A Snowball's Chance {Blossom}

[Cal Karnstein]

"Telling you, you should give them a shot," said Cal, handing off the album to her nephew. Though technically Blossom was barely younger than her, and his... "dad" wasn't exactly biologically related to Cal. A snowman adopts an orphan who decided to hate the world, while the ice queen who made said snowman had sex with a vampire enough times to make a punk half-several things at once.

They actually got on fairly well.

Mostly because Cal could understand the desire to pull away from the cheeriness of Arendelle, and more specifically the cheeriness of a certain jovial snowman. Olaf was great in small doses; much more and even Cal found her patience getting tried. Poor Blossom didn't get any favors with that name either.

Fortunately, his "aunt" never used anyone's given name. "Telling you, Matchstick," she tapped it, "music's an awesome outlet. And I'm not talking that cheery stuff your dad sings," she tapped it again, "this shit gets real, fast." And some of it was playing overhead as well. Because Cal had found one of the darker, more alternative record stores in Trenale (which was pretty much all record stores were left with now). She'd ingratiated herself quickly, and made sure to figure out precisely what would appeal to Blossom Snow the most. There might have been something of a day planned, something to make the poor guy feel a little less like Blossom Snow and a little more like the real John Black.

[Blossom Snow]

Taking the record from his aunt, sullen scowl still firmly affixed to his face, John looked at the sleeve, turning it over to read the information on the back. It was rare he willingly chose to spend any time with anyone, particularly members of his weird ass family, but things were different with Cal - she wasn't as utterly intolerable as the rest of his family.

Of course, he still needed to put on that front, pretend this was a chore and that he didn't really want to be here, but unlike with everyone else that didn't go much beyond the surface. He'd always felt that Aunt Cal - as his dad insisted he call her - understood him better than pretty much everyone else in the entire world, and somehow hanging out with her wasn't such hard work as it was with anyone else. Except maybe that kid Jesse. He was weird, and John appreciated that.

He rolled his eyes at the nickname, throwing a slight scowl Cal's way, but there wasn't his normal malice behind it. He'd never admit it, but actually quite liked that particular nickname and had a sense of pride when she used it. Just that little nod to his love of fire, the one thing his Dad was actually afraid of, pleased him more than most things did. But, he had a reputation to keep up, and he couldn't risk it getting back to his dad that he wasn't as dark and brooding as he made out. There'd be way too many warm hugs if Olaf thought he had any kind of real feelings other than hatred for the world.

"Whatever." He muttered, making a mental note of the band name. "It's no Cradle of Filth." He shrugged, still keeping hold of the album. "Besides, you like some weird shit. Don't know if I should entirely trust your musical opinion."

[Cal Karnstein]

"Hey, how's about a little trust in your musically inclined aunt? Or do you want me to treat you to another round of 'In Summer,'" She wiggled her brows at that. God knows that they'd both heard Olaf's song enough times to pretty much know precisely the moment to shout "puddle" in perfect lyrical timing. Still, exception taken, Cal was already moving along, flicking her way through other albums.

"You gotta know your roots too. Try some old school to balance out the new," said Cal, nodding. "Plus, you gotta listen to the lyrics of some of this. Oh," she held one up, "The Crazy World of Arthur Brown. You should definitely try this shit," she said, nodding and tapping it. "Also: I wouldn't mention my liking weird shit around any of my partners in crime."

The wink she gave him now had a decidedly bawdy edge to it. Then again, you could about say that about anything and everything Cal did.

[Blossom Snow]

At the mention of that song, John threw Cal a filthy look, scowling and folding his arms. "Don't you fucking dare." He muttered, suppressing a shudder. God, that song. That song alone would have been enough to make him hate his dad, even without everything else. It was definitely a trigger. It made him want to burn things.

He raised an eyebrow as she held up another album, looking at her incredulously. "You've got to be kidding. Look at it. The cover of that album has more colours than your hair, and that's saying something." He reached out and took it from her nonetheless - if his Aunt Cal recommended something he knew it would at least be worth giving it a shot. He'd never admit it, but he looked up to Cal, and she had introduced him to some good stuff in the past.

Groaning at her next comment, he screwed up his face, looking disgusted. "Ugh, gross." He muttered, slipping back into sullen teenager mode again. "I don't want to know anything about your sexcapades. Don't even hint at it. It's disgusting."

[Cal Karnstein]

"I would dare, and we can leave fucking out of it, since you're squeamish," insisted Cal, giving him another wink. He saw the album cover, and she had to roll her eyes. "The guy literally sings about being on fire at some points. Trust me: you'll dig his weird, psycho act. And if it wasn't for this weirdo, most of us weirdos would be flailing around in our parents' basements still."

Though Cal technically had never started there. advantage of being royalty was a built in audience. Though with her parents, it hadn't taken long for Cal's talents to be noticed and developed. Much, much longer to convince both of them to let her do the punk rocker thing, particularly since that sort didn't exactly go great in Arendelle... with a certain age set, anyway. With the younger crowd, well, Cal was pretty popular for a princess (a trick she seemed to have picked up from Anna.. who was weirdly into her music, come to think of it).

"You could use some sexcapades in your life, y'know,' she said. "If you're interested in that sort of thing. I could do some grunt work for you," she paused, chuckling. "Not literally, but you know," she shrugged. "Some girls aren't interested, or some guys. Parts and all that," she thumbed through more albums. Truthfully she wasn't entirely sure what Blossom liked... she just hoped he wasn't actually getting aroused by fire. That was a bit wide even for her. Might just be asexual, which she'd understand given his... dad.

[Blossom Snow]

"Some of us like it in the basement." He muttered quietly.  "It's dark and miserable down there, and it's not snowman friendly."  But his interest climbed slightly at the mention of fire, and he couldn't help but smile a little, although he hoped Cal didn't see. That was something else he liked about Cal - while everyone else spent most of their time berating him for his arsonist tendancies, telling him how dangerous it was, how much it hurt and upset his dad, how he needed to find other hobbies, Cal just went with it. And he didn't care about the danger or the upset it caused - fire was cool. Fire was hypnotic, it was ruthless and it didn't discriminate - everything burned. There was nothing John liked more than to just sit and watch something burn, watch the patterns and shapes the destruction created, the beauty in the light and flickers of the flame.

Fire was awesome.

He groaned as she started talking about, his face a picture of disgust. He was close to putting his hands over his ears and humming loudly, but settled for glaring at her with his lip curled and his nose wrinkled, hoping he was conveying the fact that he was pretty sure he was going to throw up if she didn't stop. "Oh, god stop. You are gross. I'm good, I don't need you do any grunt work. Whatever that is." He scowled at Cal, sticking his hands in his pocket and fingering his lighter. "Seriously, I'm good on the sex ed front, I know how it all works and whatever. Just not interested. Especially in your leftovers Auntie." He raised an eyebrow at her as he emphasised the last word.

[Cal Karnstein]

"Just so long as you keep the incense burning and the lava lamps on high, Matchstick," replied Cal gamely enough. She knew that enough people got crap for the whole basement living, and that Blossom got more than his share of it. Hell, his dad had named him Blossom. That was practically the setup for a punchline right then and there. Cal just wanted to give him some familial love, which, come to think of it, was probably the Arendelle in her coming out.

At least she still got to be a sexy vampire chick too. She started thumbing through vinyl again, humming to herself.

"Your dad was a snowman," she pointed out. "Though ---" she paused, looking to Blossom, "please say you got sex ed from your grandma. Ice Mom's sometimes chilly, but she puts up with way more shit than the rest of us... and Aunt A's version is---" Cal got a distant look in her eyes. There had been dolls involved. And lots of blushing. So much blushing.

[Blossom Snow]

"Lava lamps are for hippies." He muttered with an eyeroll, always determined to have the last word. His hand continued to fiddle with the lighter as he followed her around the store, watching her leaf through records but not really paying much attention to any himself. He had a very limited interest when it came to music, as much as Cal tried to broaden his horizons - unless they were pretty much screaming into a microphone about death and darkness he wasn't all that interested. He'd rather be burning stuff. But for Cal, he at least made an effort, albeit a small one.

He scowled as she brought up his dad again, his jaw clenching. He really hated when people brought him up at all, and especially when they reminded him about the whole snowman thing. Like it wasn't something that he remembered every damn day. God, he hated his dad.

"God, Cal, I have a tv, I can read, I don't need Grandma or Anna or anyone giving me the sex talk." He scowled. "If I was going to ask anyone it'd be Kristoff anyway." He allowed a small smirk to appear. "Because that would be hilarious."

[Cal Karnstein]

"And stoners," Cal replied almost immediately. She pulled out a record to help demonstrate, something from the good old days of hippies and stoners, with blazing guitar riffs, when rock was god and anyone who could play it was crowned king, if only for a day. She gave it a little wiggle before setting it back down. a few more and she was pulling out something and studying it, at least for herself.

She did pause to look at him when they got to the sex talk. "Oh, it totally is," said Cal, nodding. "I think I got all of Arendelle to give me it when I got about that age. Thought it was hilarious. Kristoff's was particularly memorable: some stuttering, an attempt at mentioning reindeer then, I shit you," she pointed at him with the record, "I got the talk from Sven." She shifted, doing Kristoff's familiar voice for his reindeer buddy, who at this point was admittedly a little long in the tooth: "Well, there, Calpurnia, when a man and a woman, or a woman and a woman, or a reindeer and a reindeer love each other very much."

[Blossom Snow]

"Are you trying to tell me you have a 'lava lamp', Auntie Cal?" He asked with an eyebrow raised, attempting the sweetest voice he could. "There's no judgement here, whatever you need to get through the day. Although you really should share with your favourite nephew."

He moved across the room, away from Cal and her musical education and over to the black metal section and started shuffling through the records. "You know if you want some real music you should listen to this." He said seriously, pulling out a record by the band Mayhem and showing it to Cal. These guys spearheaded the black metal movement, with bands like Gorgoroth and Darkthrone." He gave a small, dark smile. "They're intense."

He visibly cringed at her story, feeling an odd sense of sympathy for Kristoff, although that only lasted a moment before his trademark blank look reappeared. "He did it with Sven? And people think my thing with fire is unnatural." He muttered, dropping the record back in its place and resuming his browsing. The lighter had appeared from his pocket now, and he subconsciously flicked at it, lighting and extinguishing it.