As soon as they're off the bus, Wilbur is throwing his arms out and breathing in the fresh, clean, crisp air.

"Smell that, Techno?" He asks. Techno, who has not a care in the world for anything Wilbur enjoys, just hums and walks over to the side hatch to get his luggage out the pit. "That's the smell of the mountains. Of pure winter and ice. That's the smell of victory."

"Someone remind Soot that he is an ice hockey player, not a poet," Schlatt grumbles, pushing past him off the bus and pulling his ear buds out of his ears.

“Dude, Q, check it- those guys curl.” Sapnap says when they get inside out of the cold. Wilbur pulls his beanie off his head and shakes snowflakes out of his hair. “Curling is, like, the world’s most confusing sport.”

“No, that's Chess.” Quackity argues.

“For you, maybe.” Techno points out. Quackity makes a face at him. Wilbur snorts.

Then, from behind him, there’s the sound of a throat being cleared. Wilbur turns, as does the rest of his team, to see a man standing there, in a long slate gray coat. He’s got an earpiece in and a bag on his back, and he looks utterly unimpressed by the sight of six hockey players all taller and bigger than him.

“Excuse us,” he sneers, his eyes passing over the lot of them like they’re nothing. Wilbur steps back immediately, and that is when he notices the two people standing behind the man. A blond boy, and someone else. They have matching coats, neat shoes and polished figure skates are tied to their bags like trophies. When the two of them walk by, the outside air seems to follow, cold and unforgiving, making Quackity shiver all over again. Even Wilbur, who loves the cold, feels a bit of a chill.