocking on the windows. You’re almost dozing when the door to the adjacent room finally opens and your so-called temporary partners step out, each with a wholly different expression printed on their faces.

Nino’s scowl can mean anger, boredom, or exhaustion. You give up on deciphering which it is when her monotone voice drones out, “Finally.” Picking up her coffee that has long since gone cold, she downs it in one go.

Flavio takes slightly longer to come out, engaged in an animated conversation with one of the other agents. He seems to be full of energy, if not for the dark circles under his eyes that he tried to hide with black, smudged kohl.

“Ready to hit the road?” he asks once he gets to you, wrapping a crocheted scarf around his neck and the hood of his unzipped coat. “The snow’s stopping.”

“Hm? Oh yeah, it is.” The wind has eased down, too, and the scenery outside reminds you more of a winter postcard than the eye of a cyclone. “Taxi?”

Flavio hums doubtfully, looking at the road. “If we can catch one.”

“How about Nino?”

“Do I look like your chauffeur?” she grunts, reaching for yet another cup of coffee.

“She’s staying,” Flavio adds helpfully, ripping open a cereal bar and sticking half of it in Nino’s mouth. “Unrelated briefing.”

Looking back toward the room they just vacated, you notice that it’s far from empty, contrary to what you originally thought. “Ah.”

“So, we’re going first,” Flavio mumbles through his half of the snack, shrugging when you refuse to share the last bite. After licking his fingers clean, he puts on his mittens, then grabs you under your arms and hoists you up towards the door. “Bye, everyone!”

With a chorus of ‘byes’ and your own unanswered grumbles, your human taxi brings you outside, where he deposits onto the shoveled part of the pavement.

The streets around the SPD headquarters are deserted, though the parking is stacked with abandoned cars of all those who are still working. With the thick mountains of snow and the yellow streetlamps, the city appears to be stuck in mid-evening rather than fully into the night.

The temperature is mild, as it turns out, not entirely freezing. Your breath comes out in puffs of white, but the bare skin of your face doesn’t sting from the frost. Not bad for a short trek.

Flavio shares your sentiment, too, as he eagerly strays off the main road just to leave footprints on the fresh, undisturbed mound of snow.

“Up for a snowball fight, cupcake?” he proposes, already half crouching to mold the snow, pausing when he sees your less-than-agreeable expression. “I’ll take it as ‘maybe later, Flavio, but thank you kindly for asking.’”

He’s not straightening up, though. Instead, he flops onto his back with a loud oomph

“What are you even—”

“Check it out,” he grins, waving his arms up and down. “I’m a dragon.”

“You’re an angel,” you mutter, startling when you realize how close to a pet name that was. Damn, should have gone with ‘idiot’ instead.

“Ah, haha—” You’d think he just played you, if not for the fact that the blush crawling on his cheeks spreads up to his neck and ears. “T-thanks,” he half-laughs, half-stutters, covering his face with his undoubtedly wet mittens.

You can’t hear whatever he mutters later, muffled as it is, but it doesn’t seem as though he’s planning to move anytime soon.

Well, it’s a good thing he can’t see you as well from where you’re standing. You must look as foolish as he does, your own cheeks stinging from what only could be the cold.