A Handful of Stardust

UNDER THE ICE (OR THEREABOUTS)

CHARACTERS: Sunny Zelensky, Planchette Mun

TAGS & TRIGGERS: fluff, wlw, cryptid hunt, cryptid creatures, 2010s, goth, punk, snow, winter

DECEMBER 20, 2012

11:29 PM
15, MANSON ROAD

NORMAL, SASKATCHEWAN, CANADA

Sunny sits in front of me looking all-of-a-sudden very serious, though the bright blue and pinks of her braids and the stuffed dog on her lap do take away from the effect slightly. "Planchette," she says, tone flat so I know she means business, "we need to do something. We're both getting cabin fever."

"You're getting cabin fever," I amend, adjusting a pillow behind my back. She glares at me, disgruntled. "I'm used to this, remember? I don't need to go for a walk every midnight to 'clear my head' or whatever you do."

"'Cause you're boring," she mumbles, moving the stuffed dog's paws to tap against her legs. "We're supposed to be, like, cryptid hunters. Not cryptid sit-around-and-read-books-and-do-nothing-ers."

"What are we supposed to do?" I ask, not bothering to hide my exasperation. "We haven't got a single call or a single lead or a single sighting–" I see her open her mouth and quickly correct myself, "from someone who isn't a known pothead or a compulsive liar. It's too cold to go outside, anyway."

Sunny glances to the window as if only just considering this idea. There's snow piled up on the windowsill and weighing down my mother's prized hanging baskets, but it stopped falling around an hour ago, just before she came over to my house. "Not that cold anymore. The snow's melting." It isn't. "Planchette, come on..." She pouts at me, trying to look sad, holding up the dog plushie. "You can't just rot in your room." I'm sure I can – and I would be, if she weren't here, which I'm not quite sure I appreciate.

I give up. "Where would we even go?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Sunny beams, tossing the plushie over at me (I place it carefully by its friends, beside the pile of pillows next to me) and leaning forwards for more emphasis, pigtails swinging as if trying to escape their spiked hairties. "So, some guy did actually call me–" I raise an eyebrow, "and yes, he was sober, and he was scared, and he thought he saw something in that big lake under the ice. Like, have you seen how thick it is? It probably wasn't dangerous 'cause it was pretty far down, apparently, but I think we should check it out."

"Who actually was it?"

Sunny thinks for a second, tapping her fingers against her fluffy socks. "His name was Niko, Nikolai, something like that. He was, like, fifteen. Poor kid," she adds automatically, like she knows she's supposed to say it.

I don't recognise the name, but she wasn't exactly certain about it, and it's not like I know everyone in Saskatchewan. That's Sunny's job. I'm less inclined to believe a child than someone older – the most believable clients are rough-around-the-edges guys with strong accents who wouldn't believe in a ghost unless it hit them in the face – but Sunny said he sounded sincere, so he did sound sincere. "That's pretty far out, though, isn't it? The lake, I mean."

"Yeah, uh, it's kind of inaccessible. We can't take your wheelchair."

"And we can't drive?"

"A little bit, until we get into the forest itself... crutches should be fine for a while, though, right?"

"Sure." Not really. I've got pretty bad blisters already, from going down to my dad's house yesterday – at least there are pavements there. Thank god for gloves. "Let's go."