#taric

Pickles had stopped counting the number of times Taric had been struck by lightning. The first few had been memorable, but also a little frightening. Everyone made a fuss, healers were summoned, and Taric spent days sprawled across furniture making dramatic noises whenever he moved. After a while, lightning strikes became just another category of inconvenience. Like running out of tea, getting sand in the apartment, or accidentally creating a poison that melted through three shelves before someone noticed.

Today had started perfectly normal. Taric had left that morning carrying his surfboard and wearing his usual beach attire consisting of board shorts and a lightweight long-sleeved shirt to keep the sun off his skin. He had promised to return before dinner and had also promised Pickles treats. Pickles personally considered the second promise far more important than the first.

The shop had been closed for the day, leaving the cockatiel with the entire building to himself. He spent most of the afternoon occupying various perches near the windows, occasionally yelling "HELLO" at empty rooms just to make sure they hadn't forgotten he was there. By mid-afternoon he had migrated to the apartment above the shop and settled near the balcony doors where he could watch the harbor.

That was when the weather began to change. Dark clouds gathered over the sea, gradually overtaking the bright blue sky. The breeze strengthened, carrying the scent of rain inland. Pickles watched the approaching storm with mild annoyance. He wasn't worried about Taric exactly, lightning had tried very hard to kill Taric over the years and had yet to succeed.

The storm arrived quickly. Rain hammered the rooftops and rattled against the balcony railing while thunder rolled overhead. Pickles retreated inside and perched on the back of the couch. Every so often he glanced toward the door, expecting Taric to appear dripping wet and complaining about the weather.

Instead, the storm came and went. Then another hour passed, and another. Pickles was beginning to consider whether he should be concerned just when he heard footsteps on the stairs below. The apartment door opened moments later and Taric staggered inside looking like someone who had recently made several poor decisions in rapid succession. His hair was singed, his shirt was missing one sleeve, one side of his face was covered in soot, and most concerning of all, he was carrying only half of his surfboard.

Pickles stared. Taric stared back. For several seconds neither moved.

Then Taric pointed a finger at the bird. "I can explain." That was never a good sign.

Taric dropped what remained of the surfboard against the wall and immediately collapsed into a chair. The moment he sat down there was a loud crack and every feather on Pickles' body puffed outward. A visible spark jumped between Taric and the chair. Both of them looked at the chair, then they looked at each other. "Still a little charged up," Taric murmured.

Pickles watched cautiously as Taric carefully stood and attempted to remove his shirt. The fabric snagged halfway over his head before a shower of tiny sparks erupted from it. The shirt promptly caught fire. Taric yelped, Pickles laughed, and the shirt was eventually thrown into the sink. After several moments of frantic splashing and creative swearing, Taric managed to extinguish it. He stood there shirtless, damp, and visibly exhausted while Pickles continued to laugh from atop the couch.

"You're not helping."

Pickles laughed harder.

Once the immediate crisis had passed, Taric prepared a cup of tea, or at least he tried to. The kettle didn't survive the experience. The moment he touched it, a sharp crack echoed through the apartment and every light flickered. The kettle gave up entirely. Taric stared at it and sighed "Well that’s unfortunate." Pickles considered it hilarious as he stamped his feet and did a little dance to show his amusement.

Eventually Taric sat on the floor with an ice pack pressed against his shoulder and began recounting what had happened. According to him, the lightning strike itself had gone perfectly. In fact, he claimed it was one of the cleanest absorptions he had ever managed. The problems began afterward. Apparently he had taken in significantly more energy than usual. At first he hadn't noticed anything wrong, until he touched a palm tree, which then proceeded to explode. Not completely, just enough to make him realize something had gone horribly wrong.

After that, matters deteriorated rapidly.

His communication device stopped working the moment he picked it up. His surfboard developed a smoking crack down the middle after he grabbed it with both hands. When he attempted to sit on a beach chair and think through the problem, the chair instantly burst apart beneath him.

Pickles nearly fell off the couch laughing.

Taric didn't seem to appreciate this. "I could have died."

Pickles made a noise that sounded suspiciously like disbelief.

"Okay, probably not."

Much better.

The rest of the trip home had apparently involved walking several miles while avoiding physical contact with basically everything. Fences sparked when he passed them, metal signs rattled, one unfortunate crab had pinched his foot and immediately reconsidered all of its life choices. By the time he reached Booty Bay, Taric had succeeded in destroying a chair, a communication device, part of a surfboard, two palm trees, half a fence, and possibly a shrub. He wasn't entirely sure about the shrub.

The evening settled into a comfortable silence after the shock wore off. Taric eventually managed to find a blanket that didn't spark when he touched it and wrapped himself up before sinking into the couch. He looked thoroughly exhausted, which was understandable given he had spent the afternoon being struck by lightning and then terrorizing local vegetation.

Pickles fluttered down and landed beside him. For a while they simply sat there, then Taric sighed. "At least it wasn't as bad as last time." Pickles tilted his head, and Taric thought for a moment. "You know what? Don't respond to that."

Pickles immediately puffed up and, in a perfect imitation of Taric's voice, declared: "I can explain." Taric groaned and buried his face in the blanket. Pickles considered the day a complete success. After all, his human had come home alive, and more importantly, had done something incredibly stupid. Both were traditions worth preserving.

Targon Modern AU!