A Yeti Pickup artist

It’s a loosely known fact, for whatever reason, that snow when packed in a piste for a ski run can be groomed so smooth that the common skier has a larger than zero chance of simply slipping into another dimension.

This chance increases ever so slightly in the event that an experienced hobbyist runs himself into a Pinetree. 

While it should be understood that these ‘facts’ are rarely of interest to any such person that isn’t also a Teratophile, Cryptozoologist or more general Conspiracy Fantasist. They are also completely irrelevant to the much realer if seemingly less likely event that had just occurred.

That being a totally normal, if hormonally instigated, walk through the himalayan mountain side being interrupted by a small chronically overdressed creature that in any other state would likely introduce himself as a frightened human. 

Sadly he’d frozen up. He’d really lost his train of thought.

Hima wasn’t all that worried when the creature didn’t immediately run from her, simply annoyed. While she was close in size to a bear, his willingness to confuse her with one was a bit insulting. Though she supposed, it would be just the same if he had.

He was afterall a bit overdressed with the kind of gear he was sporting. Skis and poles might be a bit much to maneuver in an attempt to outrun a presumed bear. Still, it wasn’t as if he’d be capable of outrunning her, or staying that overdressed if she were in fact a bear.

Or in such a mood.

“Seems you’re in a bit of trouble.” She asks the human, looking him over knowing that if he were injured that he was at least well contained.

“What?” he asks hurriedly, divesting himself of his scarf and goggles, finally looking up at her.

“I said, it seems you’re in trouble.”

He looked around at the snow he’d displaced, “So I’ve not hit a tree, have I?” While the ruddiness of his face wasn’t unappealing to her, the notion of comparison very much was. If he’d thought she was a bear, well, they have agency and freedom of movement. 

A tree might be upright, but it wasn’t making its own decisions, so really she had every reason to be set in a row, “No. That would be unlikely.”

He snorted a bit at the cold mountainous air, “Well that’s nice, thanks for waiting, miss? I assume you’d have a name.”

“Yes. Though none match that format.” She had thought to reply with her name before deciding against it, still she wasn’t so keen on being called Miss anything, even if her Borderers would prefer she did.

“Like Cher?” He sounded almost sweet.

“Yes, I suppose. Miss Child-of-so-and-so or Miss Wherever would be the closest I possess but I don’t imagine it’d be convenient.”

“Miss Wherever seems fitting, if you’d rather not share your information.”

“I’m not a fairy you know.” she said, half remembering some human myth.

“Coulda fooled me, I mistook a beau like yourself for a tree,” he said, in a cheesy way that only ever made sense from human lips. Sadly given Hima’s mood she wasn’t interested, or at the very least was more worried over his head and how he likely damaged it while falling toward her.

Brain damage could do many interesting things of course, like give the sufferer a new and fascinating accent, or a sudden and embarrassing lust for handsomely hairy Yeti women. This couldn’t be said for the Skier though, as while he’d hit her with his full weight and likely could’ve damaged something, he himself had a history.

A history of Paraphilia.

Not the criminal kind, Carlos never imagined anything to do with the truly grotesque, but there was a very big difference between monsters and evil, and well she could talk. With attitude even, so he felt at ease flirting with her.

“Are you certain you’re not damaged?” she asked, still towering over him even as he rights himself.

“No, but you seemed apprehensive about sharing, and I thought, fair enough. Sides, I think more things can be private given the circumstances.”

“Seems silly.”

“Probably. Just seemed nice, really. There’s only so many sensible things to say to a lady.”

“Wasn’t thinking about that,” she went on scratching a bit at her hair, a seemingly nervous tick, rather than an actual tick. “What made you think I was a tree? You seemed so spooked.” 

Yes, it was certainly nerves. Good.

“Embarrassment. It’s easier to get up if you make believe that no one is looking,” He thinks for a moment, he hasn’t really answered for himself. and though it was un-batmanly he continued “That and, I was woefully unprepared for the alternative.”

“What did you think the alternative was?”

“Well, not a bear. I might be tightly packed, but I’m rather certain you aren’t a bear.” He never imagined that he’d meet any kind of cryptid, especially not female, and especially not humanoid. “In either sense.”

“There’s another sense?”

“Yes? I’d thought you’d know, I suppose it would be in metaphor, or simply colloquially.” The air was cold and dry, but he still made a point to clarify.

“Ah, that makes sense.” she was calmer then, a sweet if deep voice. Not a scratch of cold. She seemed in better comfort than him, but she was also built for the weather, “Do you feel well enough to go home?” She asked, likely expecting to drag him to safety if necessary.

How considerate.

“Well, yes. But I’d really prefer to talk more if that were an option.”

“Oh,” she hadn’t been expecting that, but Carlos tried to calm himself while he waited for any further response. He didn’t need to seem overeager, if he could help it. It was easy enough to sully these kinds of things, and really he couldn’t be too careful with his new acquaintance.

If he were thinking at all, he’d have noticed that she was in fact a Yeti, and that he had before officially meeting, collided bodily with her at a velocity of his own absurd preference. He had absolutely no physical reason to believe she was fragile in any way.

Except for the fact that, she was a very pretty Yeti, in his approximation as a fantastical deviant, and that she was otherwise very moody.

Carlos in his limited experience with intelligent beings he actually liked understood that good manners in that sense were at least close to universal, and almost no one objected to being liked in honest curiosity rather than outright plotting.

Trouble was that this Yeti was a stranger but also she was a Yeti, and even if size ratios weren’t a problem she seemed a bit too self assured to contend with his affliction, let alone undermine whatever social taboos must exist for an intelligent if solitary creature.

“Are you following?” she asked, gesturing away from the ski slope. He’d spaced out on her, but he hasn’t passed up on her offer. She’d concern herself with the peculiarity of his scent, but she wasn't all together opposed to what it implied. If her understanding of human patterns was correct, then he could be very entertaining.

Even with concern to proportions.

“So, are we going up or down?” he asked, as it was apparently the important direction with Skis. Hima was a bit lagged by this, as while she lived butt up to the ski lodge side of a mountain the care and keeping of such equipment simply didn’t matter before now.

“Oh, right. You’ve got dumb shoes on.”

“Yes actually, Ski boots suck to walk in for long.”

“I’d meant the skis themselves,” she said, and he looked stricken at her assessment before she continued, “You know I can just carry you.”

His face, what she could see, lit up, “That sounds nice, actually.” He quickly handed over his poles to her, deciding to trust the Yeti, given it was such a rare event to be asked to. His hands, even under thick gloves, seemed so small up against her’s.

He looked at her hand for a moment, and she knew as well as anything, that he was sizing her up also.

Her hands were bigger than his, her feet were bigger than his. Her legs, her bones. She was probably a lot for someone his size to handle. She had no figures on how large humans could get, feet and inches only mean so much at her proportions after all.

Still he wasn’t hard to carry, even with his gear, and over-slippery polyester suit.