caught in the rain meme

[sockle]

CAUGHT IN THE RAIN MEME

It started out quietly, and then, quite suddenly, you're caught in a storm with an endless downpour. Time to quickly find cover! Nothing much to do but to wait it out. Where is the rain happening? How are you coping? Why are you out when it hits? RULES • Leave a comment with your character's name and fandom. • RNG for a number between 1-10 to get your scenario. Mix and match! • Have fun!

SCENARIOS i WHERE: 001 PLAYGROUND | Well, you can try to hide under the slide or maybe in the jungle gym... at least you're some place fun? 002 PARK | Always happens, caught outside trying to take advantage of the weather... and it ends up pulling a fast one on you. 003 STORE FRONT | Better hope they have an awning you can take advantage of. 004 BEACH | Not exactly the best place to be during a rainstorm, however it is possible to get caught in a sudden storm. 005 FOREST | Mud, bugs and all the rambler's paths are washed away so you don't know how to get out. 006 SKY | On a plane? A pegasus? You were there when the first drop fell. 007 EMPTY CITY | Maybe it was a zombie apocalypse or WW3. It's safer outside when all the nasties take refuge indoors. 008 AT SEA | Nothing is worse than an unexpected freak storm here. Except sea monsters. 009 TEMPLE | It's beautiful, but leaky. 010 WILD CARD | Your call. ii HOW: 001 TREE | Not the best cover, but it'll have to do, stay close to the roots and you won't get too wet. 002 UMBRELLA | Most conventional... Kinda boring. But it works. 003 NEWSPAPER | Not permanent, but it'll have to do. Good luck. 004 SHIRT | Well... y'gotta do what you gotta do. 005 MAGIC | Wave that wand or chant a spell. 006 CARDBOARD | Out of a dumpster. Nice. 007 LEAVES | Not under a tree: just one really huge leaf. 008 CAVE | Not very deep, but it keeps off the worst. 009 NONE | You don't need cover, screw convention. 010 WILD CARD | Your call. iii WHY: 001 REJECTED | Welp. Rejection sucks. And no one will see you crying in the rain. 002 WAITING | For the bus? For someone else? For some revelation? What are you waiting for. 003 MELANCHOLY | Sometimes the best place to feel a bit down is out in the rain. 004 HAPPINESS | Is everything going your way? Are you singing a refrain while walking down the lane? Just singin. Singin' in the rain. 005 ANGER | WELL YOU KNOW WHAT. SCREW YOU TOO, RAIN. 006 ACCEPTANCE | You had to be here anyway, it wasn't a choice. 007 SCIENCE | Everyone else is inside but you've got work to do. 008 ACCIDENTAL | Lost track of time? Forgot your coat? Oops. Now you look like a wet rat. 009 KISSING | They kissed you. How are you supposed to leave them alone out here after that? 010 WILD CARD | Your call. ( based on original by pancaked, edit by sockle )

Comments

002,001,002

[celticromanstone]

[ She's stuck out here, waiting in the rain, for a client. Because meeting in a park is certainly less conspicuous than meeting in a hotel lobby or somewhere dry.

Sighing, Heather turns up her collar, and leans back against the trunk of the tree she'd taken refuge under.

And then it happens. The twist of the gut, that gentle poke in her mind that warns her there's another like her around. She squints through the downpour, looking around. She peeks around the tree, looking for the other Immortal. ]

:)

[1stmacleod]

Well that's about the last thing he wanted today.

Connor freezes mid-stride as his insides clench and the base of his skull itches. Very carefully he shifts his stance, ready for anything, and glances around warily, ignoring the rain wicking off his hair and dripping down the back of his coat collar. They're out here somewhere, and he won't be surprised if they're out here after him.

By the time she looks around the tree, there's a man in a long shabby trenchcoat turning his gaze her way. He's tallish, scruffy, short messy brown hair, and the kind of face that can easily blend in a crowd. In short he looks like somebody very practiced in the art of being unremarkable, and passing notice. The one thing that really marks him out though are his eyes, intense under low, straight brows, wild and wary as an animal's. He looks not so much angry as feral and unpredictable. His body language is tense, ready, but he doesn't attack, just stands there watching her while the downpour unleashes itself on his unprotected head.

[celticromanstone]

She leans her shoulder against the tree, watching him. It has to be him. Even from here, she can see the oldness in his eyes. There's a certain ancientness to the eyes of Immortals.

Her own dark hair drips into her face. She pushes the hair behind her ear, watching him. One elegant, but callused, hand motions to the tree, offering him the chance to hide from the deluge above them. It's not perfect, but it's better than standing in the rain.

Heather knows she looks young. Having been killed the first time at eighteen, she still has the younger look to her. On days when she cares to, she can even look younger, but not today. Her hair is down, and she's wearing a fashionable trench, closed against the chill of the rain. She's not looking for a fight. Not today.

[1stmacleod]

Connor died young, but he's tall and worn down by time. He passes for older, as long as he doesn't shave clean. The invitation to share her shelter comes as a surprise, and his eyebrows make a brief little jump, before lowering again. It's not a frown, his face is just stuck that way. Still, it's starting to really come down, and he's soaking wet, and the truth is he's not quite as cautious as he used to be.

Wary, walking like a predator in tennis shoes, the man makes his way over to her and gets under the branches but just out of arm's reach. There's tension in every line of his body, but his hands remain in his pockets. Under the coat he's in only jeans and a t-shirt, but he doesn't shiver, just hunches his shoulders a little against the cold. "...Connor MacLeod, of the clan MacLeod." The voice is a hoarse, raspy tenor.

[celticromanstone]

Heather's always been personable. It was required of the priestess to handle things within the tribe. Then, her chosen profession... well, she never would have gotten far if she wasn't a people-person.

So, instead of being put off, she puts on a smile and extends her hand. "Heather Stone." She offers. No clan - she hasn't thought of them in years - just a last name that she chose because of where she died.

"What brings you out in this lovely weather?" She's not doing much, just looking for a client. And if he doesn't show soon, she's going back to her hotel and going to soak in the decadent bathtub.

[1stmacleod]

At least one of them is a people person. Connor's intense, feral gaze isn't exactly hostile, but it's definitely not friendly. The simple move of her hand sends his gaze darting over her- checking her other hand to make sure it's not holding a weapon or hidden with the potential to be. The name draws his eyes back up to her face, something else flickering deep there. Why did she have to be named Heather? Of all the names in the world...

Very belatedly, still cautious as a wild animal, he withdraws both hands from his pockets and shakes her hand with his right. It's a rough, calloused hand. He practices with the sword on a regular basis. "Just... needed to get out. Wasn't paying attention to the weather until it came down." The hoarse quality doesn't fade with talking a little more, and his accent is impossibly muddled, although there's some definite hints of French. He's traveled so much and for so long that he'd sound foreign no matter where he goes.

[celticromanstone]

She's met crankier Immortals than him. At least he's not immediately asking her for a fight. Not that she'd have a problem, just, really? She's wet, she's cold, and it looks like she got stood up. Her other hand is tucked into her coat pocket, but that's because it's chilly out here.

He must be one of those that actually cared for someone once. She's never had that - well, not in a romantic sense. There's a few mortals that she's felt a fondness for, but the Romans taught her not to care for anyone too much, as had the Immortal that found her.

"Mmm, that's not good." She offers her arm. "I say we retire to my hotel and get a nice hot toddy, as well as dry." Her client is never getting his calls answered again. "Shall we?"

[1stmacleod]

Connor doesn't trust female immortals. Actually he doesn't trust anyone period, with a very few rare exceptions, but he trusts female immortals even less. It's not misogyny, or at least not deliberately, but he's noticed their methods tend to involve more trickery and deceit. He is also aware enough to recognize that these tactics are probably a necessity, against opponents who are physically bigger and stronger on the average.

When she offers him her arm and a drink, it's very clear he doesn't trust that at all. It's nothing personal really, but an immortal usually doesn't get to be old by accepting drinks from strangers, or forgetting to watch where both of an unfamiliar immortal's hands are. The look he gives her is not just wary, but a little incredulous. After a moment he gives a short bark of laughter, and a smile that isn't really a smile at all. "I'll come to a bar, but I'm staying over here, thanks. And I'll order my own drink."

[celticromanstone]

Heather's taken more than one head after seducing someone. It's the way of life for female Immortals. They don't have a choice, if they're going to survive at all.

But his gruff laugh and then almost refusal of her offer surprises her, making an eyebrow tick upwards. Considering how old she is, he can't... well, alright, he probably should. However, her proposition is purely innocent. She wants a nice drink, some interesting company, and a chance to have a quiet afternoon.

"Of course. My hotel is just over there." She nods across the street to one of the many five star hotels in the area. She travels in style, thank you.

But when she walks, it's next to him, refusing to allow him at her back.

[1stmacleod]

A successful immortal is a cautious immortal, and Connor is even more cautious than most. He's gained a reputation, among the Watchers at least, if not among other immortals, as something of a terrier. So many of his opponents have supposedly been bigger and badder and more infamous, and yet he's been able to take them down.

Walking side by side is fine, safest for them both, and as wary as he is he's completely understanding of another immortal being wary of him in turn. They're across the street before he glances at his dingy tennis shoes and threadbare coat, though. "...Will they let me in like this?" For once, it's a concern that has nothing to do with the Game.

[celticromanstone]

Heather feels a small smile twitching at her lips and hides it poorly. Her eyes rake over the Immortal in front of her, and she can't help it. She's immediately assessing two things: the possibility of seducing him into her bed, and the possibility of taking his head.

However, she's not interested in either at this point. Honestly, she just wants a damned drink and a chance to warm up from standing in this rain.

"Darling, you're with me. They won't say a word." Because she spends enough money there, that she can bring back anyone she wants and while there might be some side-eyeing, that's the worst that will happen.

[1stmacleod]

Neither of these scenarios is looking very likely. He's too cautious to even stop minding where her hands are at all time, so he's definitely not about to lower his guard enough to get naked in bed with her. He's also not about to go down easy, since he's ready the instant she draws her sword.

A drink, though, sitting down somewhere warm, he'll do. He's come this far with her after all. A bar isn't holy ground, but it is public, a sort of neutral ground where they can sit and talk and face each other so they can each see hands on the table and relax just a little. Fights have been started in bars before, but truces have been made there before, too.

At her comment he gives a quiet little snort of amusement. Scruffy and threadbare as he looks, he's actually been taken for a homeless man before. Which isn't too far off from the truth, but he does have some serious financial resources locked away, he just doesn't dress like it. He almost thinks to get the door for her, but he's not sure this is the time to play gentleman, and as it turns out at nicer places they already have people for that.

[celticromanstone]

The doorman bows them in the door, tipping his hat to her. "Welcome back, Mistress."

She nods in greeting to the doorman and immediately shrugs out of her coat, once they step inside. She waves over a bellhop and hands it to him, paying him a goodly tip to take the coat to her room for her. She immediately waves him away.

Heather is noteworthy for the money she spends. She makes just as much. Walking into the bar, she collapses at a table, waving Connor to the other chair and raises a finger, drawing over a waiter. "I'll have a hot toddy, and whatever for my companion. His drink will go on my bill."

[1stmacleod]

They make a definite contrast, her polite elegance, and Connor's wary feral manners. The bellhop does briefly eye Connor's coat, and the scruffy immortal hunches his shoulders and gives him a glower that banishes any though of actually offering to take it. He'll just drip on the floor, and they can damn well clean it up later. His sword is in his coat, and he's not about to be separated from it.

He follows Heather into the bar proper, and shifts a chair a little so he'll be able to keep an eye on most of the room as well as her, before he sits, but apart from his excessive caution he doesn't seem to feel awkward or out of place in the wealthy setting.

"Scotch. Glenmorangie, if you've got it." His nod to the waiter is polite enough, despite the short answer, and he drops into his chair quietly, waiting until the man is out of earshot to speak to Heather again. "...Thanks. You're not... hunting?"

[celticromanstone]

She snorts and shakes her head. "Enough trouble finds me, I don't need to go looking for more."

Their drinks are brought and Heather wraps her hands around the warm glass, sipping at the warm liquor. She sighs happily, leaning back in her chair.

If he wants a fight, she can probably work up the effort to care. However, she's really just here for business. But there's a reason that she sent her coat, and sword, off with someone else. She's trying to put him at a bit of ease. It's probably not working.

"Honestly, I haven't... been active since... well," she pauses, racking her brain for a moment. "Hmm. Must be the First Opium War." Heather shrugs easily. "Lost my taste for it. When it's necessary, I don't shrink from it, but few challenge someone like me." As old as she is, that is.

[1stmacleod]

Slowly, still watching her with those intense grey eyes, Connor leans back a little in his seat. The chair creaks softly. He takes a healthy gulp of his scotch, and some of the tension seems to ease out of him. "...Good. I was just trying to mind my own business, you know."

He's too straightforward a man by nature to lie about that. He gets restless, which sets him wandering, but once the rain really started coming down he headed for his car and was aimed at the parking lot when they spotted each other. It's an ugly night for a fight, anyway. "There's enough headhunters in the world not to go seeking any more out." The burning gaze is just him, ultimately, but it does seem to be dialing back a notch.

[celticromanstone]

Heather laughs, sipping her drink. She's starting to warm, though she needs to keep herself to the single drink and stick to coffee after that. She still needs to be very, very careful with her alcohol consumption or she could slip back into what she was back... well, it isn't all that long ago.

"I don't hunt." She shrugs. "There's usually a youngster or two that I come across now and again that seems rather eager to lose his head. But other than that? Not run across many." She tilts her glass toward Connor. "You seem to be far more wary than I remember being."

[1stmacleod]

Connor smirks faintly, but he does believe her -mostly, and he's looking much less like he'd be ready to pull his sword at any moment. Even for him, he's jumpy, but he's had some rough times, not so long ago. Nowadays he's hunted a lot more often than he's the hunter, and he's feeling a little worn down for it.

"You can say paranoid. Everyone else does. But I'm still here." He continues to smirk over his scotch, taking another gulp. His tolerance is very high, so he feels less need to be careful about it. One glass isn't enough for him to even feel it.

[celticromanstone]

She snorts and lifts a finger, ordering a coffee for herself. While her tolerance is probably high, she still spent most of latter part nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth centuries drying out from opium and alcohol. She's no wish to go back to that. Immortals now are far more savvy than they'd been back then - or at least more technologically connected.

She puts down the toddy and waves it away when the waiter brings her coffee. She really wants the toddy back, so she should stick to coffee for the rest of the evening.

"Then again, so am I and I'm not as... wary as you. Perhaps that comes with age?" She's met some paranoid Immortals. "Besides, if you were paranoid, you never would have come to the bar. You would have bolted for the first holy ground you could find."

[1stmacleod]

While he's never fallen prey to the addictions of opium or anything else history and geography have had to offer him, Connor does drink like a fish. High tolerance helps, and he's careful about not getting actually drunk unless he's in company he trusts, he does have a history of drinking often enough that his few friends have taken note of it.

"Maybe. Maybe it comes with bad experiences. But I'm not hiding on holy ground." That's not quite true, because he has taken to heading for holy ground to sleep, but that's more of a reasonable precaution. His waking hours are not spent in hiding.

"But I'm not hunting, either. Not right now." He has, in the past, but he's always been selective about the who, going after immortals he knows are causing trouble in the world.

[celticromanstone]

By the time she'd fallen to the addictions, she was already fifteen hundred years old. It takes a toll being that old. She's sure that others who haven't found their peace and quiet in their age, have fallen victim to worse things than opium and alcohol.

She raises her eyebrows, sipping her coffee. "There's no shame in staying on Holy Ground." Heather's done her time on holy ground more than she'd care to admit. She still remembers stumbling out of the bombed church in the middle of a war and not knowing where the hell she is.

"I haven't come across a hunter in... well, since the first war." She ticks up an eyebrow. "Have you?"

[1stmacleod]

Both the man's eyes jump, and he gives a raspy, staccato laugh that fits perfectly with his hoarse voice and brash personality. "Lucky you. Plenty. Some with personal vendettas."

Now he's thinking she must have either spent a lot of time on holy ground, or is very good at keeping her head down, because Connor has faced more people after him than he wants to think about. He's laughing, but there's a hollow sound to it.

[celticromanstone]

Heather snorts, sipping her hot coffee. She knows there used to be Immortals with vendettas against her, but they all died, because she surrounds herself with mortals. Today is an aberration.

"You must not have learned how to remain quiet then." She shakes her head. "I guess it's my line of work that taught it to me." She hadn't had a choice. Plus, for a long time men wanted to keep her safe. That certainly works to her advantage.

...eyebrows jump, not his eyes... *facepalm*

[1stmacleod]

Any hint of a smile is quick to vanish again, and the intensity of the brooding gaze ramps up a little. "...Good for you." There's plenty of bitterness packed into those three words. Connor has surrounded himself with mortals before, and they paid the price for knowing him, so he's more than a little leery of trying that route again.

It's true that he made his worst enemy through his own actions, but that was a long time ago before he knew what he was, and therefore entirely an accident.

"...What was your line of work?" He's got a guess already, but she should appreciate he's making an actual effort at conversation. It seems to be a struggle for him.

[celticromanstone]

"Is, not was." Heather is still what she became almost two millennia ago. She puts her cup down and it's almost immediately refreshed by a hovering waiter. She waves him away.

"I'm a whore." She says bluntly. "Have been since I died." She shrugs. "I'm very good at it, and it pays well." Sex is just sex to her. There are different reasons behind it, but in the end, it's all just the same thing. "I've dabbled at being other things: nurse, mistress, real estate broker... but I always come back to it in the end." She stares at her coffee cup for a moment. "Are you hungry? I'm starving."