Brontide
Brontide - The low rumbling of distant thunder.
can’t you hear it?
he can. he can hear it before it even starts. he can hear it from miles away, with the traveling herald of blue-yellow-white lightning cracking down onto the parched earth outside of the gem cities. it sends minute vibrations through the earth, and he can feel his hair standing on end.
at least, he thinks, if it strikes, he'll not be the target. no, the pretty alien will be, as high up as she is.
his captive is bound to be rescued soon, of course, by the team of teenaged brats who dare call themselves heroes.
property
damage???
your villains need help,
not nervous breakdowns.
...well, most of them
but for now, he simply plays.
he plays and hears the thunder as she floats, weightless, motionless, thoroughly entranced.
he isn't fazed when lightning strikes a mere five yards away, snaking down a lightning rod and spreading a litchenburg figure as far out as his heels.
he doesn't as much as squirm when the booming clap of thunder distracts many regular people from the relentless lashing of the rain.
performance is an art, after all.
