Killer Snowballs (Jamie!)

[Samuel Rixon]

It was rare that Sam volunteered to go out into the snow. But with a few hours free from class, he’d braved the cold in favor of playing in the snow. He was bundled in a ridiculous amount of layers, but he was still easily recognizable. (No one else dressed like they were going on an Alaskan crusade in the dead of winter in Pilot Ridge.)

At first he’d tried to make a snowman, but the snow kept falling apart. Apparently they wouldn’t hold their shape long-term.

Of course, this had led to attempted dirty drawings in the snow with a stick.

Maturity? What was that?

Stick drawing eventually turned dull as well, however. After tossing his stick at a passing student, Sam contemplated his options. He could go back to his dorm and warm up with coffee and blankets. Or he could stay outside and start his own snowball war. He avoided the huge school-wide war in favor of staying warm, but when it was him against the world?

It was so on.

He made a small stockpile of ammunition by his feet before standing up again and looking around for a victim. He didn’t have to wait long. The little pyro grinned when he saw someone coming. He didn’t even really take note as to who it was. It was the first person he saw, and he was going to fling a snowball.

It wasn’t until after it had left his gloved hand that he realized it wasn’t actually a student.

He’d just hit a recruiter with a snowball. ... Well... maybe.... he’d want to play?

Yeah, right.

[Dr. James Campbell]

And it had started off as such a good day too.

Work that morning had been light, so James had volunteered to drive into town and pick up some lunch. He'd taken the orders from the other recruiters and from Chase, so he was carrying quite a few sandwiches from the deli when he was hit in the face with a snowball, sending cardboard box with lunch inside falling to the ground and his glasses flying off.

At first, James said nothing, just wiped the snow off of his face--though he could already feel it sliding down his neck, making him shiver--and scanned the area. He didn't need is glasses; the culprit was obvious enough, as only one person bundled up quite like that in the winter. (After all, most other pyrokinetics had a sort of immunity to the cold.) "SAM RIXON. STOP THAT, RIGHT NOW."

Uh oh. James brought out his dad voice.

Of course, any kind of authority he might have shown was mitigated by his frantic scramble to brush away any snow that might have stuck to him, and then picking up the fallen sandwiches. Of course, that made him the perfect target for another snowball attack. "What is wrong with you? Stop it!"

[Samuel Rixon]

It wasn’t Sam’s fault that he didn’t look before he leaped. Or, in this case, pelted someone with a snowball. He hadn’t seen the box, nor had he taken into account that it was probably a bad idea to attack a staff member. It was all in good fun, right? He didn’t actually mean any harm by it.

Though the dropping of the food was actually pretty funny. He had a hard time not bursting out laughing about it.

It was easy not to laugh when the oh so familiar Dad Voice came out. Sam was all too familiar with that particular tone. He’d heard it enough from his own father, as well as various male staff members. Teachers, trainers, whoever was supposed to be giving him heck for something.

But there was something funny about the tall, skinny recruiter trying to be tough. It was only that, and Sam’s sense of mischief that had him grinning and throwing another ball of snow as he tried to gather up the sandwiches.

At the question, Sam flashed what he thought was a perfectly adorable smile. “Nothing’s wrong! I just wanna play!” He sounded like a six year old, but he really didn’t care. “BE COOL, MAN! LET’S PLAY!”

Yes, this was how he passed the time now he was more or less clean. Everyone enjoy it.

[Dr. James Campbell]

James brushed snow from his face and tried to collect the sandwiches before any snow could soak through the wax paper they were wrapped in. Despite the wrapping, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to eat his own now. It had touched the ground, even if the contact was indirect.

"I don't want to play." The recruiter said, his voice still in "Dad" tone. All he had wanted was to do something nice for his staff. He located his glasses and wiped them on the sleeve of his coat before putting them on. The snow left water streaks on the lenses, however, so he took them off promptly and stuck them in his pocket. The streaks were worse than just going without.

"Sam, if you hit me with another snowball you are getting detention. Aren't you sensitive to cold? How would you feel if someone ambushed you with a ball of ice in the face?" He was exaggerating slightly, as the attack hadn't been particularly icy or painful, just unexpected and unpleasant.

[Samuel Rixon]

Really, who didn’t want to play? It was winter for crying out loud. It was tailor made for messing around outside. (Provided that the not-so-little-anymore pyro was bundled up in the requisite seventy layers of WARM.) The notion that James didn’t want to play was going right over his head. Doing his best to ignore the fatherly tone, he just copped another big grin. “C’mon dude, don’t be lame. LET’S MAKE A SNOWMAN!” No, his idiocy didn’t stop with his friends.

He hadn’t been considering another snowball until he was told not to. With a devious look in his eyes, he stooped and scooped another handful of icy flakes into his glove. “Uhh... it’d suck?” Vincent had actually done that last winter, only instead of a ball of ice to the face, it had been a ball of ice down the back of his shirt, and a second down the back of his jeans. It had been sheer misery. “But you’re not a pyrotechnic like me!” ... Yes, he really did just screw up the name of his own power. “Pleeeaaase play with me?” He even managed to look pathetic. A little bit. He was bored, and had no one to play with. Surely James could remedy this.