Thunder || Mathis & Marc
It was a violently stormy night in the French Quarter and as a result, the distillery was rather quiet. Acoustic music played across the sound system, backed by the sound of the driving rain and crashing thunder, and customers sparsely dotted the room. Most servers bemoaned slow nights like these, but the truth of the matter was that Mathis didn’t mind them. On the contrary it was in the minutes between drink orders, often late at night, that he found the time to take inventory, wash glasses, restock bottles, and generally prepare for the day ahead. He might even manage the odd conversation with a patron seated at the bar, though he tended to field vastly more unabashed staring than witty banter.
The Savoie endeavored to be friendly. Truly he did, but he had a way of unnerving people, particularly humans. Perhaps it was his almost unnaturally bright eyes, or the single black glove he always wore. He’d considered both options (plus a dozen more, besides) because hardly anyone he waited on could guess at his true nature. That ignorance was both a blessing and a barrier, but even if no deeper connection was needed to open a tab and pour a round, the witch sometimes couldn’t help but fixate on certain things. Specifically, the fact that he’d once nearly escaped this city, and the legacy he’d inherited along with his name - a legacy that would’ve been better off washed away by the rain.
It was six years ago that he’d slipped away on a blustery night much like this one, traveling from one coast clear to the other only to end up right back where he started. Some days it felt like he had a heavier heart and shorter chain than ever, and it was with a certain amount of envy that he looked upon a nearby table of college students, mirthful, careless, and apparently oblivious to the raging storm. They were roughly the same age as he was - but that was likely the extent of the similarities between them. Suddenly, the distillery door swung open, amplifying the sound of the pouring rain. Stirred from his musings, Mathis was grateful to redirect his attention to the figure that now stood, dripping wet, in the threshold.
“Nice weather we’re having,” the ironic greeting was offered as the door swung shut behind the new arrival, and already the bartender was reaching for a clean dish towel, “Here. It’s not much but you can dry off a little with this.”
Marc’s night had been a rather boring one, a few calls but for the most part no true emergencies. His rig had sat in the parking lot of the hospital most of the night and his partner had snoozed fitfully in the passenger seat of the cab. Marc hadn’t minded the weather like some others. He rather liked the sound of the thunder and the rain. The forks of lightning that lit up the night sky were a sight to be held. It almost reminded him of home, in a weird way. The monsoons in Hawaii could obliterate whole roads and wash away the sorrows and sins of those that traveled the dirt paths along with other things.
Typically, when the world raged, Marc would sit at home, read a book and listen to her rantings. Today, though, when the shift ended, he found that a drink was needed. Mother Nature was pissed about something, though what it was, Marc didn’t really know. He just felt the need to listen to her in the company of others. Not equipt with a car, he trudged through the wind and rain down the mostly empty streets of what was normally a bustling French quarter and found himself on the threshold of the whiskey joint he’d gone into a few weeks back. He’d met the owner and found he liked the man.
The door banged open, Marc’s strength catching him off guard for a moment as he filled the doorway with his overly large and sopping wet frame. It was nearly as deserted as it had been the first day he’d walked in. The only difference was that a different person greeted him from behind the bar. “Not too bad,” he agreed jovially. He was probably one of the few that truly meant it. He let the door shut behind him and moved with a soggy squelching sound, his boots hitting the warn floor and leaving a trail of water drops in his wake.
He took the rag from the bartender and surveyed it before he cracked a large smile and laughed boisterously. “I’m not sure how much this is gonna help, bruh,” he said as he wiped his hands on it. “I look like I wiped out on a 20 footer and the ocean threw me back on land.” At least he didn’t feel like that. “You guys got beer in this place? I know you got the fancy whiskey, that classy old guy showed me the ropes the other day, but I could really just use a nice thick stout to warm up.”
@mathis-savoie
