the amicable aftermath — ♪ vent'anni ♪
| x | date ; Helen's 20th birthday, 01 January 2019 interacting with ; @Anthonie Engelbrecht |
an alpine ski competition in Switzerland; location ski suit(?) —> normal (café) outfit; coat+scarf / nails / fit / shoes ; outfit |
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────────────xxxxx veela ; greek ; russian | 873 | french ; english ; finnish xxxxx ──────────── |
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𝓪 𝓻𝓸𝓼𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵 𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓹𝓼 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻'𝓼 𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓿𝓮.
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❀ Of course I feel too much, I'm a universe of exploding stars ❥
« Lyanna Oak » « Ariana Westonfield-Rivera »
the amicable aftermath — ♪ vent'anni ♪
When Anthonie carved hard to the final left, he was barely aware of his own speed.
So many other things snagged his attention, from the too tight elastic to the running squirrel just off-piste, but he just registered the cloud of snow sprayed onto the slalom gates as he passed in a fury of white, the flag shaking in the wind’s force. It rattled; the groomed powder splashed up, and Anthonie spared a glance at his opponents speeding her way down the slopes, as parallel as their skidding skis. Over the announcements he could hear their names, alternating one after the other, like some twisted mantra for a session not at all meditative. They passed the final gate cleanly parallel, and all pairs of eyes turned to the announcers for an answers.
His body was tense, yet his heart screamed in pleasure.
“..And Engelbrecht wins the race by 0.2 seconds!”
The crowd bursted into applause, and Anthonie’s face joy.
“Good match!” He called out to his opponent over the shouts of the crowd. They had raced shoulder to shoulder, ski by ski, the thrill as decadent as how the wind left red spreads of crisp pleasure across his face. He spared Doukas one last look, before turning and basking magnanimous in the cheers of the onlookers.
Stretching his arms out after the tension in his body Anthonie collected his poles by one hand and allowed his body to relax as he skied to the locker rooms, leaving tracks of an upside-down V on his upward climb and clean lines on his descent, before coming to a hockey stop just at the door. Clicking out of his skis, he leaned them up against the wall and swung the door open, before catching sight of his opponent, just behind him as she skied down the gentle downhill blue. He could have offered curt responses, but an outgoing nature did not end when competition began.
Matters of visage were difficult to distinguish during ski trips, impossible with the reflection of tinted goggles and masks tucked in under their rims. Anthonie had long exchanged his own for a pair of iconic sunglasses and breaths of fresh alpine air, the familiar breezes of his favourite mountain tickling his insides. His opponent, too, had revealed herself, for one who was once reduced to just another skier in a helmet now humanised. Her beauty was irresistible — if Anthonie had been any more foolish he might have found himself allured by her. Wisps of corn-silk hair fell on the sides of her face, and her eyes sparkled under the sheen of of her lenses.
A delicate name was put to her delicate features. Helen Alethia Doukas.
“It’s a pleasure,” she said sweetly, before congratulating him on the race won. Anthonie merely nodded formally and shrugged, trying to calm the overly exuberant child in his heart after reaching such speeds of exhilaration. Winning the race barely excited the little Anton looking on to his older counterpart, but finally letting go of all his limitations and bracing himself against his own speed, it was a moment to live for. From the grade schooler who trick-rode each time he beat his cousins in slalom races, he had come a long way. It was no dream that became a reality; it was in his blood before he could walk.
“Thank you. The pleasure is all mine,” he replied smoothly, then introduced himself, “Anthonie. I’m sure you’ve heard my last name enough already via the commentator.”
Removing his helmet, messy chestnut brown hair curled out from under his black balaclava, he undid the zipper on his suit, stepping out of it to reveal a custom base featuring his name. He clicked his locker open, threw on a down jacket over his single layer, and checked his watch. Late afternoon. The lifts would be closed soon anyway. Pity, after an entire day of race preparations, the only skiing was done over a minute or two.
Yet as evening dipped in, and as the lights of Switzerland began to light up, exciting events were perched on the horizon as the sun slowly disappeared. As long as the day was not over, there was always something more waiting. Cocking his head with a charming smile, he asked, “Are you going to the après?”
@Helen Aletheia Doukas
we are all stardust and stories. we are all dreams.
Archer Duncan | Liliya Starkova
Archer Duncan | Liliya Starkova