There is a man outside the lodge. A shortish man, with a goatee, wearing a fur-lined jerkin, tall boots, and quilted clothing. He is trudging in place, half-bent, gloves thick with snow as he assembles a companion in the bright noon light.
And it's taken him more time than he anticipated. By the time Tony had finished forming the body, a boulder of snow that has collected up a whole host of dirt and forest debris, what had seemed like fluffy white stuff is more like slabs of cement. By the time Tony had hefted the head up onto it and packed in the ice with now numb hands to keep it stable, his ambitions for creating David Snow-ie had evaporated.
Nothing wrong with a traditional Jack Frost kind of outcome. Right?
Two pebbles and three sticks later for a janky nose and even jankier arms, he takes a step back from his snowman; it is vaguely malformed but decently sized, dirt cemented into packed ice, less articulately sculpted than he'd imagined. It has no mouth, and it must scream. Without really bothering to look around about whether he has company, Tony stiffly adopts a stance that the locals might interpret as a 'fighting? stance?', and then neatly brings the spade of his hand down atop the snowman's head in a clean geometric sweep.
Pressing his hands together, Tony gives a brief bow, and says, "Arigato gozaimashita," before straightening, and letting his arms fall slack at the sides. "Well that was fun," he says, convincing no one, and moving to leave with some purpose.
DON'T TAKE FROM MY PILE;
Thwak.
The wedge maul gets lodged fast in the wood, terminated momentum causing Tony to stagger a little sideways as it rocks on the tree stump. "Goddamnit," is muttered, and so begins the inevitable and slightly chaotic process of bracing his boot against the wood while balanced in snow, tugging at the maul and mostly trusting in karmic pity to not go ass over teakettle.
He doesn't. It's a near thing.
Once the only half-split hunk of wood is set back in place, Tony glances around with minimal surreptitiousness, moves back several paces, and tugs off the glove on one hand. Under the waning light, the green glow emanating from the centre of his palm is more readily visible, and more so as he extends his arm straight, spreads his fingers, and--
Well, 'fires' is a good enough word. A gust of green Fade energy strikes the chunk of wooden, exploding immediately into splinters and kindling.
WILDCARD;
[ ooc ; come give tony an actual job to do, or drink mulled wine by the fire, or participate in a grimly executed Fun Snow Activity of any kind that may or may not turn competitive, or whatever else your dark heart desires. he's mostly here for a vacation. as usual, feel free to switch to action spam. ]
tony stark. ota.
And it's taken him more time than he anticipated. By the time Tony had finished forming the body, a boulder of snow that has collected up a whole host of dirt and forest debris, what had seemed like fluffy white stuff is more like slabs of cement. By the time Tony had hefted the head up onto it and packed in the ice with now numb hands to keep it stable, his ambitions for creating David Snow-ie had evaporated.
Nothing wrong with a traditional Jack Frost kind of outcome. Right?
Two pebbles and three sticks later for a janky nose and even jankier arms, he takes a step back from his snowman; it is vaguely malformed but decently sized, dirt cemented into packed ice, less articulately sculpted than he'd imagined. It has no mouth, and it must scream. Without really bothering to look around about whether he has company, Tony stiffly adopts a stance that the locals might interpret as a 'fighting? stance?', and then neatly brings the spade of his hand down atop the snowman's head in a clean geometric sweep.
Pressing his hands together, Tony gives a brief bow, and says, "Arigato gozaimashita," before straightening, and letting his arms fall slack at the sides. "Well that was fun," he says, convincing no one, and moving to leave with some purpose. Thwak.
The wedge maul gets lodged fast in the wood, terminated momentum causing Tony to stagger a little sideways as it rocks on the tree stump. "Goddamnit," is muttered, and so begins the inevitable and slightly chaotic process of bracing his boot against the wood while balanced in snow, tugging at the maul and mostly trusting in karmic pity to not go ass over teakettle.
He doesn't. It's a near thing.
Once the only half-split hunk of wood is set back in place, Tony glances around with minimal surreptitiousness, moves back several paces, and tugs off the glove on one hand. Under the waning light, the green glow emanating from the centre of his palm is more readily visible, and more so as he extends his arm straight, spreads his fingers, and--
Well, 'fires' is a good enough word. A gust of green Fade energy strikes the chunk of wooden, exploding immediately into splinters and kindling. [ ooc ; come give tony an actual job to do, or drink mulled wine by the fire, or participate in a grimly executed Fun Snow Activity of any kind that may or may not turn competitive, or whatever else your dark heart desires. he's mostly here for a vacation. as usual, feel free to switch to action spam. ]