Thunderstorm prompt thing/an exercise in self-indulgence

[aintnoconvict]

Glitch and someone of your choice get caught in just that. Storm of the century. O.Z or Taxon, or AU. :3 Or all three.

Door #3, ish. Also less storm of the century and more random framing device for something resembling a plot.

In early summer the winds rise from the Great Sandy Waste to climb the Quadling mountains, cooling before dropping into the warm, moist air of the lake country. Long ago Glitch had known this system intimately, and as a boy had watched the sky tear itself to pieces while marveling at the power of it and wondering how it could be used.

Now, though...

The first rumble of thunder doesn't wake him, nor the slightly-cooler breeze or the deepening of the shade he's napping in. He is roused by a touch to his arm, a press of lips to his cheek, and his proper name murmured in his ear.

Glitch rolls over, stretches with a little mumble, and looks up at his companion.

"I dozed off again, didn't I?" The reply is a smile and a widening of dark eyes. "I always do that, right?"

"I would not go so far as to say always," Bagoas demures and helps him sit up. "I am sorry, I would have let you go on but I am afraid the weather is turning."

Very decidedly true: black-bellied clouds have obscured the first sun and are closing in on the second. Now he hears the thunder, and yes that is a little chill in the air and he'd best get his shirt buttoned.

"Oh! That's, um...that happens, I think. We should pack up and--"

"It is already done," Bagoas says and inclines his head, holding up their basket of Stuff, containing a pair of binoculars, bag of cherries, tin of meringues, a couple empty bottles of ginger beer, and, as always, a camera.

Glitch grins and nods once, finishes getting himself situated (only one button missed, he'll lament about it later), and clambers to his feet to bundle up the blanket.

"Thank you, you're so...many things I've probably said over and over and over."

There is a gentle laugh. "I never tire of hearing them, azizam." Glitch stares, and his expression starts to creep from blank to fretful before Bagoas reaches up to smooth back one of his curls. "Dear one. Or sweetheart, if you prefer."

"Right, of course, I should--" The wind gusts stronger and he looks up in time to catch a brilliant flicker though the clouds, which is followed instantly by a much louder crack of thunder. He takes the basket and gives Bagoas the blanket. "Worry about language lessons later, come on!"

It's with unspoken agreement that they make a mad dash across the meadow to the woodlands beyond. Glitch knows they'll find a trailhead there, and that will lead them to another trail, and maybe that will go to another one but then there will be a road and the road will definitely go to his mother's home. It's not that far, really, he just hopes he remembers the way.

They slow down a bit on the path, both best suited for quick bursts of speed rather than sustained effort. The wind rushes through the leaves overhead and there's the distant crack of a bough breaking, something scuttles through the leaf litter to their left, and there's an undulating cooing sound from a thicket to the right.

"Jewel doves," Glitch supplies and reaches to clasp Bagoas' hand. "They're green, shiny and green, and under their wings the feathers are this bright orange. I remem...someone, somebody kept a pair as pets, in a big ol' cage and--"

He looks down as the slack between their joined hands has lessened, like they're pulling apart. For a moment he's baffled then he realizes they've reached a fork in the trail, and he's tried to stay to the right while Bagoas has moved left. "Um."

"It is this way," Bagoas says and gives his hand a little tug and gestures down his path. "There's the root we stepped around, and I think I see the rose bush a little further up." He smiles and touches the pair of wild roses still stuck in his hair, bright pink petals contrasting with blue-black curls.

Glitch looks, and thinks he remembers but he's uncertain. "B-but muscle memory says this way so so so it could be...maybe it was a different bush."

There's another sound in the woods now, a patter closing in behind them as the smell of rain becomes overpowering.

"Trust me, Glitch." The next tug is more insistant, and Glitch looks from one path to the other wishing he remembered which way was correct, why he'd decided to not pack an umbrella, exactly how he'd met Bagoas--

No, that's silly, he'd been at his bedside when he'd woken from the failed surgery and that beautiful, relieved smile had been the first thing he'd seen. Raw had been mentoring Bagoas as a healer, teaching him the medicinal arts but Glitch was certain he'd known him before. The young man assured him this was true, and sometimes they spoke of gardens and swimming, great reptilian beasts and a lighthouse by the sea.

When these adventures had transpired, Glitch doesn't know, though sometimes he thinks back to the tower and the brilliant flash of the restored suns in his eyes and he's not sure if that moment lasted heartbeats or annuals. He's tried talking about this brief madness (and you were there, and you, and you) with varying success. Azkadellia had frowned and nodded and called it strange but not out of the realm of possability. DG had stared and told him, with much more firmness than she'd ever used with him before, that it'd just been a glitch - they both flinched at that - and to let it go.

Cain had just smiled, bittersweet, aburptly pulled him into a hug, and promised him he wasn't crazy.

(Azkadellia's been taking the counsel of two wizards, one quiet and scar-faced and the other brooding and red-haired. DG's off at the borderlands either negotiating with - or joining, depedning on who you talk to - a group of bandits who have been terrorizing the desert. Cain's volunteered to look after a slipper who still cannot fucking believe he's ended up over the fucking rainbow and has to be babysat by a goddamn cowboy with a really nice ass holy shit. And Glitch has settled at his mother's house with Bagoas as his near-constant companion and all of it, absolutely all of it, makes perfectly reasonable sense.)

The unquestioning trust Glitch has for his young friend makes sense too, and he flashes a smile and nods once, firmly. "I do, always. Left it is!"

Bagoas grins back and they set off at a brisk pace, both very deliberately stepping over the protruding root and giggling, then shouting and breaknig into a run as the rain catches them. The wind gusts, lightning flickers, the trail becomes muddy, they're both soon helplessly soaked, and Glitch is...relieved.

"At least we're not on a boat!" He has no idea why he says that, and from the look on his companion's face he wishes he didn't, but it's all the optimism he can muster for the moment. "Shouldn't be much further, I'm sure the road's right around this turn."

And so it is, and waiting there for them with an idling engine is a familiar red car. Glitch unlatches the boot while Bagoas taps frantically on the back window, then tumbles inside when the door unlocks. The sopping basket and blanket go in the boot and the drenched headcase flings open the other door and soon they clinging together across the backseat, dripping, laughing, and laughing about dripping.

There's the sound of a throat clearing from the front, and two towels are handed back to them.

"Not," a deep, accented voice says with a sigh. "That they will do much good."

"Every little bit helps," Glitch says and mops his face and arms, then ruffles the towel over his head.

Bagoas manages to bundle his hair into the cloth, creating an elegant turban. Despite this sartorial success his expression is mournful. "I've lost my roses." The driver murmurs sympathy and offers them two travel mugs full of something fragrant. "Oh, thank you."

"Oooh, rooibos!" Glitch enthuses and accepts the mug from a dark, long-fingered hand. "Yes, thank you Mayland."

(They'd been startled upon returning to Finaqua to discover a massive black dragon sunning himself on the terrace, then less startled when he changed into a man, then bemused when he shifted back and forth a few more times to make sure he could and that his fine black suit stayed intact with each change. His immediate rapport with just about everyone was another one of those that's-just-the-way-it-is things they've come to happily accept.)

"And and sorry you had to come out in this...well you didn't have to but I know rain's not your thing and neither is driving, really. Do you want me to drive? I can, you know, I-I'm sure it'sfynuh--"

One of Bagoas' delicate fingers perches just so against his lips and the young man smiles, fond and patient. Glitch pouts, then nips gently at the intruding digit, earning a retaliatory tap on the nose.

"It's no trouble," Mayland replies at a volume intended to reclaim their attention. "Especially with travel storms remaining prevalent, I thought it better safe than...well. Speaking of, a courier arrived with another dossier."

"Another one?" Glitch reaches forward to take the slim folio. As he flips through it Mayland starts the engine, turns the heat up, and begins the short drive back to the house.

Bagoas peers at the file with him. There's a photo of a petite blonde woman who doesn't look happy about having her picture taken, and a brief description.

"S...summers?" Bagoas tries, concentrating on the bold-typed name. "Boofy Summers?"

"Close," Glitch replies with a pleased grin. Reading lessons, much like the language ones, are a continuous thing. "Short 'u' on the first name too."

"Buffy Summers." The young man nods and sips his tea, folding his legs so his now-bare feet are up on the seat. "That is much more flattering. I wonder what she's like."

Glitch sets his tea in the cup holder and gives the picture a little further scrutiny, doing his best not to acknowledge any deja vu which might creep up on him. Despite this he can't help thinking the stillness of the image doesn't suit her, that she ought to be moving. Fighting.

"Restless. A-and tough, I think," he says and closes the folio, tossing it on the back dash. He toes off his own sodden, muddy shoes - they'll clean the car later, barring distractions (or possibly including them) - and runs a hand over the scar on his head before dropping his arm around Bagoas' shoulders. Nice and cozy with warm air from the vents, the storm raging outside, the road's gentle bumps nudging them closer. "I wanna see her smile, looks like she might have a nice smile."

"We shall find out soon enough," Mayland murmurs and negotiates the turn onto the big red house's drive. "I believe our colleagues will be bringing her along on Tuesday."

"Company!" Bagoas looks up at Glitch, eyes bright with the prospect of entertaining guests. "Perhaps she will be another voice to remind certain parties that smoking is to be done outside."

Glitch snorts. "Or maybe certain parties'll get caught breaking the rules again and we'll get another nice steak dinner for compensation."

"So long as said rule isn't broken in the library, I'm in favor of that option."

Thus is the life of Lord Glitch of Rigmarole, appointed Director of the new Bureau of Slipper Relations by the Queen Herself, his assistant/apprentice/companion Bagoas of Susa, and Mayland Long: record keeper, cat herder, and occasional dragon.

~fin~ because Keri is terrible at ending things