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❝ Storms always attract rats. ❞
i. STORM
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JORGE GRUNTS IN FRUSTRATION, throwing off his headset onto the old wooden table. His head going into his hand as he rubs his eyes, slowly dragging his hand down pulling his swarthy skin. Stopping, propping his head up, fingers covering his chapped lips. His brown eyes look out of the dusty window of his office. The dark clouds make it impossible to see the stars of the night. "Storm'a-coming'." He whispers then takes a long pause, waiting for someone to respond. When the other two in the room don't knowledge his words, he raises his eyebrows and speaks over his shoulder, but this time, louder than a whisper. "I have ever told you two that I hate storms?"
There's a hum from behind him. One of the girl's with the shortest black hair is reading a thick book, her lips are pulled into her mouth and her almost black eyes shooting across the paper as if she's reading an intense part.
He turns himself around fully, he draws his eyebrows together as he scans her. "Do you know why I hate storms, Brenda?"
Brenda looks up from her book, her thumb holding her spot when she closes it. She licks her lips before opening her mouth only to get interrupted by the longer ash brown haired girl in the reclining chair. "Storms attract rats." Her wavy hair that is barely past her shoulders, comes forward as she rests her elbows on her knees.
Jorge nods and smiles just at the thought of teaching these girls the way he thinks. "Storms always attract rats." His gaze lands back on the large communication radio, "Too bad they can't attract the Right Arm... too bad." He quips in a grave whisper, putting the headset on the top of the boom box.
Cally huffs as she throws herself back into the brown reclining chair, watching Brenda continue on with her book she's amazed at how her friend can just sit down and read, how in the middle of a thunderstorm she can zone out the world around her.
The deafening sound of thunder shakes everything around them, the glasses on the table raddled making Brenda look up from her book, finally noticing that Cally has been staring at her. "Why do you always look so mean?" As she waits for her friend's response she twists herself around and puts the thick black book back on the shelf, the golden letters on the spine are too far away for Cally to read.
Curious about her statement, she leans forward tugging at the long black sleeves of her cloak as she does so. Her hazel eyes go to Jorge as he listens in on their conversation, he has unplugged the cord from the box so that the two girls can hear the static also, his long fingers are still slowly turning the knob of the radio. The lamp beside him flickering from the violent storm outside and casting a shadow over the right side of his face.
