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Galtica was going to be the death of Kremy. The gatorfolk scrambled with his motel room key in a desperate attempt to get out of the incessant rain. The gator was used to humidity, to constant moisture, but whatever they put in their rain here in Galtica was some next level shit. Fat droplets of rail assaulted Kremy all the way from the designated drop off Mr. Garou had told him to check on to the dingy overpriced motel he’d had to pay for out of his own check.
He wasn’t even supposed to be here today. He was supposed to be halfway back to the shipping dock, where he’d catch a ride home. But of course this wasn’t so! The rain had stopped all travel, meaning Kremy was stuck in the cold.
The door flew open with a sudden push as the key finally worked, the damn lock was probably older than Kremy and needed to be replaced. Kremy slipped in and slammed the door shut behind himself. He sighed, the overwhelming whipping of rain and wind quieted from inside the room, far more calming than it had been running though the worst of it. He straightened his back and winced at the lack of mobility. The cold penetrated through his clothes and flesh and made itself right at home deep within his bones.
“Well, I know now I ain’t gonna retire in Galtica.” He flicked his hands and water shook from his skin, “ Really, this… this is bull.” He stood in the entranceway dripping, his clothes clinging to himself uncomfortably. The rain made them sticky, probably from all the crap in the air. Galtica was run by machines, the smoke seasoned the air and made everything outside feel a little dirty, a little grimey. He peeked off his suit jacket, made shiny and black by the water. (It was a dark grey, that’s how soaked it was) and kicked off his shoes, loathing the feeling of his wet socks squelching under his feet, these were next to go. Slowly Kremy managed to free himself from every soaked item of clothing, save for his under things that had managed to stay dry. Then jumped into his bed, squirming and writhing to untuck the blankets. Once sufficiently bundled, a single green arm reached out from under the nest and opened the bedside drawer. Here he fished for some clothes, a pair of white and blue fleece pajamas.
Kremy didn't bother to run the bath, brush his teeth or even cook himself a meal. The rain had drained any will to care for himself past getting warm. He could feel the loneliness settle in his chest as he got as comfortable as he could, squirming under the covers, attempting to use friction to bring back feeling in his fingers and toes. He laid in bed hoping the sooner he fell asleep the sooner the rain would let up.
The motel came with no fire to light, he had no money for booze, or cigarettes- not that it mattered his matches were probably ruined anyways. He’d have to go the night without a buzz to stop him from realizing just how drab his situation was. If he could be at all honest with himself, he’d realize this life was no better than the one he had working at Crusty Dick’s. Except he was paid marginally more, and there was the slight opportunity for him to become a warlock one day. Big woop that was.
He stuck his snout out of the covers to take in some air that didn’t smell like wet gator. He had the thought…. that there was always the possibility to run off into the night. Disappear, and never return to Agwé or Mr. Garou. What would life be like to move as a shadow? Kremy shuffled under the blankets again trying to find a position that was comfortable while maximizing warmth, and listened to the sound of rain hitting his windows and gently rattling the blinds. What did it matter anyways- what would it be like to move as a shadow what nonsense. NO, what he should’ve done, was stay home and become a good cleric like his meemaw wanted him too. At least then he wouldn’t be cold and wet in the next continent over.
He’d be home where the roads didn’t create accidental rivers that you had to ford to get to where you were going. The cars didn’t all speed and splash you with rainwater and oil slick, and whatever else was on the road.
There really was no way he could have possibly gotten wetter than he had.
The wind and rain persisted creating music of its own as the night went on, and Kremy found himself soothed by the steady percussion and wispy flute-like notes, as he drifted to sleep.