He knows enough about Astrid to know that she's grown up around snow, a lot more snow than he had, but he doesn't know much more about her. She's kept to herself since she's started working at Arctic Air and he's been unusually busy, too tied up with work to bother keeping track of hearsay. In a place where most new pilots don’t last long, this isn’t usually a problem, but this time it's irking him because the look on her face confuses him.
"Still snowing?" he asks and she nods, still staring out the window. "There's room here if you want to sit down."
"OK," he sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, his skin still icy despite the heat from the small room's only heater.
He settles in, laying awkwardly along a row of chairs, the phone- a landline, their only connection to the outside world- within reach. Astrid frowns out the window and then turns to frown at him.
"The wind is blowing in three directions."
"At least it's not blowing in four." He quips and then frowns because she is. "Is this your first time getting stuck out here?"
She raises an eyebrow at him before slumping into a chair by his feet. "Mel's planes are quite troublesome."
Will laughs and then pulls a face, wiping at his nose. "That's cold."
Will resists the urge to echo the statement and watches her flick another clump of half-melted snow in his direction.
"I wish I had a snowball," he muses as her bits of snow speckle his burning face; the snow is too cold, the heater too warm, no warm enough. He puts his arm up and listens to the snow settle on his jacket, heavy wet snow like the stuff they used to get back in Seattle. "I'd shove it down the back of your jacket."
Astrid makes a noise that he assumes is meant to convey both her amusement and disbelief. She may be new here but she's more athletic than he is, quick and agile on her feet. Having just destroyed the element of surprise he's unlikely to land the first strike let alone win whatever battle he may start.
It gives him something to think about though, so while she pelts him with the remnants of the snow they had tracked in, he imagines the mind numbingly cold sensation the horror and disbelief that occurs instantaneously alongside the realization that your warm jacket now has a very wet, very cold patch that is working its way along your neck down your back. It's miserable, but it's also fantastic when you're the one that's made it happens. It takes a bit of stealth and planning to ensure the prefect exit, there's no victory in having someone return the favor, but it's worth it. Of course he's ruined it for himself this time, but it gives him something to think about while they wait for the weather to clear. There's always next time, because like Astrid had said, Mel's planes are quite troublesome.