I used to love the rain

Z E P H Y R

---

With the water comes the work, as things that were dry buckle and rust beneath the sudden onslaught of never-ending wet. A disaster for many, but great for you: the stalling cars and sagging bridges means there's a never-ending need for mechanics and engineers, and there's scarcely been a day in the past two weeks that hasn't seen you pulling 12-hour shifts, tired and soaked with aching bones and the promise of a hefty paycheck soon.

Today is one of those days. There's soot on your face and hands and coat; your hair is disheveled; you look a right mess. It's raining, of course, but your umbrella is being quite difficult, and you're trying to grapple with it while simultaneously adjusting your work bag and using your arm to wipe water out of your eyes and so of course you do not notice the person in front of you until--

Smack! You've collided squarely against the poor soul.

"Oh, Saints, I'm so sorry!" you exclaim, face flushed with embarrassment. You kneel in the street despite the wet, collecting some odds and ends that have been thrown out of your bag, as well as anything of theirs. "You okay? Didn't even see you in the rain!" There's droplets of rain in your eyelashes as you peer up at the stranger, your boyish face twisted into a smile of chagrin.

The faithful say it's beautiful, it's god's will - let the flood swell
And the bodies that break will just float down the river

"In my professional opinion, it's fucked," I say without an ounce of sarcasm as I turn away from what used to be an elevator.  The man before me starts to splutter, as if to somehow change the fact that part of his building had been swept away in the most recent storm.  It's really his fault for letting the beams rust as much as he did, but I don't have the heart to tell a grown man on the verge of tears that.  Can't be... My eyes grow sympathetic.  I just... he continues on, not noticing the shift in my attitude.  ...no Lasti to buy new...

I put my hand on his shoulder finally, looking up at him with a gentle expression.  "Look, crying to me won't fix the problem.  I won't charge you for the consultation.  Maybe you should try finding a mage," I laugh heartily before turning toward what would have been a door.  Instead, it's sort of like a gaping wound on the ground floor of the building.  It also must have given way to the rains.

I can hear his protests from behind me, but I wave without turning back.  I don't really like being up on the Plates more than I have to.  I draw up the hood on my jacket and step out into the street.  I stop, trying to find my way to the stairway down.  Since I rarely come up here, even to POSE, I am lost.

Doesn't help that visibility is awful in this rain.

My thoughts are roughly thrown off course as I am gruffly knocked into from behind.  I stumble forward, but manage to catch myself before tumbling to the ground.  My expression contorts into something much more animalistic and angry than usual, since I'm on edge being topside as it is.  "Hey!" I manage to growl out from behind my lips before an apology comes flying at me.

I turn around to see a young man, expression twisted by embarrassment, covered in soot and muck.  He quickly flops to the ground, and I'll be honest.  I almost expect him to prostrate himself on the floor and plead for forgiveness with the tone of his voice.  My expression becomes one of dumbfounded amusement as I watch him scramble to pick up tools and bits and bobs from the street.

"You honestly look a lot worse than me," I say, my voice slightly annoyed, but still betraying the fact that I'm actually pretty kind and easy going.  I let out a sigh and squat down to pick up some of his belongings, handing it back.  "Here."
""

Iara

There's so much hope buried underneath tragedy
It's the same shade as concrete

stars stock photo by andy holmes

Z E P H Y R

---

Shit on a stick, but you're embarrassed. Especially when it turns out they;re (seemingly) quite forgiving about the whole thing, and willing to come help you pick up your mess despite having absolutely no blame in the situation. "Oh, y'don't..." you stammer, struggling to pick up the rest of your things before the poor stranger can inconvenience themselves too badly. "Sorry, I... thank you!"

Bits and bobs and screwdrivers collected and shoved into various pockets, you pick yourself up from the street. "Well, this wasn't on m'daily Plates Misadventure Bingo." You flash her a shy and boyish grin. Yes, her- now that you're not focused so blindly on your possessions, you are able to take in the appearance of the poor stranger with whom you've collided. She's wearing work clothes, not Enforcer gear (or worse, fancy pants), which puts you immediately at ease.

"'M Zeph." You begin to offer your hand to shake- and then, realizing it's slick with water and filthy with street, frown and wipe it on your pants instead. "You ok?" You are so busy making sure she is that you totally fail to notice that your poor patchwork umbrella is now rolling merrily toward the street.

The faithful say it's beautiful, it's god's will - let the flood swell
And the bodies that break will just float down the river

Oh, y'don't... he starts, and I simply wave an absent-minded hand at him as I continue to pick up the tools and scattered bits from the floor before they disappear in the muck and grime of rain and too much foot traffic.

"It's okay," I say reassuredly to his shy and fluttery sounding apology combination.  After handing him over the things, I stand up.

I managed to avoid getting much on my clothes, but whatever there is has already blended into the grease from inspecting the machine formerly known as an elevator moments ago.  I straighten up and look over at the scrambling stranger, even as an odd comment comes out of his mouth.  I cock my head as if to question whether I heard him correctly, before I realize that he was cracking a joke.

I give him a vibrant smile, the last fumes of anger dissipating with my exhale.  "You can mark off the free space," I laugh, a strong, bright sound against the rain and shuffling of the crowds.

Zeph.  What kind of a name is that?  I wonder.  He seems full of quirks in the short snippet of time that I've spent with him.  He begins to extend his hand and then draws it back.  I think it's strange, but this whole encounter has been strange so far.  "Iara," I reply, keeping my smile in place.  "I'm right as rain.  Don't worry about it."

I also don't notice the umbrella as it begins to swirl across the sidewalk, but I do notice some people moving awkwardly around it.

"What about you?  Lose anything?"
""

Iara

There's so much hope buried underneath tragedy
It's the same shade as concrete

stars stock photo by andy holmes

Z E P H Y R

---

For a panicked moment you fear your joke has utterly failed to laugh, but then - miracle of miracles - she seems to get it, and her face breaks into a vibrant smile, punctuated by a brilliant laugh. And so of course your own grin widens in response, and for a brief and beautiful moment you could swear that the rain lets up and some sun shines through and maybe a bird sings somewhere and yeah, no, enough of this sentimental stuff. You're hopeless. We understand.

But ok, fine, the joke is pretty good. You laugh, a rich sound in the backdrop of rain, oblivious to the water dripping down your nose. "Iara," you repeat with boyish earnestness, as though determined to commit her name and this moment to your deepest memories.

She asks if you have everything, and you respond by patting at your pockets and bag, brows furrowed as you take mental inventory. "Screwdriver... bag... wallet... wire... umbr-- oh nuts, where's my umbrella!?"

The answer, of course, is bobbing its way down the gutter, a patchwork little sailboat that really isn't worth rescuing but damnit if that doesn't matter to you. "Oh no, wait!" you cry helplessly, as though the tattered thing might hear you and pause in its adventure, but we all know it does not. Instead it continues to bob down that dangerous stream between the sidewalk and the street, with you setting off after it, only to be immediately stymied by a surge in the crowd.

The faithful say it's beautiful, it's god's will - let the flood swell
And the bodies that break will just float down the river

He seems happy.

That sort of feeling is a rarity in Kotoll these days.  As I watch the smile widen on his face, like the rising sun on a cold morning, I feel warm.  The sort of innocent joy that fits more a child than a full grown adult, especially with the dreary grey of rain and the crowd of working class people in a rush.  For some reason, it reminds me of playing in the rain growing up with my neighborhood friends.

Zeph laughs at my joke and I feel an unearned sense of pride, as I have never really been a comedienne.  Still, the sensation of warmth continues to grow in the presence of this odd young man.  It is a surprise to find someone so genuine these days, and it immediately puts me at ease.

His inventory takes only a few moments to turn up a missing item.  "Ah," I exhale and then immediately begin scanning.  The people I noticed awkwardly shuffling again draw my attention, but this time my gaze turns downward.  I see a patched and worn umbrella dancing toward the street.  If it were my umbrella, I'd likely have already replaced it.  Of course, I gave up on them long ago.  With the sheer amount of water here in Kotoll, you just get used to be soggy most of the time.

It does seem to matter to my new found company, and because of this, I too care about the umbrella.  So, I start to weave my way through the crowd.  Being smaller, I tend to fit between people in a way that other might be hindered.  "Excuse me," I say as a man appears directly between me and the umbrella, before ungraciously shoving him out of the way with my arm.  I hardly notice the expression of pained confusion the stranger makes as my eyes are too focused on the umbrella.  The man looks like he is about to say something, but gives up when he notices me reaching for the scruffy umbrella.

He probably feels too sorry to yell at someone desperately reaching for such an item.

I grab a hold of the rod before it can spin into the street, and quickly shift my other hand to the handle.  I triumphantly raise it into the air above me, an odd trophy, while a big smile takes over my features as I look back across the crowd.  "Got it!" I shout, my voice surprisingly loud for someone of short stature.
""

Iara

There's so much hope buried underneath tragedy
It's the same shade as concrete

stars stock photo by andy holmes

Z E P H Y R

---

It's like trying to cross a river with half a paddle and a bathtub for a boat: you're moving somewhere, just not at the speed or direction you need. "Sorry, 'scuse me..." Your voice is muffled, and there seems to be little response to your polite attempts to break through the evening traffic. But you're only a country boy; perhaps you can be forgiven for struggling so hard against the raging water of a city street at the end of the day.

Luckily for you, your companion has opted to take a more direct, elbows-first approach to the problem. By the time you make it through the crush of bodies she is already there, poor old umbrella held aloft with as much aplomb as a sword pulled from a stone.

"You got it!" you exclaim with open delight, relief written over your boyish face as you reclaim the wayward accessory. A quick inspection shows no new holes - thank the saints for small miracles! - and only some bending of the clever and surprisingly intricate wirework that has extended it's life far past what might be considered typical for an item such as this.

"You're my hero!" you laugh, and when you look back up at her your eyes are warm with genuine gratitude, a smile like sunlight deepening the dimples on your face. "Thank you- how can I make it up t'you? Got anythin' that needs fixin'? Don't got a lotta lasti, but I'm pretty good with my hands."

The faithful say it's beautiful, it's god's will - let the flood swell
And the bodies that break will just float down the river

The rains whip around as I lower the umbrella back to the hands of its eager owner.  The smile stays on my face, beaming with a lighthearted joy.  You might call it a shit-eating grin.  I stand with my hands upon my hips, chest thrust out with a youthful, playful pride as I am praised.

"Of course," I say with a certainty that I did not earn nor should I boast.  Still, at least in the saga of the traveling umbrella, I remain the victor and unchallenged champion.  It's not until I look up and see the genuine expression of gratitude as Zeph calls me a hero that I feel any sort of humility.

My cheeks feel hot, and I cover my mouth now slightly embarrassed.  I wave a reluctant hand toward him.  "Don't go too far now," I insist, my voice rushed and breathy.  "I just happened to get there first is all."  The dimples on his cheeks deepen as his smile grows larger.

He reminds me of a dog wagging its tail at a friendly face, and my heart softens a bit.  He physically looks to be about my age, but with the expression on his face, I'd swear I was an old hag in comparison.  Is this what the old folk mean when they mutter about youth?

He offers some sort of payment, and I somberly smile back at him.  "Didn't cost me anything to help you.  I don't need anything in return," I nod at him, as if to force his agreement with the statement.  Then I ponder his proposition once more.  "But, hey," my eyes thoughtful as I look at him now, "I was just looking at an elevator in a sorry state just before this."

"Are you familiar with 'em?"
""

Iara

There's so much hope buried underneath tragedy
It's the same shade as concrete

stars stock photo by andy holmes

Z E P H Y R

---

You smile easily. So does she, and together the pair of you make a rather touching (if silly) tableaux, two adult strangers covered in different degrees of grease and grime, on the side of the road, in the rain, exchanging smiles over a patchwork umbrella. "You are," you insist in turn, her protests rolling off you as easily as the rain down your coat. She isn't getting out of this so easily: it's been a long time since anyone was this inexplicably nice to you, and you are positively basking in the glow of simple human kindness.

You're a simple lad, after all.

She's quick to dismiss your offer of repayment, but before you can protest she changes tone, and immediately your metaphorical (real) ears prick up (metaphorically).* "I've handled a few!" you nod eagerly, though this is maybe overstating the truth. You raise the infamous umbrella as you speak, casting its halo of shelter over you both. It means you're standing quite close together but you don't particularly notice: you grew up in a mess of family, and personal space is not one of your strong suits, alas. "What's the problem with it?"


*um what? Even for you, Zeph, that's pretty nonsensical.

The faithful say it's beautiful, it's god's will - let the flood swell
And the bodies that break will just float down the river

Humility gives way to embarrassment as he keeps insisting that I am a hero.  Had I a pale complexion, a blush would almost certainly be visible on my face.  Instead, just the heat from the rush of blood is felt.  I wave my hand once more, as if to silently shush him.

If I could read into his thoughts, I'd agree though.  Not enough people are simply kind anymore, and I find his gentle and joyous presence to be like a palate cleanser for the soul.

I see the attention bubble in his eyes as I mention the elevator.  His exclamation about being familiar with them brings a sense of relief to me, though I don't really know why.  I guess, I was a bit more affected by the plight of the storeowner than I thought.  After all, out here most business owners aren't the rich and fabulous Platers I had grown up avoiding.  They're just simply a bit more lucky than I am.

"Ah, that's great!" I say, matching the upbeat tone of his voice.  I am a bit startled though as Zeph takes the umbrella and covers me as well, stepping closer than before.  I look up at him with widened eyes, but he doesn't seem to be worried or conflicted about the close quarters of the umbrella.  As a city girl, I am pretty used to having basically no space in public, yet it's entirely different when someone chooses to get closer to you, versus proximity based on necessity.  Still, his ease and comfort makes it ease for me to shake off the feeling that it's a bit weird and uncomfortable.

I smile again, near whispering a small... "Thanks."

He asks a question and my face grows thoughtful, the smile dimming to a more mild, even expression.  "I'm not really sure," I say, as I start to quite him back toward the store with my steps.  "One of the braces of the building gave way on one side to rust in the last storm," I try to remember exactly what the collapsed elevator looked like in my head.  "The pulley system itself looked fine, but it wasn't moving.  I don't know if the shaft is bent, if the counterweight is broken off.  I'm not super familiar with them; I mostly work on engines, but I was the only one in the shop available to come up today."

We arrive in front of the building, the gaping hole that was a door looking more ominous than before.  I wonder why, only to see the face of the storeowner looking like the weather outside.  Dreary.  Wet with tears.  "Uh... knock, knock?"  I say as he turns to look at the pair in his doorway.  "I brought someone who wants to take a look at the elevator."
""

Iara

There's so much hope buried underneath tragedy
It's the same shade as concrete

stars stock photo by andy holmes