Glassy Sky

That Stormy Night: Cloudburst

Thick icy clouds cover Musutafu like a blanket. The murky overcast cracks with streaks of lightning, jagged lines slicing through the vapor like a knife digging into soft flesh. A grey fog begins to drift overhead, the broken shape of it forming a glassy sky.

It's late, not even a single car splashes through the flooded streets. Periodically, streetlights gleam overhead, shadows dark & crisp in the flickering glow. The sound of emptiness hums with the dying bulbs, only to be disrupted by a loud gregarious boom of thunder.

At last, the first of many water droplets begin to descend from above. It doesn't trickle out like a shower faucet; it's more like the clouds could no longer hold the weight. The rain has become a living fabric, something one can reach their hand through. It's almost like being in a car with the window open, an outstretched arm surfing through the fast moving air.

Cold beads of water land on a girl's pale skin, running down her thin frame. She skids across the slippery path of a flooded sidewalk, her posture weakened by the weight of her soaking clothes.

Arms wrapped around herself, the drenched cardigan doing a poor job of keeping her warm now that it's wet, she tries to duck under a shop's awning to get someplace dryer. The fierce sound of heavy rainfall pounding on the sheet above her head is louder than the occasional boom of thunder. She shudders when a chilly breeze nearly sweeps her off of her feet. It's not an ideal place to wait the storm out, but it's the best she's got.

The girl then catches sight of herself in the shop's window reflection. Messy blonde buns had become slightly frizzled and damp, a wonder how the pins held, but nonetheless disappointing to the girl. Letting out a pouty huff over her disheveled appearance, she lets herself untense a little. There's nothing better for her to occupy the time with than fixing the mess.

However, there's a person watching her that isn't as concerned about the state of her hair. Slitted pupils narrow in on the damp clothing, admiring how it clings to her luxurious body. An elongated tongue runs along pointed teeth, glossing over scaly lips. Like an apex predator, the person begins to slowly creep towards her, using the dark atmosphere as a camouflage of sorts.

She can't even release a startled gasp before a heavy hand is clamped down over her mouth. The person assaulting her forcefully pulls the petite girl backwards, essentially dragging her like a luggage full of dead weight. Before the girl can recuperate or struggle against the hold, the attacker pins her against the rough brick of a wall.

Her head collides with the concrete, resounding with a sickening crack of her skull. Whatever concussion that may have caused makes her vision blur with occasional blotches of random color. The disoriented girl tries to wriggle free from the death grip she's in, but only makes the arrival of a headache transform into an ear ringing migraine.

Through the splotches of hazy vision, the blonde takes in the features of her assaulter. A large man with what must be a mutation quirk stands at over eight feet tall. The scaley pattern of an alligator's hide makes up their skin, a dark shade of malachite glistening in the rain. A thick leather jacket and jeans make it hard to distinct the guy's age; he could be a biker or edgy teenager.

In the face of fight or flight, the girl chooses to fight. Underneath the blonde's skirt, she keeps a knife strapped just above her thigh. Carefully unsheathing it as not to draw attention to her movements, she pretends to whimper under the alligator hybrid's strong grip. Then, she lashes out with the blade, aiming for their throat.