𝙷𝙱𝙾 𝚆𝚊𝚛 𝙸𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜

Of Snowballs and Lizard Brains | Ron Speirs

i am back, i am alive. it's been what...8 months since i last updated. whoops 😂 college apps have been kicking my butt but i wanted to get back into writing and publish something. inspired by Tales from the Lizard Brain of Aleksander Morozova by PresidentHades. wanted to experiment with a different writing style.

~~~

The chapel is too stuffy.

Hot. Too hot. I need to get outside.

Fuck, I forgot how cold it was.

Cold. Too cold. Back inside.

No, that would be weird. I was just there.

Bored. I need to do something now.

Bored, bored, bored.

Oh! Ron! Maybe–

No, he was probably busy.

But he just came back from running a letter to Battalion. Surely he could spare a couple minutes now...yeah, I think I've found a way to occupy myself for the time being. If my face wasn't so cold and frozen I'd be grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

Thump.

Oh, that must've been cold. I wince. Snowballs to the neck hurt. And snow down the shirt is so unsettling. Like touching seaweed at the beach. But it was so worth seeing him freeze and try to shake the snow out from between his shirts.

Shit, he's coming! Abort! ABORT!

Behind the chapel wall, that's the safest right now. But that's too predictable...behind the straw bale? No...the wagon? No again.

I'm running out of time. Need to hide.

Fine, behind the bale I go.

Damn, this straw is scratchy.

"Hi, Sergeant."

Shitshitshit-

"Hello, Captain."

Need to run away.

"Did you throw that snowball?"

Go left, certain death. Go right, also certain death.

Metaphorical, of course. Death by Snow to the Back Thrown by One Captain Speirs: a thrilling novel, by me. Maybe I should get into writing after this is over.

"Me? Pfff, no."

Wish he wouldn't mess with me like that–quit smiling like that, Ron!

But it's fun. I'm not as bored.

And now, exit stage left–

"Not so fast–"

Nope, I'll be damned if you catch me. Knock arm aside, shove you away–

I make it halfway from the bale to the chapel before a snowball hits me in the back.

Christ, that's cold. And painful. Damn, I should've landed a punch or two before running away.

Oh, I'm being chased. How did I ever see that coming?

Roll over, get up, get up, get up–nevermind the snow down my shirt.

Need to find another place to hide. Then attack him again. Or maybe stand and face him. Gosh, haven't had a real snowball fight since I was a kid.

No, don't think I'll face him yet. That's la pièce de résistance. The flashy, finishing blow where we face off and stand some distance apart like in those westerns, and then suddenly there's a flurry of firefight–or in this case, snowfight–and then the battle is won when he admits defeat.

Hiding behind an overturned wagon. How dignified.

Peek over–

A snowball to the face. Nice. Now my face is burning in addition to feeling frozen. If that's at all possible. He'll pay for this. Somehow. Details to be worked out. I'm sure to burn that bridge when I get to it. Ha.

Okay, time to move. Sneak attack maybe? Peek again–

He's...not there? Shit, where'd he go–

"Looking for me?"

For fuck's sake, Captain, give me some warning next time!

More snow to the face. Like about a handful. No, make that two handfuls. Should do that again next time I have a snowball fight. I don't know how I did it; some leaning back and scooping whatever it was I could get my hands on before throwing it into his face. It all happened so fast.

Ha, now his face is probably frozen-burning. Revenge is a dish best served cold. Literally.

Time to run. Hide in the chapel now, definitely.

Run, run, run.

More snowballs to the back. How'd he make them so fast? He probably won all the snowball fights he had at home.

Footsteps behind me. WHY ARE THEY SO CLOSE?

Ah, shit. I'm stuck in his arms. Can't move my own arms.

Snow tastes worse than I thought it would. Very earthy tones.

Can't help but laugh, though. It was fun while it lasted.

Okay, trying to wriggle out of his arms was futile. Still can't move my own arms. Can I knock his feet out from under him?

I CAN! Roll away, roll away, roll away–nevermind the wind being knocked out of my lungs.

Throw more snow in his face.

Dammit, running away really is not a good tactic against Ron. Really should've learned this by now. File away for later. Does he have a cat at home or something? Why the hell is he so good at fucking chasing things down?

Arms wrapped around me again. Ooh, perfect warmth–no, focus! Escape and victory now, warmth later.

Rolling in the snow. More snow down my back. Not fun.

Roll harder, flip him onto his back, pin him down. Victory!

I think.

"Hello, sweetheart."

"Hello, darling."

And there he goes, flipping us. Now my face and back are frozen.

"Had enough of rolling around in the snow yet?"

Cue another Cheshire Cat grin. "Nope."

Roll again.

"Had enough snow thrown down your back yet?"

"Never."

Another roll.

"Why don't we come to an agreement, sweetheart."

"...Go on."

"You forfeit now–"

"Absolutely not, Ron." A teasing grin now. "How about we call it a draw and then lie here until Major Winters calls us inside and does his mother-henning thing?"

A smile. A cute smile. It's cuter with his red nose and cheeks.

"Okay. Deal."

Lying on the snow isn't so bad, now. My face and back are still frozen. But my hands aren't. Ron's holding them. And the rest of me. I've curled up into his side. The perfect warmth.

I don't need to go anywhere.

Warm. Perfectly warm. I'm right where I need to be.