Author's Note: So, this one's pretty simple, and… there isn't much point to it, but I picked out the theme Snow, and this is what I came out with. I actually quite like it, but I'll let you decide for yourselves.
PURITY
There was something so very childlike and sweetly innocent about the way the young blonde craned his head back so the gentle white flakes fell over his face, which broke out in a peaceful smile after a few moments of silent sensation wherein the snow melted against his face, and he chuckled to himself, releasing a cloud of steam from his parted lips with the faint noise of contentment. Green-hazel eyes opened and watched the gentle downfall, his gaze casting across the city he found himself standing in, Hyde Park deceptively quiet and free from disturbance on the winter evening; the skies dark, but thick with heavy clouds that had insisted on spilling their load not long ago. It was already coating much of what lay around the youthful man, his lazily curled hair becoming damp and dotted with white, but with a vigorous and almost mischievous shake of his head, small droplets of water from what had melted were sent scattering to the ground around him.
His feet ensured that there would be two patches of spared ground beneath him, the grass all around starting to turn from dense green to grey and then the telltale colour of snowflakes as they packed together and settled.
It felt wonderful.
Special Agent Tom Sawyer lifted his arms, pulling his bare hands from his pockets, and held them out at his sides, letting it fall all around him and just feeling it settle against his face, neck and palms as he lifted them skyward, suddenly a child again. Something about the snow made him feel so much younger… free. Free from weight on his shoulders, and memories of missions and regretted actions in his own past.
A sigh fell out of him with a calm ease, and he looked without a care, his tall, athletic frame relaxed in stance and posture for once, instead of tense and prepared. Certainly, his guns still hung at his waist, but it was more force of habit than concern for his own well-being in the city of London, and the large park he resided in at that exact moment in time.
It was starting to cling to his duster now, speckling it with moist dots of white against the solid black cloth, and looking down at it, he grinned, not caring in the least that he would be freezing and extremely damp when he got back to the Nautilus, and the rest of the League, who had all ventured out for the evening on their own endeavours… save for Skinner, who had spent the day drinking, and as such, had been in his cabin since, sleeping it off. But it bothered Tom very little at that moment, bringing one of his chilled palms in front of his eyes to see all the miraculously fine and individual flakes collected on his skin, slowly melting atop one another to create a little puddle in his hand.
Crouching as the snow fell heavier, he watched it cover the grass completely from view, its density hiding it away until the next day, should the sun penetrate the clouds and reduce all of this to slush… or nothing at all.
It was almost a shame, he realised. Snow had a way of making everything so simple, and so innocent. So pure, somehow. He supposed it was the colour, always used to represent virtue in one form or another, whether it be a bride's wedding dress, or a flower in a jacket at a formal dance or the like.
One hand lowered to the carpet of snow around him, and after a moment, he marked out his initials in it, standing again with balance and something like grace without the elegance that came with feminism. Looking down on his simple mark in the ground, he knew it wouldn't last, but there was something almost fun in the simple gesture, even if no one would see it. There was no one else in the park, and with the thickness of the flurry now, it would cover over shortly, before it could be seen.
But it didn't matter… he'd done it, and that was what mattered.
Smiling languidly, he heard the clock announce the hour, and looked almost disappointed for a moment, though lacking in the sadness that usually accompanied such a state of mind and being. He should be heading back… but he felt refreshed; more so than he had felt in a long time.
And he liked that.
Fin