Winter is fussing with her equipment when she hears something shift behind her. The room spins instantly, the floor seems to heat under her feet; this is always the effect Cinder has had on her, and she would know her anywhere, would know her in death —
“Bit on the nose, don’t you think?” she drawls, fingers clicking on the beads in her uniform, “Winter at the Winter Olympics. You know, when they announced you were competing, I thought it was just some kind of joke at your expense.”
Winter straightens up, tugging at the front of her shirt self-consciously. “My coach is a very funny man,” she says dryly. It doesn’t quite hit like she wanted; Cinder barks a laugh and circles around behind her, heels clicking in time with her nails, seemingly still intent on coming here to fuck with her.
“Oh, I’m sure,” she hums. “I always just thought he was a bit of a dick, but each to their own, I guess.” There’s a soft thud as she leans against a locker, a soft hum as she regards Winter’s profile, and Winter determinedly does not look, does not look —
“So why are you here? Just making fun of me?”
“I wanted to see your costume,” Cinder says, sounding almost delighted. “I heard you were dressing up tonight.”
Again, Winter does not turn, knows full well that it’s exactly what Cinder wants from her. She busies herself with checking the blade of her skates, then with the sleeves of her suit, then pointedly turns away so she has her back to Cinder and starts to leave the locker room.
Her eyes burn into Winter’s back. It feels, she thinks, a little like she’s being cursed. A little like Cinder is drinking the last of her in, like she’s looking for the person she used to know and coming up empty, like she’s trying to find a weakness, an edge. “Good luck,” she says as Winter pushes open the door, “try not to fall over, baby.”
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FILL: Team Anime/Manga
Date: 2024-07-17 10:37 pm (UTC)Winter is fussing with her equipment when she hears something shift behind her. The room spins instantly, the floor seems to heat under her feet; this is always the effect Cinder has had on her, and she would know her anywhere, would know her in death —
“Bit on the nose, don’t you think?” she drawls, fingers clicking on the beads in her uniform, “Winter at the Winter Olympics. You know, when they announced you were competing, I thought it was just some kind of joke at your expense.”
Winter straightens up, tugging at the front of her shirt self-consciously. “My coach is a very funny man,” she says dryly. It doesn’t quite hit like she wanted; Cinder barks a laugh and circles around behind her, heels clicking in time with her nails, seemingly still intent on coming here to fuck with her.
“Oh, I’m sure,” she hums. “I always just thought he was a bit of a dick, but each to their own, I guess.” There’s a soft thud as she leans against a locker, a soft hum as she regards Winter’s profile, and Winter determinedly does not look, does not look —
“So why are you here? Just making fun of me?”
“I wanted to see your costume,” Cinder says, sounding almost delighted. “I heard you were dressing up tonight.”
Again, Winter does not turn, knows full well that it’s exactly what Cinder wants from her. She busies herself with checking the blade of her skates, then with the sleeves of her suit, then pointedly turns away so she has her back to Cinder and starts to leave the locker room.
Her eyes burn into Winter’s back. It feels, she thinks, a little like she’s being cursed. A little like Cinder is drinking the last of her in, like she’s looking for the person she used to know and coming up empty, like she’s trying to find a weakness, an edge. “Good luck,” she says as Winter pushes open the door, “try not to fall over, baby.”