Come Feed the Rain

[The impact with the ground triggers the PCD's on button and the video flicks on. The camera has landed against a rock or something, giving it a skewed view of the sky, of skeletal trees and grey clouds. There's movement though, against the trees. A familiar figure, usually careless and flippant, with a pet name and some irritating compliment on his lips. This time, however, Thomas looked focused, and he moves with lean, predatory grace as the cavalry saber in his hands gleams silver. He's moving between the stand of anemic trees, sparring against invisible opponents, practicing or reliving some old encounter, every so often the saber biting through a tree limb to send it to the ground.

The feed continues in this vein for a few minutes, before a sweep of silver above the PCD sends a skeletal tree branch falling on top of the PCD, obscuring its view once more.]

[About five minutes ago, a sharp popping sound could have been heard from one of the emptier buildings in the city. And only now does the video come on, with Thomas looking disheveled, to put it mildly. He's got yellow pulp clinging to his hair, and his clothes are clinging to him again, this time covered in what looks like apple juice.]

[still, he doesn't look particularly embarrassed, just a little sheepishly smirky]


So, fermenting apple cider explodes. Who knew.


[ooc: on-line or off, either is fine. He'll be cleaning up his mess for a good long while, plenty of time for multiple people to drop by.]

Canon: The Dresden Files
Character: Thomas Raith
Timeline: Thomas will be taken from the period between the books Changes and Ghost Story.
( I get my kicks above the waistline, sunshine. )

- PLAYER INFORMATION -
NAME: Lyra
AGE: 25
PRONOUN OF CHOICE: She
EMAIL ADDRESS: lyrangalia at gmail dot com
AIM SCREENNAME & MAIN PERSONAL LJ ACCOUNT: lyrangalia for both
OTHER CHARACTERS: Lara Raith (truewhitequeen )

- CHARACTER INFORMATION -
NAME: Thomas Raith
CODENAME (IF APPLICABLE):
SOURCE: The Dresden Files, book-verse
AGE: 21
GENDER: Male
ROLE: Currently works two jobs in Salem Center under the name Thomas Romany: a receptionist at the Salem Center House of Hair during weekdays, and a barista at Starbucks at night. Eventually will become a student/teaching assistant/residential advisor at the Xavier Institute.

( My name is Thomas Raith, and I'm a barista. )

From: Lara Raith <lara@houseraith.com>
To: Thomas Raith <godofcologne@livejournal.com>

Subject: Our Mutual Problem

Brother-mine,

I know how much you adore our dear father’s presence, but several matters of business have arisen here that require his personal attention. I’m sure your presence as a companion will soothe his nerves. Papa does hate to travel alone.

I’ll see you soon,
Lara

*****

Thomas stared at the computer screen for a long, long moment, sorting through his thoughts. The idea that his father was leaving (for good, if he hadn’t misread between Lara’s oblique words) was a relief, but why he had to be the one to escort the old man back was a troubling thought. Was her message a means of simply reasserting her influence over both him and his father, or an attempt to pull Thomas into some unknown game? He tried not to think of the possibility that it was an attempt to remove him from a game in motion, because that meant betrayal, and from a source he had wholly considered safe.

He sighed again and hit print on the screen, taking the moment to stand up as the printer spat out a single page, the contents of his sister’s email. Gesturing to one of the crewmen for a pen, Thomas added a few lines to the page:

The Bitch Queen calls. I’ll be back whenever she lets me off the hook.

He left the message pinned to the kitchen counter and headed out.

When Thomas woke up, the sun was streaming in through the window, and he could see brilliant blue sky through a space in the thin curtains. His mouth felt bone dry, but his head didn't throb, a pleasant surprise. Some part of him had expected the vampire safe tequila to have given him every effect of real alcohol. As it was, Thomas couldn't remember coming back to the house and falling asleep; the last thing he remembered was getting back on Lestat's plane and deciding he was going to take a nap.

Maybe someone had dragged him back to the house and tossed him on his bed.

With the shambling, bleary gait of a sobering college student, Thomas shuffled into the bathroom and set himself to the not-inconsiderable task of sluicing off the remnants of debauchery and alcohol.

*****

Half an hour and a thoroughly steamed up bathroom later, he stood in the middle of the bedroom he shared with Alice, a towel around his hips, as he checked his voicemail. The blearily blank expression on his face faded into worry and perplexity as he listened, and, by the time Thomas clicked 'save', a deep frown was growing. He sank into a seat on his bed, staring at the phone in his hand, while the other ran absentmindedly through damp dark hair.

((Tag Alice!))

Sunlight was already painting the sky orange when Thomas made his way back to his room. The night had been full, extremely so, but it had ended well enough. A hundred different thoughts, each with its own implication, ran through his mind, each of them shoved away for a later time, when he was ready for doubt and caution and self loathing. The only thing he allowed himself to keep in mind was the game, a thread of conscious thought simmering in the back of his mind, always looking, waiting, finding weakness, opportunity.

Still, the sun was rising and even Thomas had to admit he was exhausted. He shrugged out of his jacket, with the rare intention of hanging it back up in the closet, and stopped as his eyes landed on the boutonnière, the single blossom Dru had made. The shadow of a smile playing at his lips, Thomas reached for the flower and unpinned it from his lapel with deft fingers. He held it for a minute, the bloom and its accompaniments a warm, fragile weight in his hand, contemplated what to do with it. It couldn’t sit on his jacket forever, nor did it seem right to toss it into the trash, withered and dead.

He looked around his side of the room, considering options, until he saw Lacci’s iron box, Justine’s letters tucked inside. Except for one, a new but familiar envelope. Thomas set the boutonnière on top of the box and reached for the gloves he kept in the dresser’s top drawer. As he pulled on the right, he glanced down at his palm, where the faintest imprint of a crystal bead lingered on his hand, the skin around it pink, as if sunburned.

Thomas froze, the gloves falling to the floor. He glanced from his palm to the flower on his dresser, crystal beads adorning the stem. He swallowed, breathed slowly, then reached down to pick up his gloves, returning them to the drawer, suddenly in no mood to read the new letter. His words to Lacci on the range reverberated through his mind.

It was only a matter of time.

After the conversation with Edward, Thomas stayed in his room and let his mind wander, let the Hunger guide his thoughts through a maze of possibilities. He tried to ignore how the exercise, even the planning, was a rush, how it made the blood rush through his veins. Between his fingers, he toyed with a business card, once in a while rereading the short message, conjuring up in his mind the slender, redhead with emerald eyes. She was a lot of things, but she was human, and had a human's vulnerabilities. But it was too soon. Too soon to attack that particular pawn.

It was going to take some thinking on. But fortunately for him, his night was wide open.

((Tag Alice))

Given all that had happened already, it took comparatively little for Alice to convince Thomas they needed to find out what Dru's package meant. A GPS purchase and a flurry of phone calls later, Thomas found himself signing paperwork for his motorcycle to be shipped to Los Angeles while Alice printed out their boarding passes for a non-stop flight from Chicago to LA.

They chased the sunset to Los Angeles, and true to the shipping company's word, the motorcyle was waiting outside the baggage claim when they picked up their bags from the carousel. "We should find that taco truck you like so much again," Thomas said, strapping their bags onto the back of the motorcycle. The GPS sat in his back pocket, but he made no move to take it out or turn it on now that they were in the city. "Maybe you can bribe the owners to let you ride along for a night."

Just because Thomas had agreed to come didn't mean he wasn't hesitant about the whole thing.

((Tag Alice))