Rain, Rain, Go Away
Francis felt free for the first time in what, six years? In six years, he had felt oppressed, suffocated, and controlled. He had felt like there was no freedom in his life, and suddenly, as he walked through the streets of his hometown, of the place that grew so much in the six years that he was gone, he didn't know where to go. He had slipped out in the warmth of the morning, a lesser chance to be caught off guard and find himself in the clutches of Gabriel again, although he wasn't really surprised to see that Gabe hadn't grabbed him again by now. It had been several days -- far too long, Francis knew, for Gabe to have gone without realizing that there was a slimmer chance of finding and retrieving Francis into his clutches. Francis didn't linger on those thoughts, though. He didn't want to think about Gabe or the painful oppression of the last six years he felt in Thundervale, somehow finding his life turning inside out and upside down. But that didn't mean that, as he walked today, a free man with a gait that told the nerves bundled up in a tight package which was nestled in the pit of his stomach. He fidgeted with nervous fingers, ones that were never going to be rough and hard like Quentin's or Junior's, but would forever be soft and tender, like the hands of a writer. He pondered the next story he should write as he walked, deciding that he'd head towards the stationary store. Sure, there were so many different electronics to write with, the only thing he truly wanted to write on was paper and with a set of pens. Maybe he'd pen his next novel in a light green color, or maybe it'll be in a dark blue -- he never knew. He always changed every manuscript and hardly two were written back to back using the same color. It was an odd habit for the odd LaVelle brother, but Francis was okay with that. He was okay with being the odd one out. Slowing his walk as he passed an alleyway, something sent a shiver up Francis' spine. It was almost like the bright, sunny warmth of the sky above seemed to lose the color of bright blues and whites to turn grey and cold. And then, without a second thought or without any warning, the rain came down. It came down hard and like rocks, sending the city of Achenar from a dry, warm patch of pavements, buildings, transportation and people to a rather sopping sort of clothes and metal and the taste of the pavement seemed to rattle around in Francis' mouth. He grumbled and ducked underneath a large, almost torn awning that was closest to him, his clothes and hair matted to his skin. Sometimes, he truly did hate the way that the rain just suddenly came down, crashing into Xenedria without warning. He hated that. He shook his head, the water from his hair cascading in ovals around him and splattering onto the dry surfaces underneath the awning. Someone else seemed to join him, and he tried to squeeze out the water from his shirt. This was truly terrible -- but thankfully, the storm would come and go soon, he was sure. Rain like this never truly stayed for too long. Or maybe it wasn't too long for Francis, because he was always busy writing to keep himself busy.