Build a man a fire, and he'll be warm for a day. Set a man on fire, and he'll be warm for the rest of his life.
-Terry Pratchett
It had been an unseasonably mild summer, not even peaking with the arrival of August and holding only the promise of more mild temperatures thick with the humidity of impending rain. Already the thick gray clouds had sought to choke the companionable light of the twin moons and steal away the the allure of the stars. The breeze coming in off of the water should have been cool enough to tingle the skin and raise the fine little hairs on anyone?s skin, pleasantly, but instead ran a not so subtle gamut between tepid and that uncomfortable push of heat synonymous with readied cremation chamber right at the door?s opening.
Charlie lingered in a lean of elbows on the patio railing of El Fuego alone, having long gotten over his mild amusement at Grace and Kyo?s ironic choice of stops (assuredly neither one understood why he?d laughed at the sign, but the former had so desperately wanted tacos), and it was a merry enough consolation for Melanie that the tequila selection was so impressive. Behind him and just inside the open glass doors of the restaurant the festivities were in full swing, with the two mentees having excited conversations over the head of a patiently unanimated Sir Romulus between mouthfuls of food, while the Mandalorian pretended to keep an affably silent vigil. He could feel her eyes on us back, but his assumption of her pride of the moment could just as easily have been her curiosity. Or expectation.
A single bead of sweat formed at his left temple, stretching itself out lazily down the side of his face to eventually sting at flesh still freshly battered from the tournament.
It?s so warm out here?
The culmination of the night?s glory lay inert in his pocket, taken only an hour or so earlier without ceremony, tucked away without reverence, and keeping company with a few silver coins, some lint, and origami throwing star made from a 21st century American dollar bill (a joke that Jin Chae would probably roll her eyes at when he saw her next). His staunch disbelief in all things arcane made FireStar little more than a show piece, a physical sign of the title won, and something to show up if/when pushed or prompted enough. It sparked more than one humorous visual of the sort of argument making the reminder would have sparked, begging argument from the minutely familiar tongues of Claire Farron and Shadow, or something a little more endearingly frustrated from Jen herself. The chuckle it produced reminded him his mouth was dry and?
?Hey, Champ! Get in here.? The commanding tongue of annoyed amusement and seditious grace beckoned him back, garnering a look over the breadth of a sagging shoulder and a familiar patronizing smile in return. ?I didn?t agree to celebrate with you just to stare at your back.?
It?s so warm in here?
It was an errant observation, punctuated by the fact that his companions seemed so comfortable beneath the the lazy spin of fan blades overhead; the barely perceptible buzz of central air to offset the number of warm bodies filling up the tables despite the hour. Three more thin trickles of sweat reminded him of Myria Graziano?s vicious right cross with their sting, squinting up a left eye already swelled half shut to give the competitive woman some small consolation prize. The younger pair were engrossed in their food and happily superfluous conversation, hardly paying any mind to Melanie?s look of askance that was fended off with a wink and a smile, met in the end with her shrug. She found easily the smolder in dark eyes, unnatural and unbidden, that he was blissfully unaware off, but the small talk they eventually engaged in was innocuous enough through his four large bottles of water and her half bottle of tequila. At one point the proprietor had fluttered over, awash with pride and solicitously dropping hints about wanting to hang a picture of the four as a feather in his cap.
Charlie?s casual comparison to wanting his photo taken being as preferable as the man?s desire for a grease fire had been received with nervous laughter (even provoking odd looks from his companions) and subsequently dismissed entirely when the bill was paid and the quartet broken up to go their separate ways.
?You really should chill your bottled water,? the new Opal holder said when finally departing. ?It was way too warm tonight??
El Feugo?s owner was still grumbling about the complaint when clearing off the patio hours later, quailing in dismay when he first saw the damage. Twin hand and elbow prints had been burned into the expensive wood patio railing, deep and black and ominous. Below, bright sparks still burned and danced, unquenched despite the passage of time and fighting for life until multiple passes from a fire extinguisher snuffed out their little lives.
A disparaging look was cast in the direction FireStar?s holder had disappeared in.
-Terry Pratchett
It had been an unseasonably mild summer, not even peaking with the arrival of August and holding only the promise of more mild temperatures thick with the humidity of impending rain. Already the thick gray clouds had sought to choke the companionable light of the twin moons and steal away the the allure of the stars. The breeze coming in off of the water should have been cool enough to tingle the skin and raise the fine little hairs on anyone?s skin, pleasantly, but instead ran a not so subtle gamut between tepid and that uncomfortable push of heat synonymous with readied cremation chamber right at the door?s opening.
Charlie lingered in a lean of elbows on the patio railing of El Fuego alone, having long gotten over his mild amusement at Grace and Kyo?s ironic choice of stops (assuredly neither one understood why he?d laughed at the sign, but the former had so desperately wanted tacos), and it was a merry enough consolation for Melanie that the tequila selection was so impressive. Behind him and just inside the open glass doors of the restaurant the festivities were in full swing, with the two mentees having excited conversations over the head of a patiently unanimated Sir Romulus between mouthfuls of food, while the Mandalorian pretended to keep an affably silent vigil. He could feel her eyes on us back, but his assumption of her pride of the moment could just as easily have been her curiosity. Or expectation.
A single bead of sweat formed at his left temple, stretching itself out lazily down the side of his face to eventually sting at flesh still freshly battered from the tournament.
It?s so warm out here?
The culmination of the night?s glory lay inert in his pocket, taken only an hour or so earlier without ceremony, tucked away without reverence, and keeping company with a few silver coins, some lint, and origami throwing star made from a 21st century American dollar bill (a joke that Jin Chae would probably roll her eyes at when he saw her next). His staunch disbelief in all things arcane made FireStar little more than a show piece, a physical sign of the title won, and something to show up if/when pushed or prompted enough. It sparked more than one humorous visual of the sort of argument making the reminder would have sparked, begging argument from the minutely familiar tongues of Claire Farron and Shadow, or something a little more endearingly frustrated from Jen herself. The chuckle it produced reminded him his mouth was dry and?
?Hey, Champ! Get in here.? The commanding tongue of annoyed amusement and seditious grace beckoned him back, garnering a look over the breadth of a sagging shoulder and a familiar patronizing smile in return. ?I didn?t agree to celebrate with you just to stare at your back.?
It?s so warm in here?
It was an errant observation, punctuated by the fact that his companions seemed so comfortable beneath the the lazy spin of fan blades overhead; the barely perceptible buzz of central air to offset the number of warm bodies filling up the tables despite the hour. Three more thin trickles of sweat reminded him of Myria Graziano?s vicious right cross with their sting, squinting up a left eye already swelled half shut to give the competitive woman some small consolation prize. The younger pair were engrossed in their food and happily superfluous conversation, hardly paying any mind to Melanie?s look of askance that was fended off with a wink and a smile, met in the end with her shrug. She found easily the smolder in dark eyes, unnatural and unbidden, that he was blissfully unaware off, but the small talk they eventually engaged in was innocuous enough through his four large bottles of water and her half bottle of tequila. At one point the proprietor had fluttered over, awash with pride and solicitously dropping hints about wanting to hang a picture of the four as a feather in his cap.
Charlie?s casual comparison to wanting his photo taken being as preferable as the man?s desire for a grease fire had been received with nervous laughter (even provoking odd looks from his companions) and subsequently dismissed entirely when the bill was paid and the quartet broken up to go their separate ways.
?You really should chill your bottled water,? the new Opal holder said when finally departing. ?It was way too warm tonight??
El Feugo?s owner was still grumbling about the complaint when clearing off the patio hours later, quailing in dismay when he first saw the damage. Twin hand and elbow prints had been burned into the expensive wood patio railing, deep and black and ominous. Below, bright sparks still burned and danced, unquenched despite the passage of time and fighting for life until multiple passes from a fire extinguisher snuffed out their little lives.
A disparaging look was cast in the direction FireStar?s holder had disappeared in.