Nathan, Jean-Paul, and Rachel

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Nathan and Rachel ambush Jean-Paul; a snowball fight ensues.



Jean-Paul had been doing nothing out of the ordinary, minding his own
business. He'd just wrapped up his evening run and was heading back
toward the school when a tree giggled at him. Pausing long enough to
even think of investigating earned him three snowballs to the chest.

He blinked incredulously as two shadowed figures stepped out from
behind their cover.

"You must be joking, Dayspring."

"Not my idea," said the larger of the two shadows; it was well past
dark, and even Rachel's pink jacket didn't stand out when there was no
light. "The demon-child saw the snow and wouldn't go to bed. Defend
yourself, Beaubier." Another trio of snowballs came at him.

There was a whistle of air and their missiles landed on abandoned ground.

"I suppose every child must someday face the sad truth that their
parents are not immune to poor judgment," came the proclamation from
the treetops. "You will rue the day you threatened a Canadian in his
natural element, monsieur." The statement was punctuated by a
hail of snowballs from above.

Rachel squealed and showed extreme good sense by taking cover under
her father. "Cheating!" she said indignantly.

"Actually, Ray," Nathan said as the snowballs slid off a hastily
erected TK shield, "we cheated first."

"Oh."

A fresh snowball disintegrated against the back of Nathan's head.

"I suspected as much when I was hit by three missiles from two
attackers." Jean-Paul was leaning against a tree a few yards away.
"What kind of example are you setting, Nathan?" he tsked, grinning
impishly.

"Shoot first ask questions later!" Rachel said triumphantly, clearly
quoting. The next snowball came in from the left, impacting somewhere
along the level of Jean-Paul's knees.

Nathan's first real laugh of the day rang out, despite everything.
"Ready fire aim!" The tree beside Jean-Paul shook itself, dumping all
of the snow that had been collected on its branches.

Fast reflexes got him mostly clear, but Jean-Paul still rolled to his
feet with ice in his hair and snowmelt slithering down into his
collar. A moment later, both Daysprings had been gifted with handfuls
of snow down the backs of their coats.

Rachel shrieked - not surprisingly, like a little girl. Trying to
stifle laughter, Nathan grabbed her by the hood and removed as much of
the snow as he could. "That serves us right," he said, ignoring the
icy cold dripping down the back of his neck. It was actually
refreshing. Sort of. "Poor strategy, Ray."

Rachel scowled fearsomely and stuck her tongue out at Jean-Paul.

Jean-Paul responded in kind, then 'harumphed', folding his arms across
his chest. "Since you are so ungracious in defeat, I'm not sharing."

"Sharing what?" Rachel demanded immediately, hopping up and down and
trying to escape Nathan as her father tried to get the snow out of her
hair, too. "What? What, what, what, what-"

"Rachel," Nathan said half-incredulously at the repeated chanting. "I
know you haven't had any sugar all day, so settle down."

"Assuming that the ravenous hordes have not descended upon it, I have
gingerbread dough waiting for me in the refrigerator, and was contemplating
making cookies and hot cocoa tonight." Jean-Paul brushed the snow from
his shoulders with all the dignity he could muster, considering that
he was lording over a three-year-old. You had to take your victories
where you could find them, at times.

Rachel trotted over, grabbing onto his pant leg and looking up at him
with beseeching gray eyes. "I'm sorry!"

"Uh-oh," Nathan murmured. "The secret weapon."

"Well..." Jean-Paul pretended to consider. "You are very young and
were obviously lead astray by bad influences, so we will overlook it
this time."

'And you, my friend, can deal with a sugar-infused child already up
past her bedtime, was the wicked thought directed at Nathan.

"Your mother's going to kill us," Nathan said.

"No she won't!"

"Oh, yes, she will. I've known her longer than you have."

Rachel made a 'hmphing' noise that wouldn't have sounded out of place
coming from said mother, and latched onto Jean-Paul's hand. "Can we
make gingerbread men and eat their heads?"