#thread: thunder

It was a violently stormy night in the French Quarter and as a result, the distillery was rather quiet. Acoustic music played across the sound system, backed by the sound of the driving rain and crashing thunder, and customers sparsely dotted the room. Most servers bemoaned slow nights like these, but the truth of the matter was that Mathis didn’t mind them. On the contrary it was in the minutes between drink orders, often late at night, that he found the time to take inventory, wash glasses, restock bottles, and generally prepare for the day ahead. He might even manage the odd conversation with a patron seated at the bar, though he tended to field vastly more unabashed staring than witty banter.

The Savoie endeavored to be friendly. Truly he did, but he had a way of unnerving people, particularly humans. Perhaps it was his almost unnaturally bright eyes, or the single black glove he always wore. He’d considered both options (plus a dozen more, besides) because hardly anyone he waited on could guess at his true nature. That ignorance was both a blessing and a barrier, but even if no deeper connection was needed to open a tab and pour a round, the witch sometimes couldn’t help but fixate on certain things. Specifically, the fact that he’d once nearly escaped this city, and the legacy he’d inherited along with his name - a legacy that would’ve been better off washed away by the rain.

It was six years ago that he’d slipped away on a blustery night much like this one, traveling from one coast clear to the other only to end up right back where he started. Some days it felt like he had a heavier heart and shorter chain than ever, and it was with a certain amount of envy that he looked upon a nearby table of college students, mirthful, careless, and apparently oblivious to the raging storm. They were roughly the same age as he was - but that was likely the extent of the similarities between them. Suddenly, the distillery door swung open, amplifying the sound of the pouring rain. Stirred from his musings, Mathis was grateful to redirect his attention to the figure that now stood, dripping wet, in the threshold.

“Nice weather we’re having,” the ironic greeting was offered as the door swung shut behind the new arrival, and already the bartender was reaching for a clean dish towel, “Here. It’s not much but you can dry off a little with this.”

Marc’s night had been a rather boring one, a few calls but for the most part no true emergencies. His rig had sat in the parking lot of the hospital most of the night and his partner had snoozed fitfully in the passenger seat of the cab. Marc hadn’t minded the weather like some others. He rather liked the sound of the thunder and the rain. The forks of lightning that lit up the night sky were a sight to be held. It almost reminded him of home, in a weird way. The monsoons in Hawaii could obliterate whole roads and wash away the sorrows and sins of those that traveled the dirt paths along with other things.

Typically, when the world raged, Marc would sit at home, read a book and listen to her rantings. Today, though, when the shift ended, he found that a drink was needed. Mother Nature was pissed about something, though what it was, Marc didn’t really know. He just felt the need to listen to her in the company of others. Not equipt with a car, he trudged through the wind and rain down the mostly empty streets of what was normally a bustling French quarter and found himself on the threshold of the whiskey joint he’d gone into a few weeks back. He’d met the owner and found he liked the man. 

The door banged open, Marc’s strength catching him off guard for a moment as he filled the doorway with his overly large and sopping wet frame. It was nearly as deserted as it had been the first day he’d walked in. The only difference was that a different person greeted him from behind the bar. “Not too bad,” he agreed jovially. He was probably one of the few that truly meant it. He let the door shut behind him and moved with a soggy squelching sound, his boots hitting the warn floor and leaving a trail of water drops in his wake. 

He took the rag from the bartender and surveyed it before he cracked a large smile and laughed boisterously. “I’m not sure how much this is gonna help, bruh,” he said as he wiped his hands on it. “I look like I wiped out on a 20 footer and the ocean threw me back on land.” At least he didn’t feel like that. “You guys got beer in this place? I know you got the fancy whiskey, that classy old guy showed me the ropes the other day, but I could really just use a nice thick stout to warm up.”

Title: Thunder

Muse: Drakaina

The thunder below Syrax's wings was deafening, even after all these years, as the goddess rose above the storm clouds threatening the edge of the city. Something was wrong, though.

No, these were not ordinary clouds, not an ordinary storm. Something was wrong about them. They weren't like her father's storms. A different kind of magic. Drakaina looked down at the swirling clouds underneath her, feeling a sinking weight in her stomach.

"A God's work is never done," Syrax chuckled. Drakaina rolled her eyes.

"Dive, Syrax. We must land." Drakaina held on tightly, ducking close to the dragon's back as they entered a steep spiral down to the ground.

"Stay here." Drakaina pulled her gloves off, looking around. "Stay out of sight." Syrax grumbled, but laid low to the dirt, behind the trees. The young goddess made her way to the university, puzzled by the emptiness of the yard. She continued on to the nearest building. "Hello? Is there anyone home?"

"Heh, look at her, she look like she break with just one touch of finger." a large, tall, bald headed Russian broke out in laughter as she approached with narrowed eyes on the man. "Anyone ever tell you looks can be deceiving?" she questioned, and couldn't help but question her sanity having joined up with this particular crew of men under the payment of their boss who had a name even if you tried to pronounce it, it still wound up sounding like some ingredient from an american made snack product. It was much simpler to call him by his last name Kovalenko. An old, yet not well known mob up in New York who was now pushing business through the lesser and more hick states of America.

"No, I break you now...prove point." he laughed again sending a playful elbow to the tall, thin, quiet man beside him and another to the short, bearded man opposite who was laughing along with him. "I'm sure you could try, but I doubt your boss would take to kindly to that, or finding out one of his bitches got the boot." she replied with a dry tone and a smile sliding in to the back seat of the black SUV with tinted windows and closed the door leaving them to talk among themselves until she pressed the button on the door to roll her window down. "Time is of the essence." she rolled her eyes and fell back against the seat waiting until they gathered in to the vehicle, the one to speak to her joining her in the back with a large grin.

"You like        "-"No." she cut him off turning to look out the window as the engine roared and the driver hit the gas heading out of the private airport and on to the highway towards hick ville. They were to meet another man and his crew for a deal, she was the smart gun, two were the muscle, and the tall man sitting in the passenger seat who kept to himself was the man who would be making the deal. It was always the quiet ones that had the worse story, the most unforgiving past, and the scars to prove it, and they were the most dangerous out of anyone. She couldn't help but to look at him from time to time with his upright seating position, face forward and blank as if he were made of metal and to open him you'd find wires and memory chips.

The drive seemed like a long one, the bald russian in the back seat continued to look at her, and at one point his hand traveled to her thigh where she made a point not to touch her by grabbing him by his index finger and pulling back sharply nearly breaking. He writhed in pain and pulled away and she returned his actions with a smile before gazing out the window to watch miles and miles of open country pass by. Another vehicle before them made as a precaution knowing that more men would be needed in case something went wrong, and that's exactly what had happened.

The SUV rumbled, the sky filling with smoke and she was flung in to the door as they swerved out of the way of the vehicle that had been driving ahead of them that was now up in flames and she turned looking over her shoulder and out of the back window before flying forward and planting a firm hand on the drivers shoulder. "Stop!" she cried out with a forcefulness as they skidded to a halt and she pushed the door open sliding from the automobile and dropped to her stomach at the rear end to see who was out there. A blue truck, accompanied by other vehicles, but she wasn't able to make out the amount of men they had, one in particular with spiked hair was stationed in front with what looked to be a rocket launcher.