THE SNOW IS FALLING HEAVILY at least for the moment, and though Yukari supposes she could venture indoors for shelter, she doesn’t find herself wanting for a warm hearth to cozy up alongside. Her favorite futon has been out of the picture for a long while, and it is likely the only place she would prefer over the cold right now. She is content to imagine she’ll lay a hand upon it sometime in the new year, should the cards play in her favor.
(They almost always do, but not here.)
Her parasol doesn’t do much to ward away the snow -- it was only ever intended to fend off moderate sunlight -- on her walk, but it certainly makes for a pretty postcard of an image, she imagines, to those unfortunate enough to be out about in this weather. The thing about postcards, of course, was that they were never as pleasant to be part of as they were to admire in your hand.
The wind blows, lifting her hair in a whirlwind of blonde, and she notices that perhaps this isn’t the idyllic postcard scene she thought it was: there is a man in black on the path. Yukari hasn’t crossed anyone else on her trip through the city thus far --
<<Aren’t you frozen to the bone out here yet? Most of the city’s people have chosen to hide away on a day like this.>>
<<Not all of them, though, that much is obvious. Just out to enjoy the weather, then?>>
A chance encounter seemed fitting for the snow, after all.