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Prompt 11 (Marshmallow Snow): Fresh-fallen snow coats Destiny City. It’s pristine and crisp, and it crunches as you walk through it. It may be a few inches deep, but it doesn’t seem to go above your calves when walking. At first, it’s easy enough to walk through, but gradually you realize that it’s getting harder to move. Every step you take feels like the snow is pulling you back in, and if you get a good look you might realize that sticky white fluff is clinging to you. The more you walk, the more it pulls, until you’re almost completely stuck. Something about the snow smells oddly sweet, and the tacky, marshmallow-like snow seems like it’s suddenly become a prison. The more you try to break free, the stickier it gets, and you’d better hope you don’t fall down. The more you struggle the harder it is to escape, but if you manage to stay still for a few minutes, the marshmallow will freeze and crystallize. When you move again, the snow will turn into a powdery dust and you can break free easily. The only good thing about this is that you won’t starve if you get trapped–the snow tastes just like marshmallows.
Michel felt the energy signature of the Captain just outside his radar earlier, but knowing that a more experienced member of the Negaverse would be more likely to call for help if they needed it–and have the ability to teleport away if given the opportunity–he knew he had to play his cards a little better.
He got closer, casually. Leisurely. Non-threateningly. Enough to have a decent idea of where the Captain was.
And then, he powered down.
He was dressed for this; he wore a practical, all black outfit. Thick pants, thicker boots. Black gloves, a black hoodie pulled up. It almost wasn’t abnormal, not given how cold this weather was. He might have looked like someone just on his way home. The mask he wore that covered up to his nose was perfect for fighting off the cold–and hiding his face.
He kept to the shadows and walked quietly, keeping his eyes out for any movement.
The Captain was practically in plain sight by the time he found him. Michel–he was still Michel, this wasn’t Zac--balled his hands into fists at his side. If he stayed to the Captain’s back, he probably could have made it at least halfway there before he was caught, before the snow crunched underneath him loudly enough to be heard.
He could power up by then. He could strike him by then.
He drew in a breath, and before he had exhaled it he had pushed himself out of the treeline he’d been weaving through and charged. He was almost halfway there at five steps. He powered up at seven. His weapon was in his hand, where it belonged, and he swung, hard from behind. He missed the bladed weapons he used to have, but the blunt side of his giant clock hand could at least do something.
Never enough, though; Michel moved like someone who was out for blood, and he only had a few seconds to make a surprise attack count. He used the momentum from the attack and his own weight to shove Seraphinite to the ground, but that wasn’t enough. It was never enough.
He grabbed the back of his head, held his hair tight, and pressed his face to the side into the snow as he straddled his back. He wanted to pull his head back and just keep hitting it into the ground but he needed him to be able to answer his questions. Meet his demands.
“I’m getting really ******** tired of finding the wrong agents. I’m starting to think none of you are taking me seriously.”
Kaefaux
