• Published 1st Apr 2016
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Group Precipitation - FanOfMostEverything


Stories set in the Oversaturated World, some silly, some less so.

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Storm Warning, by SaintAbsol
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Gilda, as she was wont to do, grumbled as she walked back to her apartment complex. Today had just been all around terrible; between work, her grandpa's half-senile ramblings, and all too real possibility that she was going to fail at least one of her classes this year, she had barely been keeping her temper in check since she woke up. Add to that the scars on her leg from her ill-advised attempt at shaving itching like mad, and she felt like she was on the verge of snapping.

Thunder rumbled overhead and she pulled up the hood of her pullover, grumbling even more. "Yeah, fuck you too," she muttered at no one in particular as the rain began to fall. The only reason she wasn't getting pissed off at this was she'd known it was likely to rain from the start of the day; she wasn't happy about it, but it just made her fume a bit more.

"I swear, can this get—" She stopped short was what she was about to say finally registered with her mind. Tempting fate wasn't smart at the best of times, and had just gotten worse with magic being a thing. That doesn't count! she thought desperately. There's no way that counts, I didn't even finish saying it!

"Hey there, songbird."

"...fuck." Gilda honestly growled as she turned to face the consequences of her ill-spoken line. "The hell do you want?"

"Nothing much," the creep was wearing a hoodie himself, pulled low over his face so she couldn't even see it in the poorly lit street. "You're from the Griffonstone complex, right?"

Gilda narrowed her eyes at him. He was larger than her, by a decent amount too; puberty had done the bastard more favors than it had done her. But that didn't mean she was going to be intimidated by him. "So what?"

The creep continued to come closer. "Thought I recognized you, songbird."

Gilda's eyes narrowed, the old nickname causing a bit more of her rage to flare up. Her hand twitched as she felt her own magic chomping at the bit to come out and just rake the bastard right across the face. Assault charges be damned, something about this bastard wasn't right. "Stop calling me that!" she snapped. "And who the hell are you?"

Instead of answering her, he just asked a question of his own. "How's the old geezer doing?"

Gilda felt her rage die and a chill spread through her at those words. "Wha—"

"Be so sad if that pharmacy messed up his prescription," he continued, hand going to his pocket as he talked. "I hear the wrong dosage can really be... murder on someone."

Gilda's eyes squeezed shut as her rage began to build once more, stronger than she could ever remember. Magic came to her as she called to it, but it felt different; had her eyes been open, the stranger would have seen them glowing red. Gilda let loose an inarticulate cry of fury, swinging her hand as the creep pulled his own out of his pocket, neither of them aware that the rain wasn't hitting them anymore. Thunder sounded overhead, and glowing bits of metal fell to the ground as he sprinted off through the downpour.

Meanwhile, Gilda looked at the flames that had replaced the magically generated claws she'd grown used to since the world had changed. "Huh." She tilted her burning hand around, the heat from the fire evaporating the rain before it even got close but doing no harm to her. "Well, that's something..."

Author's Note:

Griffonstone's a sty no matter what world it's in. At least, it has been since Boreas Motors shuttered their doors back in the Seventies.

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