Desmond looked in all directions before going up to find snow plowing down into his skull as if the winter weather decided to all fall at once right on his face. The reunion between skin and snow was always a bitter moment, one Desmond couldn't help but yelp at.

She had effectively ruined some of his arsenal's structure, but snow on top of snow only meant more ammo. He wasn't entirely expecting to win at this point, but he was determined to get at least a single hit in, so he made one of the snowballs larger and began to climb the tree, keeping in mind she was likely just going to fade out when he got close enough. Desmond climbed purposely slow.

In the back of his mind, he couldn't believe he was having a snowball fight with a fucking ghost.