The Hurricane I’ll Never Outrun // CLOSED
[ ultimatechaser ]
That night reminded Rover of a story you’d tell by the campfire — on a dark and stormy night, someone would say — howling wind and hand-like branches scratching at windows, slanted raindrops that hurt when they hit your face, the streets so empty they made you question every shadow that stretched across the pavement.
It was a night that Rover would categorize as a bad night, not for the fact that his chances of getting murdered increased by at least 10%, or the weather in general, but that the clouds coated the sky in a thick, ugly, black blanket.
There were no stars that he could see.
“...”
Ugh.
Another bad in the bad night, though Rover thought of it considerably less important than the fact he couldn’t see the stars, was that he was camped in front of a closed store, under the shelter by the entrance, shifting his weight from side to side. His eyes scanned the sidewalk and street, like a sniper peering through the spy in their gun, searching for their target, for someone (God he’d take anyone at this point), to walk by.
His prosthetic wasn’t waterproof — something he’d given up in exchange for all the robotics inside his leg that made it easy for him to run and climb and jump around on trampolines. This wouldn’t necessary be too much of a problem had he not drained his battery with snapchats earlier that day, so calling for help and an umbrella was... impossible. All his change was too small for a payphone, all the stores close by closed for the night. He either had to wait the storm out or wait for—
“Hey — HEY STRANGER, WANNA LEND ME A HAND, keheh.”
— you.
