Mana here. Although I love rain, I'm not a fan of thunderstorms. I love the heavy downpour, but I don't like thunder. I'm scared of loud noises in general. In that situation, I usually bust out my iPod and drown myself out. I end up feeling a lot better when then thunder stops and it's just rain.
Thunder
When it comes to being a mercenary, alertness is important. One must always be on their toes, listening to any sound that comes along, whether it is a grenade blast or a simple twig snapping. Silence is a treasure on a mission, because then it's easier to pinpoint a particular sound and then move quickly on target. But in some situations, the sounds can be sudden. It comes right out of the silence, and it leaves a mercenary in shock.
This is the main reason Christophe hates thunderstorms. Not only were they wet and inhibitory to his stealth, he could never tell when the lightning would flash, followed by the crashing thunder. He was a well trained mercenary with enough skill to locate a well hidden fugitive and kill him. But thunder scared the crap out of him. It was loud at its worst, and it was hard to tell whether it would come in that crashing sound or just a menacing roll. Still, a mercenary could never be too paranoid, so during storms he'd take out his black and silver iPod nano (a birthday gift from Gregory) and turn it to a nice metal song of his choice. He'd listen to it on close to full blast to drown out the storm outside.
Today looked like one of those days where it would storm. The skies were dark gray and the rain began to fall heavily. Christophe and Gregory were stuck inside Gregory's home, originally for schoolwork and tutoring. Christophe was falling a bit behind in his subjects due to the fact that many job offers had come to him that week. His mother's job doesn't earn much, so he had no choice but to take the offers and bring some money back to his small family. All morning they had been working on lessons, and they had finished early. Christophe was just about to leave when Gregory pulled him back.
"There's going to be a storm soon," he noted.
"So?" Christophe said.
"What do you mean 'so'?" Gregory asked, "It's much too dangerous to be out during electrical storms."
Even though he had his share of missions during such weather, Christophe didn't dare argue with Gregory. In the end Gregory won almost all arguments. It was either his eloquent way of speaking that would intimidate the opponent, or his will to never give up until he won. Trying to put up a fight would be a waste of time, so Christophe parked himself back down in Gregory's room. Then the first flash of lightning came and Christophe reached instinctively for his iPod. But to his shock and fear, it was not in his back pocket where he'd last left it.
"Sheet," he mumbled, searching through the other pockets of his military-style cargos. No luck.
The thunder had come in a soft roll and he jumped. Even though it wasn't loud, thunder was all the same to him. He had always had some fear towards the loud thunder, so he grouped all thunder in that one category.
"Gregory, 'ave you seen my—" he trailed off once he saw the blonde with his—his, iPod in his hand.
"I must say, Mole, for a good friend of mine, you have a rather poor taste in music," Gregory frowned as his scrolled through Christophe's playlists.
He blushed slightly upon hearing Gregory demean his preference. Really, how could Gregory say that? It was his birthday present to him, so he was entitled to select what ever music he pleases. And it was his music, his favorite.
"Give eet back!" He hissed, reaching for his iPod. Gregory pushed him back with his free hand.
"My God," he mumbled, still focused on the playlists, "no wonder you're so screwed up!"
"EY! Don't call me 'screwed up,' you cocksucking asshole! And don't you fucking use God's name in front of me!"
"Well, aren't you unusually pissy today."
"Zere's a fucking storm outside, beetch! I need my fucking iPod!"
"But I'm listening to it right now," he said with a dead serious face, "It would be rude to just take it from me."
On cue a loud crash filled the air, causing Christophe to give a little screech and jump about an inch. Gregory simply chuckled at his sport.
"I fucking mean it, Gregory! Give eet back!"
"Well, I was going to, but seeing you jump is so much fun." Gregory smirked.
Christophe blinked at him with what could only be pure rage.
"At least let me smoke in here," he said in a low, menacing whisper. But of course Gregory was not fazed by that. He shook his head promptly.
"Mother doesn't like cigarettes in the house, you know that."
Christophe cursed; he couldn't defy Gregory's mother's wishes. She was a kind, sweet woman whom he liked very much (in contrast to his own mother.) She was always the kindest to him ever since he was young and he had first met her son. But still, he couldn't understand how an angel could begat such a rotten demon like Gregory.
Gregory hummed happily to himself as he to flip through Christophe's selections. Christophe glared; how could anyone hum like that considering that about ninety-five percent of his songs were rock and metal? Then a particularly bright bolt of lightning flashed through the sky and Christophe grew anxious. The brighter the lightning was, the louder the thunder would follow.
"Gregory, please," he hissed, "I am begging you."
The thunder came, and Christophe couldn't stand the storm any longer. When saw that Gregory wasn't paying attention to him, he lunged forward on the blonde in attempt to grab back his iPod. Gregory snapped out of his musical stupor in shock and flipped the young Frenchman on his back. He stood over him in a way where his knees straddled the base of his ribcage.
"Give me back my fucking iPod, beetch!" Christophe hissed from below. He tried to wriggle away from Gregory's tight leg lock but it wasn't possible. He wondered how the Brit got so strong, considering how he's always at home, reading, studying and planning missions.
"You have to get used to the storm, Christophe," Gregory said simply, "there will be times where you'll have to go out in lightning and thunder and you won't have your music with you to calm you down."
Christophe flipped him off the French way.
"Oh, well fine then," Gregory said jovially, "and I was going to give it back to you, too."
He took Christophe's slim iPod in both his hands and snapped it in two. Christophe paled. He blinked in anger trying not to believe that his only means of musical relief was now gone.
That was it.
"YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!" Christophe screamed. He reached his free arm forward and grabbed Gregory by the collar of his shirt, slamming him to the floor. It was him now who was towering over the blonde with his legs pressing against his ribcage. But Gregory looked calm in contrast to Christophe's fiery eyes. Christophe landed the first blow, square at the base of Gregory's left cheek bone. Gregory gasped, as if suddenly being dowsed in cold water. He retaliated by grabbing Christophe's collar and pulling him off.
"That hurt, you know?" He said, straddling his hurt cheek. It was bruising nicely.
Then a particularly bright lightning flashed across the sky and all the lights in Gregory's room went off. The room became pitch black due to the fact that Gregory's thick curtains were drawn on his wall-sized window. But the darkness didn't stop the battle. Christophe grabbed Gregory by his shirt again and threw him against a wall. Gregory felt the topmost button of his shirt snap off. Christophe approached the fallen boy and began showering him in more blows. Gregory tried his best to shield himself with his arms, but then he threw in a punch in Christophe's direction. It hit him in the abdomen quite hard, making a satisfying fleshy sound. This gave him motivation to fight harder.
Their battle lasted a little longer, each punch becoming stronger than the last. They eventually got to their feet and began fighting street style in Gregory's room. Christophe forced himself forward onto Gregory who then stumbled backwards. He broke his fall by grabbing onto a curtain, but the curtain ripped away from the rod holding it. He fell sitting up against the wall next to his window. Christophe landed on top of him in a crashing thud, but both boys were too worn out to get off of each other.
Light spilled into his room from when the curtain ripped. Gregory readjusted his vision and paled once he saw the remnants of his room. Papers were thrown everywhere and the large glass vase filled with water he kept was shattered. His bed had been ravaged, sheets messed up and ripped. A lot of his things he kept on the shelves were now on the floor, at least a quarter of them were broken.
Christophe meanwhile had been reeling from his part of the battle. There were tiny cuts all over him, probably when Gregory threw him in the glass. He felt a huge gash on his leg and his stomach hurt like hell from when Gregory struck him there. He picked himself up off of the blonde and looked over his body, which looked in no better shape than his. Gregory was also covered in tiny cuts from the glass. His shirt was torn at the sleeve and a few more buttons on his front had been ripped off. He blushed as he gazed over at Gregory's cheek; it was now a dark shade of purple from when he nailed him with the first blow.
"Sheet," he mumbled.
Gregory felt Christophe's gaze at his cheek and scowled.
"It's noticeable, isn't it?" He asked.
Christophe nodded. Gregory tried to push the French brunette away from his front so he could go and pick up his room, but Christophe stayed put.
"Please," he said.
Gregory didn't notice the lightning earlier. The thunder came and it was as if the sky shattered. The whole mansion shook at the sound, and Christophe clung to the blonde tightly. Gregory raised an eyebrow; was the French mercenary shaking?
He wrapped his arms slowly around Christophe, who held on tighter.
"You really are scared, aren't you?" He asked.
"Shut up." Christophe said into his chest.
"It's ok," Gregory said, "that was the worst of the storm. It's all going to be light from here."
"Thunder ees thunder, Gregory," Christophe mumbled, "eet ees all ze same."
He stayed in Gregory's arms as the weaker part of the storm began showing itself. Gregory closed his eyes and buried his face in Christophe's hair. It smelled really good, like vanilla. He wondered how someone so dirty could smell so sweet. But for his safety, he decided to keep these thoughts to himself.
"It's over," Gregory said, now staring at the outside. Christophe rose from Gregory's bosom and took a look out the window as well. The rainfall was lighter than previously, though the skies were still a nice shade of dark gray. He breathed a sigh of relief, resulting in chuckle from Gregory.
"What?" He snapped. Gregory brought his hand up to Christophe's hair, brushing it gently.
"You look like absolute crap, Mole," he smiled.
Christophe blushed, as if he just told him a compliment. But he quickly covered it up.
"Bezzar zan you, beetch! At least I don't 'ave a fucking bruise on my face zat makes eet look as zough my fazzur 'its me!"
"Now, where did that come from all of the sudden?" He chuckled.
The Mole was so random sometimes.
"Let's clean ourselves up now," he said, leading Christophe out of his room. On their way to the bathroom they passed by one of the many maids who keeps the Thorne household tidy.
"Oh my God!" She gasped once she saw them.
Gregory quickly pulled the maid aside, after telling Christophe to wait for him for a second.
Christophe leaned against the wall of the hallway, flinching slightly when his wounded back pressed against the wall. He could vaguely hear the conversation between Gregory and the maid, but had a clear idea what it was regarding. He felt a little bad, not offering to pick up Gregory's room himself, but Gregory didn't seem angry at all when he returned moments later.
"With six maids, it's going to take about three hours to restore my room," he informed Christophe, "so go into my closet and pick an outfit for yourself. We're going out shopping."
Christophe raised an eyebrow at this. Shopping? Now?
"We're getting you a new iPod," Gregory smiled apologetically, "sound good?"
XX
Yep…I didn't think the ending here was good, but bear with me, oui?