View source for What Dreams May Come/2022-03-03 Storm

Jorgarn gazed up at the gathering clouds, breathing in the ozone-rich sea air, and felt... happy.  The town was recovering, though the progress was perhaps a little slower than some might like (him included).  The townsfolk had rallied together, proving once again the strength of their collective will.  Though he was still very new by the town's standards, he felt proud to call this place home.

"And what're ye ponderin?" came a loud voice from just behind him.  Jorgarn flinched, then chuckled as his brain processed the voice and identified the owner.  Without turning, he chided, "You've been spending a little too much time with Greth, Zofiya.  You always get a bit of his accent creeping in after a few weeks."

"An' what'r'ye say'n... that's a prollim?!?" retorted the girl as she came to stand beside Jorgarn.  He couldn't help but grin at her uncanny imitation of her foster father.

"There's no finer man to emulate, and you know that.  Just... maybe not his manner of speech.  That's all I'm saying," he reassured her.

"He's a wonderful man, and it's a damn shame he's stuck behind a bar.  The world could use a hundred more like him... there's a lot of folks that need protecting, an' there's none better for it."

Jorgarn just nodded.  Zofiya's tone of voice had been reflective, not combative.  She wasn't looking to argue the point, just stating the truth of the world as she saw it.  Not that he disagreed with her in the slightest, he mused.

"Have you heard anything?" she asked quietly.  Jorgarn bit back a sigh at the timid tone in her voice.  It was such a departure from the brash, confident woman that she almost always was.  He wasn't sure how he felt about the vulnerability she showed when she talked about her missing mentor.

"Not a thing.  And to be honest, I stopped looking some time ago," Jorgarn admitted, keeping his gaze fixed on the horizon, and the storm rolling in.  "He made his choice, Zofiya.  He couldn't have been clearer.  He won't return until it's time."

From the corner of his eye, he watched the young giantess carefully, but she just stood, watching the waves out in the harbor.

"It's not fair," she whispered.  "We need him here.  This is his home."

Jorgarn knew what she meant.  And Zofiya was smart enough to know what she meant as well.

It was better this way, Jorgarn knew.  He hoped fervently that whatever purpose Socius was meant to serve, it was a long, long way off.  He held his tongue and made sure to be looking the other way when the fierce woman made a furtive swipe across her face, striking away a few stray bits of moisture creeping from the corners of her eyes.

----

"It's fine," Penre assured the woman.  "There's plenty of time before it hits, and I've never melted yet from getting a little wet."

The woman wrung her hands anxiously from her porch.  Her legs hadn't worked right since the last krolvin attack, when a blade had found her spine but managed to miss anything that would be immediately fatal.  The empaths had done their best, of course, and it wasn't like she was in any pain, but she had more than her share of years already, and the combination of age and injury had left her unable to safely tend to her garden.

Which is where Penre found himself, on his hands and knees yanking out small weeds and spreading mulch.  He never complained, though his bones were arguably older than hers, and he even managed to hum a little bit as he worked.  The first time he'd done it, the woman had thought for sure he had suffered some grievous injury, but she'd gradually come to realize that the old man simply couldn't carry a tune in a bucket.  He was a diligent worker, though, and she appreciated having someplace nice to sit and pass her days.  The company was appreciated, almost more than the inexpert gardening, and they both knew it.

"So you don't think there's anything to... you know... worry about?" the woman asked.

"Like what?" Penre inquired.

"Like... I don't know, like an invasion?  Or something?  What about all the screaming kids?  You mean to tell me there's not something going on?"

Penre straightened carefully as he rose to his feet, making sure to avert his face as the pain shot through his lower abdomen.  She didn't need something else to worry about.  When he had composed himself, he brushed the dirt from his hands and made his way to the porch, taking a seat in the chair next to her.

"I think... that worrying about it isn't going to help anything.  Can you fight if something comes?"

"I will, if it comes to that.  And so will you, so don't try and tell me otherwise," the woman retorted, her voice sharp.

"Of course.  But that's sort of my point.  It's not our job to worry about that sort of thing.  Not any more, in your case, and never, in mine.  If we're needed, we'll go.  But we're not cut out for determining what's going on.  We don't have the information, we don't see the larger picture, and we don't have the skills to do what needs to be done at this stage.  When it gets time to pick up a blunt instrument and go looking for skulls... well, then we can see what we can do, but until then..."

Penre's voice took on a slight singsong lilt as he began to recite, and the woman scoffed before joining him, knowing the old man's favorite saying by heart.

"All we can do is all we can do."

Lightning streaked from the sky nearly overhead and licked the top of a nearby tree, lighting it instantly ablaze just before an almighty crash of thunder shook the air around them.  Buckets of rain followed immediately after, drenching the tree and everything else in sight, instantly snuffing the flames.

"I think that's my cue," Penre remarked, getting to his feet. He made his apologies, then shuffled off through the downpour.  He waited until he was out of the woman's sight before ducking under a nearby alcove and pressing one hand to his gut.  The thunder drowned his groans.

----

"Absolutely incredible," the man muttered.  "Even on a tropical island, nearly covered in rainforest, there can still be a rainy season."

The heavens were awash with gathering thunderclouds, and the townsfolk began to scurry for shelter, though none seemed particularly concerned.  It was more a matter of practicality, the man thought.  Best to stay dry if it was an option.  He couldn't really fault them for it.  It would be rather hypocritical, given the heavy tarp under which he had taken shelter.

This guise had suited him for a time, but it was almost time to discard it.  The fruit seller in particular had been asking a few too many leading questions, and seemed not entirely convinced by the man's careful answers.  Still, it would serve for a time more.  And besides... with the storm coming, there was Work to do.

The man smiled to himself, gathered up the trinkets that had been laid out for sale to passersby and set out for the center of town.  The Work called to him, its whispers sweet as honey, and he couldn't help the smile that crept across his ruined visage.

----

The lightning outside flashed again, and the girl watched the shadows react, scurrying into the darker corners of her room and hiding from the invasive light.  It never lasted, though, and the shadows came spilling out once more as the light faded back into the night sky.  She smiled, watching the interplay, and imagining that she could see animals amongst the shadows.  That one looked like an elephant, with his one ear hanging down and making it have a funny silhouette.  That one seemed like a jungle cat, skulking across the floor, its head low as it watched for more of the lightning's terrible glow.  And that one... that one looked almost like something... slithering?  But it wasn't coming from the corners of her room.  That one was coming through the crack in her window.

The lightning flashed once more, but this shadow didn't retreat.

The sound of the girl's shrieks could be heard blocks away.  And others soon joined the chorus, each in their own time, their terrified cries muffled and washed away by the mighty crashing of thunder.