#// three cheers for another thread named after mcr lyrics

[plantmusic]

[ @justaradioguy​ ]

Kain wasn't one for thunderstorms.

Well, at least not now.

Not when his car needed a jump well after the people on his team had all dispersed and gone home for the evening. It left him walking on his own out in the rain, which would have felt lovely if it had been just a little warmer outside.

At least the wool outer layer that was an Amestrian uniform - however heavy it was when bogged down with water - shielded him a little from the biting wind. He shoved his hands into his pockets, lowering his head a little to try and keep some of the water off his glasses.

It was a vain effort, but he was almost home - just a mile or so - and tomorrow wouldn't be that bad since he could call someone to come pick him up before work.

Sure, his team was full of sarcastic, bitter assholes, but he still had pretty good faith that they wouldn't force him to walk through cold late-October weather if they were aware of the situation... even if it would mean relentless teasing from Havoc, a disappointed sigh from Hawkeye, and God-only-knew-what from Mustang. Breda probably wouldn't bother to comment, and Falman at least wouldn't be a pain about it, so those were both a relief.

A flash of lightning streaked across the sky, followed by quite possibly the loudest thunderclap Kain had ever heard in his life.

It was no longer safe to be outside.

With a now-slightly-elevated pulse, he looked around to see if maybe any houses on the street had the lights on. Maybe, just maybe, he'd get some good karma or something.

One. There was one single illuminated house on the block, and he almost couldn't get to it fast enough considering the fact another loud boom of thunder sent him practically flying towards the front door. Despite how badly he wanted to be in there and not outside, though, he knocked politely, as if there were no threat to his life going on whatsoever and this was as simple as a neighbor needing to borrow an egg.

____________________

If you asked him, Russell wouldn’t be able to give an answer on the ratio of fogged breath to smoke or how long he had been sitting out on the porch. 

The only illumination came from the porch light and the occasional red flare from inside the bowl of his pipe whenever he took a drag. He’d been sitting on the swing, smoking and reading peacefully in the chilly night air, when the storm rolled in.

For a brief instant, he could see the passage he was on with almost blinding clarity, but the instant the light was gone there was a horrific sound from overhead like the sky had cracked.

"Wonder who pissed off Zeus this time..." Russell muttered as he turned the page and kept on reading. 

(Who knows, maybe the unfettered energy the storm would somehow be so kind as to lend itself to him while he researched.)

There were footsteps out in the downpour, wet boots against wet pavement with a quickened pace. He paid the sound no mind; Fletcher was elsewhere tonight and would’ve called him if he needed picked up or gotten a ride from his friend and he himself wasn’t expecting visitors, so surely they would continue down the street without further incident.

Nope.

Russell glanced up, himself a shadow in the dim where the porch light didn’t reach, and watched a dark rain-drenched form hurry up the stone steps only to then knock nonthreateningly at his front door.

The poor bastard hadn’t even noticed him sitting there.

Apply Drachman accent. “...a ‘good evening’ would have been nice to hear first, солдат.”

Russell’s voice sounded from over to the left, low and with almost bored inflection, and was followed with the quiet sound of him taking another hit from his pipe, the warm glow illuminating the sharp shape of his eyes.