FicWad

"YEAH!"
A dark-skinned man stands insanely triumphant in the doorway of the Green Station Lodge. Fresh powder blankets his bark-brown, streaked-back spikes a top his head as he strides in. His boots clang and jingle against the floor with their barbed wire while his broken black and white snow-boarder pants lightly sag and sway. Plopping down on one of the large orange couches next to another pro, he smiles insanely.

"Hey Psymon" casually greets Nate. "Good day?"

"Oh yeah!" he replies, already sitting forward and tapping his foot. A flash or vinyl black and green snaps his head to the side and draws him off his seat. The cowboy grabs his companion by the shirt and yanks him back down.

"Who's that lovely lady?" asks Psymon, his eyes still glued to the walking hourglass.

"Let that one go," his friend answers. "She's not game."

"Ooo, but I love a challenge!" he retorts, jumping over his seat.

"No, Psymon...!" Nate tries to grab his friend, but is too late- the Canadian is already following the dame to the bar, and the other is face-first in the cushions. In a few steps, the boarder is at the sleek oak counter. He hops onto one of the black stools beside the young woman, spinning about in the leather seat, before facing her.

"Hey," smiles the boarder, "what's your name?"

The other continues looking straight ahead; black shades cover her eyes and wrap about her head, and the only expression that can be found is on her full, smirking lips.

"Who put you up to this?" a rich, but smooth voice inquires.

"Me, myself, and I," answers the man enthusiastically.

The raspberry lips crack a white smile as the woman shakes her head. Her hair is light brown, cropped short, and wispy, with light sparkles between the strands.

"Funny..." she remarks, lifting a crystal glass with golden liquid. "Very funny..."

"I try," he answers, waving two fingers at the bartender; a dark cola with maraschino cherries is quickly brought to his side. "So... what's your name?"

The woman finally turns her head, at first in a huff, but is taken back when she fully faces him. She raises her raises her right arm and points a black-gloved finger at him.

"Psymon Stark..." she utters, leaning her other arm on the counter.

"Hey, that's my name, too!" he responds with a grin.

"No," she smiles, shaking her head. Taking a swallow of her drink, she continues, "My name is Ariel."

"Oooo," Psymon quirks his head, "I like aerials!"

A laugh escapes her and she slings down the rest of her drink. "This isn't real..." she mutters to herself while waving the tender down.

"I think it's real," he states, moving toward her with a surprising calm. He carefully removes her shades, revealing bright green eyes.

"If this was a dream, I'd be naked," he grins.

The vixen busts out laughing, cradling her forehead with one hand over the bar top. Unlike her voice, her laugh is light and jingles like a bell. Seizing the opportunity, the male uses the opportunity to look her up and down: she has a relatively small frame, covered in an ebony wet suit, a thick jade tank-top, and an odd pair of skater-shorts. They wear green, like the top, and baggy, like regular snowboarder pants, but there were large holes in the sides, revealing toned and shapely thighs. At the very bottom, two ash leg warmers droop over black leather boots. Psymon smirks to himself, pleased with his catch, and looks back up. She has downed her second drink and is shaking her head again.

"So..." he begins, "what are you drinking?"

"Whiskey," she grins, looking up at him. "Keeps the bones warm."

"I like the bite," he nods, taking a sip of his Roy Roger.

"Of whiskey?" asks Ariel, raising an eyebrow.

"No!" replies the other. "Bite of the cold!"

"Looks like it, Cupcake," she grins, reaching up and dusting a bit of snow off his head.

"'Cupcake'!" he replies, his face contorting in confusion.

"You're certainly frosted like one," she chortles, pushes a few green bills toward the tender, and begins to stand.

"Where are you going?" he asks while rising alongside her.

"To the slopes," she answers, walking toward the exit.

"I can dig it!" states the SSX pro.

Without warning, the woman stops in her tracks, causing Psymon to run into her. Slowly, she slide-steps to face him, a serious look upon her face. Replacing the black, curved shades upon her head, she stands stiffly, staring him down. The lodge is suddenly quiet. He looks at her curiously before smiling in his odd way.

"What do you think you're doing?" she bluntly asks.

"I'm following you to the slopes...?" he hesitantly responds.

"Really now?" she continues, folding her arms and leaning on one leg. "I hope you're as good as they say you are, then."

With that, she turns on her heel and swiftly walks out the lodge. Psymon stands shocked, mouth agape, and his mind still trying to connect the recent events. A hand rests upon his right shoulder, gently shaking him into reality.

"Well, Psymon," Nate sighs, "you got your challenge."



Up on the pristine peak, the boarder hikes his way from the drop-off point up the snow-covered hill. His ride on his back and an insane grin on his face, he looks over the horizon to spot his opponent. What he sees causes his jaw to drop, and he whips himself behind a tall pine. Pulling out his N-Com, he quickly dials-up his friend, his hand shaking.

"What the zap is going on!" he hastily whispers while peaking around the trunk. "She's a skier!"

Sure enough, Ariel is reclining on a pile of powder, her legs spread apart with two sleek skis on each foot. The blades sway and cross vertically in the air, the backs dug into the snow.

"I tried to tell you!" the cowboy radios back. "But you didn't listen!"

"Yeah, bite yourself, butt-face!" the first retorts, turning back behind the tree. "What do I do now?"

"Well..." answers the other pro, "if you want to keep your reputation in tack, you need to follow through."

Psymon pauses, then somberly replies, "Thanks, Nate." With that, he closes the connection and slips his intercom away. Taking a deep breath, he strides out from behind his hiding spot and strides over to the young woman.

"Hey!" he greets, waving a black and orange glove.

"Took you long enough, Cupcake!" she returns, waving back.

"Had to deal with the baker!" he laughs, extending a hand out to help her up. Smirking, she knocks it away, and effortlessly rolls over and up onto her feet. She slides over to the beginning of the run before turning to face him.

"You ready?" she questions, raising an eyebrow.

"Ready to lay waste!" he answers as he throws down his board and locks in.

"Well then," she leans forward and slowly starts to go down, "let's go."