Snowbunny
https://stumblingfillies.blogspot.com/2025/01/snowbunny.html
**Prequel to Snowbunny**
The morning sun hung low over the mountain, painting the snow in hues of gold and pink. Lily stood at the base of the slopes, her blonde hair peeking out from under her blue beanie, her matching sweater vibrant against the pristine white landscape. She adjusted her ski boots, her movements precise despite the flutter of excitement in her chest. Today was her first solo trip to the resort, a chance to escape the monotony of her city life and lose herself in the thrill of the mountains. The air was crisp, biting at her cheeks, and the world felt alive with possibility.
She’d arrived at the resort the previous evening, checking into a cozy lodge room with a view of the peaks. The plan was simple: ski hard, laugh loud, and maybe, just maybe, let loose a little. Lily wasn’t much of a drinker back home, but the lodge’s rustic bar, with its crackling fireplace and the hum of carefree skiers, had called to her after she’d unpacked. She wandered in, her cheeks still flushed from the cold, and ordered a hot toddy to warm her hands and her spirit.
One drink turned into two, then three, as she struck up a conversation with a group of snowboarders at the bar. They were a lively bunch, their stories of wild runs and near-misses on the slopes pulling her into their orbit. Someone passed around a flask of spiced rum, and Lily, caught up in the moment, took a generous swig. The warmth spread through her chest, loosening her inhibitions. By the time the bartender slid a tray of shots their way—something sweet and dangerously smooth—Lily was laughing louder, her blue eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and newfound confidence.
“Another round!” one of the snowboarders, a guy with a scruffy beard and a contagious grin, had shouted. Lily didn’t hesitate. The liquor burned less with each sip, and soon she was matching their energy, her usual reserved demeanor melting away. She told a story about a disastrous ski lesson from her teenage years, her slurred words drawing cheers and clinking glasses. The night blurred into a haze of music, laughter, and the clatter of empty bottles.
When the bar finally closed, Lily stumbled back to her room, the world tilting slightly under her feet. She collapsed onto the bed, still in her sweater, giggling to herself as she stared at the wooden beams of the ceiling. Sleep came quickly, but not before she promised herself she’d hit the slopes first thing in the morning—no matter how much her head might protest.
The next morning, Lily woke to a pounding headache and the faint taste of rum on her tongue. The mirror in her room revealed bloodshot eyes, but the sight of the mountains through her window reignited her excitement. She popped a couple of aspirin, chugged a bottle of water, and decided the best cure for a hangover was fresh air and adrenaline. She suited up, her black ski pants hugging her curves, and grabbed her skis, determined to make the day count.
At the base of the slope, she took a moment to breathe in the crisp air, the cold stinging her lungs in a way that felt invigorating. The resort was buzzing with early risers, but Lily felt a thrill of independence as she clicked into her skis alone. She wasn’t an expert skier, but she knew enough to tackle the intermediate runs, and the thought of carving her own path down the mountain made her heart race.
Before heading to the lift, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small flask—one of the snowboarders had slipped it to her last night with a wink, calling it “liquid courage.” She took a quick sip, the spiced rum hitting her empty stomach like a spark. Just a little to take the edge off, she told herself. The warmth spread through her, chasing away the last of her headache and replacing it with a reckless buzz. She tucked the flask back into her sweater, her grin widening. Today was going to be an adventure.
As she glided toward the lift, her movements were a little looser than usual, her laughter a touch louder. The rum was doing its work, blurring the edges of her caution. She caught a few curious glances from other skiers, but she didn’t care. The mountains were calling, and Lily was ready to answer—tipsy, bold, and utterly alive.
By the time she reached the top of the slope, the world was starting to sway just a bit, her confidence teetering on the edge of recklessness. She paused, adjusting her beanie and scanning the glittering expanse below. That’s when she spotted you, standing nearby, your gaze steady and curious. Her blue eyes met yours, glassy but bright, and a mischievous smile curved her lips. She was drunk, sure, but she was exactly where she wanted to be—on the slopes, in the moment, ready for whatever came next.
The lift carried Lily higher up the mountain, the wind whipping past her face as the ground fell away below. Her cheeks were flushed, not just from the cold but from the rum coursing through her veins. The flask in her sweater pocket felt like a secret talisman, a promise of more courage with every sip. She leaned back in the lift chair, her skis dangling, and let out a carefree giggle that echoed in the crisp morning air. The world sparkled around her, the snow glinting like a thousand tiny diamonds, and she felt invincible.
At the top, she stumbled slightly as she dismounted the lift, her skis catching on the snow. A nearby skier shot her a concerned glance, but Lily waved it off with a lopsided grin. “I’m gooood,” she called, her voice a touch too loud, the words slurring just enough to betray her state. She adjusted her beanie, her blonde hair spilling out in messy waves, and took a moment to steady herself. The rum was hitting harder now, warming her from the inside out, making her limbs feel loose and her thoughts delightfully fuzzy.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the flask again, unscrewing the cap with a flourish. “To the mountains!” she toasted to no one in particular, taking a long swig. The spiced rum burned sweetly down her throat, and she closed her eyes, savoring the heat. The hangover from last night was a distant memory, replaced by a reckless euphoria. She tucked the flask away, her fingers fumbling slightly, and pushed off down the slope.
The first run was exhilarating. Lily carved through the snow with surprising grace, her body remembering the movements even as her mind spun. The wind roared in her ears, and she laughed wildly, her voice carrying across the empty trails. She felt like she was flying, untethered from the world below. At the bottom, her heart pounded with adrenaline, and she immediately headed back to the lift, craving more.
By her third run, the flask was half-empty, and Lily’s confidence had tipped into something bolder, more daring. She veered off the main trail, weaving through a cluster of trees with a reckless abandon that made her pulse race. A branch snagged her sweater, but she just laughed, brushing it off as she skidded to a stop in a small clearing. Her breath came in quick puffs, visible in the cold air, and she leaned against a tree, pulling out the flask again. Another swig, longer this time, and the world tilted just a little more.
She was well past tipsy now, her thoughts a jumble of sensations—the bite of the cold, the rush of the descent, the sweet fire of the rum. Her blue eyes, glassy and bloodshot, scanned the horizon, and she felt a surge of wild freedom. This was why she’d come here, wasn’t it? To shed the constraints of her everyday life, to be someone bolder, someone who didn’t care about rules or consequences.
Back at the lift, she caught sight of a small group of skiers gathered near a warming hut. They were passing around a bottle, their laughter loud and infectious. Lily’s grin widened, and she skied over, her movements a little unsteady. “Room for one more?” she asked, her voice thick with the rum’s influence. The group cheered, welcoming her into their circle. Someone handed her the bottle—something clear and potent, vodka maybe—and she took a swig without hesitation, the liquor searing her throat.
“Damn, you’re fun!” one of the skiers, a woman with a bright red jacket, said with a laugh. Lily winked, swaying slightly as she handed the bottle back. They swapped stories, the group’s energy feeding her own. Someone produced a joint, and Lily didn’t hesitate when it was offered. She took a deep drag, the smoke curling in her lungs, adding a new layer to her haze. The world felt softer now, the edges blurred, and she laughed at everything, her voice ringing out like a bell.
By the time she pushed off for another run, Lily was a glorious mess. Her skiing was less controlled now, her turns sloppy but fearless. She sang to herself as she glided down the slope, some half-remembered pop song, her voice slurring over the lyrics. The flask was nearly empty, but she didn’t care. The mountains, the snow, the rush—it was all she needed. That, and maybe someone to share the adventure with.
As she reached the bottom of the slope, her skis wobbled, and she nearly fell, catching herself with a dramatic flourish. That’s when she saw you, standing there, watching her with a mix of amusement and concern. Her blue eyes locked onto yours, glassy and bright, and a mischievous smile spread across her face. She was drunk, gloriously so, and the day was only getting started.
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