The Most Fucked-Up Snow Angel

[Angelica Fawley]

Word Count: 339 | Tag: @'Brian Pratt' @'Leander Grantham'

The newly fallen snow on the ground had not yet solidified to the point of being treacherous and, dimly, Angel was aware that around her there were children making noise and enjoying the pleasures of winter. She could not recall ever feeling so light or free, or laughing with the same joie de vivre, at least not since her mama had died and the clouds had gathered so interminably. Some people, she supposed, were born to enjoy endless sunshine and happiness and some, like her, were creatures intended to carry more than their fair share of darkness within them.

Fortunately there was a tonic for her woes and one she took without constraint, taking pleasure in seeing the gleam of intrigue in Artemisia's sad eyes whenever her roommate watched her. Eventually she would ask to try it and Angel would let her, misery such as hers demanded only the very best of company and a Carrow was more than welcome. Mrs Abercrombie would not notice - she was not half the sharp-eyed overseer her mother had apparently been and Angel enjoyed her little subterfuges.

It was one such evasion of her chaperone that had led her to the commercial district, somewhere she seldom came but knew she could make herself lost, and to an alleyway next to the Infirmary, away from prying eyes, where she had indulged in another hit. Just a small one. Just enough to let her find the children charming ambiance rather than oppressive, overwhelming irritants.

Sadly, it was in vain. A loose snowball, thrown no doubt by one such creature she was trying her level best to ignore who was trying to amuse his friends by ruffling the passing lady, hit the back of her head with the gentle force of a soft feather. Unfortunately it was just enough to disturb her already unsteady walk and Angel, perhaps with unfortunate timing, slipped on the snow and fell to the ground, the dose having been slightly too much for her body to keep its equilibrium intact.

  

[Brian Pratt]

Brian had begrudgingly gathered up the clinic's soiled linen and now held the bag at arms length to escort it out to the back alley.   The laundry service had been late for three solid weeks now.  It first it was a few hours and then it was a day but now at two days the linens were probably purifying at this point.  If they took any longer Brian would just have them burned.

He stepped out into the cold and dropped the bag on the ground just outside the door.  He briefly wondered if he should worry about ultimate wished luck to anyone so desperate to steal an infirmary's soiled linens.  Breathing deeply, filled his lungs with the bitingly cold air, and had just begun to contemplate a bracing stroll to liven up his day when a commotion down the alley demanded his attention.

with the light differential between where he stood and the brighter light of the open street the strike seemed infinitely more violent compounded  when she fell to the ground.  He rushed to her side shouting at the ruffian's who'd already taken flight.

"Madam?  Are you alright?"