Ghost Goat admired the scenery but didn't really take it in. Some greens and browns in the pines, a glitchy patch of purple where an image file busted, and most of all whites and blues of earth and sky, with the glinting sun rendering it all a touch overwhelming even in his low-focus state.

A hearty pat on the back served to remind him that he wasn't alone on this creeping, creaking chairlift. “You still with me, GG?"

The spectral goat shook his head, a little dazed. He'd never been skiing, and this was his first time riding a chairlift. He looked down at his legs dangling over the edge, bright red skis affixed to his feet, shining snow below. He looked over at his companion's matching footwear and shook his head again. Frida was a romantic interest, no denying. Going for a ski—just the two of them—was her idea, and he was only too happy to accept.

His eyes flicked up to her face, refusing to stereotypically give her a slow once-over. Randy goat jokes flowed readily, especially here on the internet, and all too many of his fellows were willing to play into those tropes. He was more of a slow burning, sappy sort anyway: appreciating the black hair of her snout and around her lively yellow eyes, the curled ringtail resting on her shoulder and framing her face... they were here on a sweet date, together. It made his heart go adorably pitter-patter.

He gave her an easy half-grin. “Yeah, I'm with you. Just feeling slightly out-of-body. Here's to new things, I suppose."

Frida's face had turned mildly concerned while GG ruminated on his response; when he finally gave it, she matched his expression with some relief, teeth glimmering against contrasting black. “Here's to new things."

It was a Tuesday in late spring. Most internet-capable spirits like Frida and GG were at work or engaging in more seasonally-appropriate recreation. That left this mountain—really a glorified hill—practically empty. Ghost Goat was the only one at the scheduled beginning-beginner's class, and he'd picked up on the basics quickly with Frida's help, with his shortcomings largely mitigated with preternatural balance (yes, all right, some stereotypes do have basis in reality). They'd seen only three other skiers on their way up, and they were almost at the top.

Frida lifted the restraining bar as they approached the summit, and GG managed to slide out juuuust gracefully enough to avoid falling over, though not gracefully enough to avoid his lemur companion's hastily packed snowball, which caught him dead in the snout.

“Ow!" he shouted reflexively even though the ball was 100% soft powder. In fact, it felt tremendously refreshing. He laughed as he dropped his ski poles so he could brush the snow off his nose, and bent down to form his own snowball and—whap! Zinger to the eye!

He fell backwards laughing, his horns digging into the snow. Before he could even sit up, Frida was on top of him, her knees bent and skis floating overhead like a diorama. She dabbed a spot on his cheek with her tongue, then moved an inch and licked a long trough up and over his eye. It felt amazing.

Then suddenly she rolled off and somehow popped up to her feet with a wild look in her eyes. “You like that?" she practically purred.

“Oh my g—" GG laughed again with sudden realization, “Is this cocaine?"

Frida's laughter was comically maniacal, “No, it's 90% snow. Catch me if you can, goatboy." With striking celerity she grabbed her ski poles and sprinted away. Her form was impeccable.

“No way I'll catch her…" Ghost Goat muttered as he pensively rubbed his lower jaw and sniffled, “Unless she wants to be caught." He staggered clumsily to his feet. He felt constricted by his equipment, but something told him that would resolve itself soon enough. He narrowed his eyes wolfishly and set off after her.