Chapter#6. What The Heck Am I Doing Here
Quatre shoved himself through the snowdrifts, his shoes becoming sopping wet as he tried futilely to stay warm. Briefly he took the time to shiver and rub his gloved hands together, blowing on them. He wasn't meant to go around in this weather, he was an Arabian born and bred, for heaven's sake. But, he was also a former Gundam Pilot and because of that his training forced him to deal with it.
Abruptly out of the completely monotonous landscape of white on white something drew before him. It was the telephone pole, and as he examined it he realized something startling. With out waiting to think it out the rest of the way, he walked as fast as he could back to the enshrouded building (remember, he's walking through foot high snowdrifts).
"Quatre," Dorothy gasped as the door swung open, "good, you're back. I was starting to worry."
The blonde man stopped at that, "you were worried about me?" at her blush he slowly shook his head and went on, "anyway, I searched in the direction of the sound but didn't find anything. However, I saw the pole. It's been sawed in half, Dorothy. Sawed. Someone else is out here besides us, and I don't think it's tourists."
Dorothy paled, slowly swallowing. She could probably guess who, and what she came up with wasn't exactly the greatest of conclusions, "Frost's Wings."
"That's exactly what I was thinking," Quatre pulled off his sopping boots, "maybe would should wait out the storm inside."
"And bar the windows and doors," Dorothy added, pulling her coat closer around her. It was a pastel pink, which bellied the mood going on around them.
Another sound reached into the silence, that of tires squealing as they tried to find purchase in the icy snow.
Quatre's eyes lit up, "that might be someone who can help."
"Or maybe one of our enemies," Dorothy added forebodingly.
"We'll have to go and see, then," Quatre put his boots back on, not more than five minutes after he'd just taken them off, and walked toward the door.
"Then take this," Dorothy stopped him hesitantly as she handed him a flare gun for protection, "be careful." She said this with none of the flippancy that usually accompanied her words.
"I will," he promised, hesitating before stepping back into the freezing cold weather.
She sighed dejectedly as the oak door swung closed, "this is getting very redundant."
Quatre shoved himself through the snowdrifts, his shoes becoming sopping wet as he tried futilely to stay warm. Briefly he took the time to shiver and rub his gloved hands together, blowing on them. He wasn't meant to go around in this weather, he was an Arabian born and bred, for heaven's sake. But, he was also a former Gundam Pilot and because of that his training forced him to deal with it.
Abruptly out of the completely monotonous landscape of white on white something drew before him. It was the telephone pole, and as he examined it he realized something startling. With out waiting to think it out the rest of the way, he walked as fast as he could back to the enshrouded building (remember, he's walking through foot high snowdrifts).
"Quatre," Dorothy gasped as the door swung open, "good, you're back. I was starting to worry."
The blonde man stopped at that, "you were worried about me?" at her blush he slowly shook his head and went on, "anyway, I searched in the direction of the sound but didn't find anything. However, I saw the pole. It's been sawed in half, Dorothy. Sawed. Someone else is out here besides us, and I don't think it's tourists."
Dorothy paled, slowly swallowing. She could probably guess who, and what she came up with wasn't exactly the greatest of conclusions, "Frost's Wings."
"That's exactly what I was thinking," Quatre pulled off his sopping boots, "maybe would should wait out the storm inside."
"And bar the windows and doors," Dorothy added, pulling her coat closer around her. It was a pastel pink, which bellied the mood going on around them.
Another sound reached into the silence, that of tires squealing as they tried to find purchase in the icy snow.
Quatre's eyes lit up, "that might be someone who can help."
"Or maybe one of our enemies," Dorothy added forebodingly.
"We'll have to go and see, then," Quatre put his boots back on, not more than five minutes after he'd just taken them off, and walked toward the door.
"Then take this," Dorothy stopped him hesitantly as she handed him a flare gun for protection, "be careful." She said this with none of the flippancy that usually accompanied her words.
"I will," he promised, hesitating before stepping back into the freezing cold weather.
She sighed dejectedly as the oak door swung closed, "this is getting very redundant."