10-14-2025, 12:52 AM
T U M U L T
The way they say hello is such a stark contrast that he notices it immediately. From his mouth the word sounds like the beginning of thunder, but from her it sounded like a song. He watches her watching him, as she takes in the drops of rain and the flickering webs of lightning, and he realizes instantly that she is unlike most that he has met. He found himself most often drawn to other storms; it is not often that he is in the company of ones that feel as though they could be sunshine. She seems to laugh and to smile easily, a notion so foreign to him that it stirs a long-dead curiosity.
“I could say that the lightning is just for you,” he begins with his own dark lips quirked into the barest of smiles, the motion not quite reaching his storm-cloud eyes — not for a lack of sincerity but mostly from disuse. “But I would hate for us to start out on a lie.” This is, even by his standards, a poor attempt at a joke. He tries to amend this by explaining further, “unfortunately I cannot control the lightning. It’s always here, much like the rain from my wings.” There is actually very little of his abilities that he can control, and while that has always been a sore spot for him, he does his best to conceal that at this moment.
The rain, the lightning, his storm creation…none of it actually obeys his whims.
Perhaps one day he would work to rectify that, but it is out of his hands for now.
“Tipsy,” he repeats her name with another almost-smile, thinking that it fits her. “My name is Tumult.” And perhaps his fits him, too; there is hardly anything orderly about him. “I didn’t interrupt you, did I?”
“I could say that the lightning is just for you,” he begins with his own dark lips quirked into the barest of smiles, the motion not quite reaching his storm-cloud eyes — not for a lack of sincerity but mostly from disuse. “But I would hate for us to start out on a lie.” This is, even by his standards, a poor attempt at a joke. He tries to amend this by explaining further, “unfortunately I cannot control the lightning. It’s always here, much like the rain from my wings.” There is actually very little of his abilities that he can control, and while that has always been a sore spot for him, he does his best to conceal that at this moment.
The rain, the lightning, his storm creation…none of it actually obeys his whims.
Perhaps one day he would work to rectify that, but it is out of his hands for now.
“Tipsy,” he repeats her name with another almost-smile, thinking that it fits her. “My name is Tumult.” And perhaps his fits him, too; there is hardly anything orderly about him. “I didn’t interrupt you, did I?”
CAN YOU TELL ME, WILL I BREAK OR WILL I BEND?
@Tipitina
it made perfect sense, no worries!