Work Text:
Scar sighs, leaning back in his chair. Today has been a quiet day so far, customers scant— providing him with a whole lot of time to himself. Honestly, he’s considering going out of the shop for a while just to see if it’s the case for all the other shops. He waits a bit more. An hour goes by with just one customer, who browses quickly through the assortment of crystals and pottery, seemingly too in a hurry to really be persuaded by him.
Yeah, there’s no way he’s going to stay cooped up in the shop if he’s not even going to get some profit— he flips the sign hanging on the door to show “momentarily closed”, and he takes off, wheeling to the shop next door.
~*~
“Welcome to Bread Bridge Bakery— oh, Scar!” Joel’s voice jumps from a memorized rattle to a high-pitched, pleased exclamation; sitting up straight from where he was previously slumped face-first on the counter. Business has been absolutely dead, and he got the worst shift of manning the counter. He’s been bored out of his mind, sue him.
“Well hello there, Joel!” the man in question greets, rolling up to the display, “I see it’s a lazy day for you guys too?”
“Yeah,” he complains, “there’s been no blummin’ customers and I’ve got no clue why!” His voice rises unconsciously as Scar grabs a tray and places a chocolate mint glazed donut on it, undeterred. Joel takes the tray, sighing as he slips the donut into a paper bag with the practiced ease of someone who has been doing this for years.
“Well, I’m probably gonna do some recon around, check if there’s some kind of event nearby…” Scar muses, sliding over some coins, which Joel takes and puts in the cashier.
“Good idea,” Joel agrees, and is promptly interrupted by possibly the largest flour explosion in the history of the bakery. The sound of arguing starts up, slightly muffled by the wall, and the two of them stare, amazed, as white puffs through the crack of the slightly broken door.
“Grian! Jimmy!” Joel yells, barging into the kitchen, and is greeted by white powder splayed on every horizontal flat surface. He shouts a hasty “G’bye, Scar!” and is responded by chuckling as Scar wheels out the bakery doors.
“Scar’s here?!” Grian exclaims, slipping on the flour as he tries to catch Scar. The unfortunate sod falls face-first, and Joel and Jimmy howl with laughter as Grian slowly turns to glare at them, the effect greatly diminished with the white coating his face.
“Careful, Grian,” Joel manages to sputter out, “It seems like you’ve… fallen for him.” Another round of chortling surfaces from the two, abruptly getting cut off by Grian lunging at the both of them, still dusted with flour from head to toe.
“Hey, wait, I’m gonna get covered in flour, too!”
~*~
Pearl stirs the corn soup in a slow and rhythmic fashion. Business isn’t bad, per se, but it’s certainly slower than usual. They would often have people clamouring for a golden apple for a treat or battle, or an enderpearl to get them out of a pinch, or a potion for some sort of illness. To have such a peaceful day is a blessing for them, as much as the money is appreciated.
“The shop’s fully stocked,” Gem declares, strolling into the back room as she wipes golden liquid from her fingers. She grabs a spoon, dipping it into the soup and sipping it. Pearl has half a mind to take out the ladle and beat her with it.
“Hands off my soup!” She demands, momentarily pausing in her soup-stirring to swat at Gem. Gem laughs, hiding the spoon she just used behind the back, then puts her hands up innocently.
“I didn’t touch your soup!” She dons a sweet, close-lipped smile like she’s won, yet the sunflower-yellow painting her lips refutes her lie. Pearl scrunches her nose at her. The bell at the door rings.
“I’ll go attend to the customer, you finish up with lunch?” It’s more of a statement than a question, but Pearl nods anyways and returns to stirring the soup as Gem wanders to the front of the store.
“Scar! Hello,” Gem greets, and Pearl hears a greeting in response. Taking the pot off the fire, she ladles it into two wooden bowls, then thinks twice and scoops some into a third one. Ambling to the front desk, she places down a bowl in front of Gem, then holds out one for Scar.
“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly,” Scar protests, which only results in the soup being placed down in front of him as well.
“C’mon, Scar, it’s lunch time anyways— it’s not like we’re running out of soup anytime soon,” she insists, starting to slurp her own bowl of soup. His lips tilt in a grateful smile, and the store is momentarily silent with only the sounds of three people enjoying corn soup.
“So, Scar, why’d you come? I doubt you came just to see if we have soup,” Gem asks, and Scar nods.
“I was wondering if you two know why there’s barely any people in town— seems like the tourists passing through have just—”
“Vanished?”
“Yeah.”
Pearl hums, nodding, “but Scar, we ain’t scryers. Not like we can see what’s keeping ‘em away, and I don’t remember any big event nearby. Maybe a road leading to our town got destroyed.”
“That’s true, that’s true,” Scar agrees, sipping the last dregs of his soup, “well, it was nice to talk with you guys still. Thanks for the soup!”
He leaves with a cheery goodbye, and Pearl gives Tilly some scritches when she wanders over. She hopes it's just what she thinks it is, and not something bigger to come. Something worse.
~*~
Battling the gusting winds, Grian pulls down the shutter of the bakery, having to lean back using his whole body weight— and even then it's a struggle. The shutter slams into the ground with an alarming clang, and Grian sighs, tucking the hooked pole he used into a particularly large pot. It's horribly windy tonight, for whatever reason, and the sky's entirely filled with clouds.
He struggles against the wind currents, pushing forward, clothes fluttering around him uncomfortably. A familiar silhouette comes into view, and Grian rushes forward.
“Scar!”
“Grian?”
The two meet in a messy collide, momentum and wind pushing them around. Scar’s mostly stable, and Grian steadies himself by clinging on to the wheelchair’s armrest. The two huddle like that for a while, just holding onto each other to brave the winds.
“We should probably get to shelter, the storm's going to break at any moment,” Grian reminds, and feels Scar nod. “Have you closed up your shop?” Another nod. The two slowly untangle, making their way to their apartment. With the winds fighting them, it isn't hard to imagine why the streets were empty. Maybe that’s why it was so quiet that day— perhaps the tourists wanted to avoid being stuck in a storm.
Scar unlocks the door, and Grian hadn't even noticed it was so cold until the warmth of their apartment seeps into his bones. The duo exchange sighs of relief, then giggle. Grian’s still somewhat covered in flour, although the unusually strong winds had blown some of it off, but both he and Scar are too busy enjoying the joys of modern heating systems to care that the couch is getting a slight dusting as Grian flops down onto it.
“I can’t wait for this storm to pass through,” Grian says. “The bakery’s so boring when there aren’t any customers.”
“It looks like you and the Bad Boys entertained yourselves,” Scar laughs. “I, on the other hand, was all alone.”
Grian smirks, clearly about to respond with some witty comeback, when a flash of lightning splits the sky in two, briefly filling the apartment’s windows with light.
“With any luck, the customers will be coming back in hordes tomorrow,” Grian smiles contentedly, taking off his shoes and shifting to lie on the couch as Scar checks the weather forecast on his phone. “More people for you to swindle with that silver tongue of yours.”
“I’ll have you know that my goods are perfectly legitimate, thank you very much!”
“The pottery, sure, but do you actually think those crystals do anything?”
They spend the rest of the evening playfully teasing each other, the conversation occasionally punctuated by flashes of lightning and rolls of thunder, and they’re so caught up in the banter that neither of them notice that, according to the radar on the weather websites, it isn’t supposed to be storming at all.
~*~
In the morning, the weather is still unpleasant, to say the least. It’s with much resignation and reluctance that Grian dresses in his work uniform and heads out the door, and Scar is no more enthusiastic about going out in the torrential rain.
Unsurprisingly, there are even fewer customers than there were the day before, and Scar ends up texting Grian a quick, “Are any of you bad boys covered in flour yet?” to keep himself occupied. He’s very disappointed when the answer turns out to be no; he was really hoping to get a picture of the so-called “bad boys” covered in the stuff, since he hadn’t thought to do it the day before.
He’s scrolling on his phone, when he sees a headline from the small, local newspaper: “Strange Storm Emerges that doesn’t Appear on Radar.” Underneath the headline, there’s a line of text saying, “Might Magic be Involved?”
Now, despite what he says to customers, Scar isn’t very involved with magic. Sure, he collects small magical trinkets to sell, and yes, he has quite a collection of books on magic in the shop, but he much prefers to create the illusion of magic while doing nothing with any lasting consequences (aside from perhaps lightening a few customers’ pockets) than to do anything real.
Still, the facts are there—his town is getting pummeled by a storm that won’t show up on radar, and honestly, the fact that there have been no customers at all is unusual even in this weather. There’s something going on that he doesn’t quite understand, but if there’s even a chance any of the magical items in the store will help, he has to try.
Besides, he thinks, sparing a glance towards the empty street as he wheels over to a bookshelf and picks out a few books, it’s not like he has anything better to do.
He eases the book’s cracked spine open and is about to start reading through the information when his phone goes off with a notification.
Grian’s text reads, “Still no customers?”
Before Scar can respond, a picture of Jimmy and Joel launching flour at each other comes through, followed by a selfie showing that Grian had not escaped the shenanigans (if Scar’s being honest, Grian probably started them in the first place). The sight startles a laugh out of him.
[GoodTimesWithScar] how’d you guys have fo much flour? Don't you hve a bakery ti run?
[Grian] we didn’t throw away the flour from yesterday, just put it in a container becAuse none of us bothered cleaning it out
[Grian] sorry jimmy is trying to throw flour at me brb
Scar waits, immersing himself in the tome he’d picked up earlier. It’s actually quite interesting, but not quite what he’s looking for. Flipping back to the page where the contents are, he checks for ‘Weather Spells and Curses’.
‘High-end weather spells are few and far between, and apart from the basic ones like creating a short lapse of sunshine or a bit of a drizzle, here are some spells that require a bit more experience…’ Skip page. ‘How to make it snow on incredibly specific coordinates…’ Skip page. ‘Weather curses. They are devastating and very much in the realms of unfamiliarity. Ancient records have shown unprecedented droughts, hurricanes, and snowstorms. Much is unknown about these and they are often waved off as fantasy due to the sheer amount of magical power needed to form weather-related curses.’ …
Scar’s phone lights up with a ding, and he nearly drops it, startled. Grian sent him a short video— he clicks into it, and is greeted by what is obviously the back of the bakery. The recording is unstable, jittering around as flour flies around the kitchen. A sweater-clad hand stretches out— Grian’s— and grabs flour off the ground.
“DEATH!” Recording-Grian yells, and hurls the handful of white powder at Jimmy. Right after though, there’s a blur of a certain signature green stripe, and the camera descends abruptly as sputtering can be heard. The video ends abruptly, Joel’s victorious laughter emanating from the speakers.
It looks kind of like what one would call a snowball fight, if a snowball fight had very limited and un-wet snow.
~*~
“It’s looking like rain is on the horizon as the west side of the continent is swept with a sudden bout of storms. The best scryers around are still working on finding the source, as this unnatural weather seems like it was caused by magic. So don’t forget your umbrellas when you go out— it’s not looking very pleasant.”
~*~
The rain gives a steady patter against the windows, wind whistling through the gaps with quite a horrid noise. Gem can hear the weathervane creaking on the rooftop, turning to point with the wind. Moisture’s thick in the air, but what’s even more prevalent is the magic condensed in every tiny droplet, hanging in the air, stifling.
“The redstone devices aren’t working as they should,” Mumbo bemoans, taking apart a radio for what must be the tenth time and putting it back together with an indiscernible change.
“Must be the excess magic in the air,” Gem provides, and Mumbo nods absently as he fiddles with the contraption, trying to figure out what’s wrong with it now. There’s a moment of silence tinted with rain, pounding like a heartbeat would. Rhythmic. All-encompassing.
There’s not much they can do. A small town, with just two witches? Even after being hit by the storm, they’re static. Maybe all they can do now is hang tight and hope.
~*~
Joel stumbles outside to chaos.
Muddy water floods the street, and Joel thanks the stars above that they had decided to build the bakery on a platform. Grian rushes out right after him, and the two currently on shift stare at the landscape in front of them. There’s two dots of red blurred by rain, and if he squints, they look vaguely like Pearl and Gem just outside their tower-esque shop. If he looks to the right, Scar’s near the entrance of his store, unable to open the glass doors of his shop in fear of the water rushing in.
Maybe that would’ve been a better idea, Joel’s already soaked. Fumbling with his phone, he takes it out of his pocket.
It’s Just Life
[Skizzleman] Everyone okay?
[Smallishbeans] what’s with this storm?
[GeminiTay] everyone, please remain inside for now, the storm isn’t natural.
[PearlescentMoon] close all your doors and windows
[PearlescentMoon] if you need help scream
[SolidarityGaming] Is anyone elses phones acting weird?
[Smallishbeans] no just a bit laggy
Message not sent!
[Smallishbeans] WHAT
Message not sent!
[Smallishbeans] wait can anyone see this
Message not sent!
“Grian...?” Joel asks, nearly a murmur, seeing the three bars of wi-fi. No reason why the connection would fail. No reason other than the magical storm brewing right outside their doorstep. Grian doesn’t reply, catatonic as he looks at the rushing water, the rocky waves certainly crashing against the coast. A particularly strong gust of wind blows, and he skids on the slippery floor, nearly getting swept off the elevated platform. “… Grian!”
“JOEL!” Grian screams, clinging onto a nearby support beam, hand snapping out to tug tight on Joel’s outstretched one. With effort, they manage to stumble over to the door and pull said door open. It slams behind them as they practically fling themselves into the bakery.
They track water on the floors, but he couldn’t care less as Grian slumps on the floor, Joel plopping down back-to-back with him. If this is happening all across the continent, how many more people are feeling like this? Cooped up in a building, redstone and communications not working, water heavy on his clothes and in his hair?
He checks his phone. Unresponsive. Smartwatch? Won’t turn on. Maybe instead of making them waterproof, they should have made them magic-proof— but then again, Joel can’t think of any other time that would be useful. Oh well.
“How long are we gonna stay here for?” The question slips out, unbidden. Grian turns to look at him for the first time since they got to safety.
”If this continues… we should dry off first, make sure we don’t get hypothermia… and we aren’t gonna run out of food anytime soon, but we might need water. Is it safe to drink magic rain…?” The almost-joke startles a nearly-laugh out of him, and the two exchange a miserable smile. This isn’t enjoyable— not in the slightest— and they’re both very clearly worried for the rest of the town. For their friends.
Grian stands up, checking the windows, and Joel, too, rises, making his way over. It could be considered pretty, he thinks morbidly, with the rain cascading down in sheets, the windows on the sides of buildings weeping, the wind blowing water in patterned ripples.
… Wait, those two red dots seem a lot closer than they were before.
~*~
Gem trudges through the thick, violent waves, hand linked with Pearl’s. Wuthering wind only seems to spur on the battering rain, and even though the conduit spell is simple, she struggles to keep it strong.
The minutes-long walk feels like hours, but finally, they do reach their destination. Scar wheels forward, a barrier of glass separating the drenched and the dry. Besides her, Pearl mouths “evacuate— not safe,” and although Scar’s face is scrunched with doubt, he obliges, and the three of them work together to pull the doors open.
Grian and Joel from the bakery. Scott and Martyn from the flower shop, BigB and Ren from the café, Tango, Etho, and Mumbo from the redstone shop… She can feel the energy sapping out of her with each step they take, each person they pick up from their jobs or houses.
There’s a nudge to her magic, a purple offering that she drinks up like a parched husk. With the mysterious replenisher, Pearl’s grip on her arm, and the stubborn determined haze that is Gem’s mind, finally, finally, the group reaches the storm shelter, and as soon as everyone is safely inside, she loosens her grip on the spell and her consciousness with it.
~*~
Seeing as both the resident witches are currently snoring puddles on the shelter floor and everyone’s devices are on the fritz, no one’s getting answers anytime soon. A few people spend a mournful minute or two attempting to get their phones to work, but the closest anyone gets is the little “no internet” dinosaur game, and even that stops working fairly quickly. There’s a stash of candles and matches on a shelf in the corner of the shelter, but everyone’s exhausted from the hurried evacuation, so they quietly agree amongst themselves to just go to sleep for the night early.
The first thing Scar notices in the morning is that the shelter’s cots are not the ideal sleeping situation, as his body is telling him through about a million aches throughout his body. The second thing, which he registers with no small amount of disappointment, is that he can still hear rain pouring down outside the shelter. Idly, he wonders how much rain the shelter can withstand, and then firmly decides he does not like thinking about that. Instead, he eases himself into his wheelchair and heads over to the tables where he sees that Grian has a candle burning. There’s food, there, too, which he eagerly grabs some of before tuning in to what Grian is saying.
“Gem and Pearl are both fast asleep, still, so there’s not much we can do, but we can at least see what we can figure out without them.”
“Well, all the newspeople are saying this storm is magic, right?” Joel says. “That’s about all I know.”
Mumbo adds, “The magic in the air is what’s making redstone and our devices act all weird.”
Scar wishes he still had the book he’d been looking at the other day with him, but he recounts what he can remember regarding magic and weather.
Everyone stares at each other for a bit, clearly unsure what to say. After about a minute of this, Scar pushes back from the table and says, “I’m going to make cookies.”
No one stops him.
~*~
The room is thick with disappointment when Gem and Pearl finish talking. Scar’s glad he already did some baking; going by the looks on everyone’s faces, some sweet treats will come in handy. When the two witches woke up, the whole town had been hanging on their every word, but they hadn’t been able to offer any solutions.
“There are scryers working on it in nearby areas,” Pearl had said, “But this is outside of our skill set.”
After the remaining cookies have been distributed and eaten, Scar spends most of the day relaxing as best he can. With as many cooks and bakers as there are in the village, a schedule is quickly set up to ensure that as long as fresh supplies last, there will always be something fun to eat in addition to the shelf-stable emergency supplies in the shelter. (They force the Bad Boys to promise not to waste any flour with impromptu fights before letting them sign up for a turn.)
“Just because flour fights have been occurring for the last few days,” Grian protests, “it doesn’t mean we do it all the time!”
“Yeah, it’s just because Grian spilled a bag of flour! The other times were us reusing it!” Jimmy adds, to Grian’s offended squawk.
“I— erkub— beglihi— YOU spilled the flour!” Grian jabs a finger into Jimmy’s chest, the taller blond man already starting to deny any such allegations.
“I do remember Joel throwing a rolling pin like a javelin once,” Scott pipes up, and Joel turns from where he was watching the other two Bad Boys squabble.
“THAT’S NOT FOOD SCOTT, WE DON’T BLIMMIN’ WASTE FOOD! FOR GOODNESS SAKES, HOW D’YOU THINK WE RUN A BAKERY?!”
Maybe even with the entire town enclosed in this shelter, with people like these— it’ll be okay, Scar thinks. Even with the rain whirling outside and the threat of time weighing down on them all. Gem and Pearl did the right thing, gathering them all, because with all of them together, there’ll always be hope.
~*~
Stars, he hopes the storm passes soon, because these people are insane. Scott drapes tiredly over a chair, eyes studying the absolute chaos that is the main room of the shelter. In the morning, they had all pushed the cots to the sides to make more space to move about, and he wonders why in the world is there some sort of fight club occurring when there’s a hurricane happening outside. Affectionately, he’d say it’s almost like there’s no thoughts in their heads.
Idly, Scott wonders if he should step in, then decides whatever bit they have going on is not his problem.
Then again, when he looks around, he can see the way the situation hangs down on everyone. In the worried creases of Gem’s face, how Impulse tenses his shoulders, Grian’s eyes seeming a bit darker… sure, they’re all throwing up their best facade and joking around. Like this is some kind of impromptu fun meeting of the entire town, instead of a hasty evacuation into a waiting game.
What will happen when someone’s mask cracks? A domino effect?
Scott hopes the sky opens up, preferably sooner than later.
~*~
What day is it? The sky, with its ashen clouds, is always dark. How many days has it been? How long? How much more? How will they— how can they— how?
~*~
Grian can’t sleep. The clear windowpanes stare back at him, sullied only by rain. Haze so thick he can barely see their town. How long has it been, since he’s opened the wooden door of the bakery, since he’s stepped into the warm comfort of his and Scar’s apartment? How long have they been playing primitive cures of boredom?
The days had blurred together long ago. It could be four. Nine. Thirteen. Forty-two, for all they knew.
He can’t help everyone anyone, even after seeing the dark rings under Pearl’s eyes and the strained smiles tugging at Scar’s lips. Sure, he knows magic because of the ∴ᔑℸ ̣ ᓵ⍑ᒷ∷ᓭ, but the bare amount he had given to Gem during the evacuation saps at his energy, even days after the fact. If he got past his selfish troubles earlier, could he have been better? Solve this mess for everyone?
From where he sits on his cot, he can’t see the clouds, but they must be weeping with him. They have been for days.
~*~
A howling ray of light pierces eyes—
╎ᓭ ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹⍊ᒷ∷? ╎ᓭ ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹⍊ᒷ∷? ╎ᓭ ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹⍊ᒷ∷? ╎ᓭ ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹⍊ᒷ∷? ╎ᓭ ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹⍊ᒷ∷? ╎ᓭ ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹⍊ᒷ∷? ╎ᓭ ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹⍊ᒷ∷? ╎ᓭ ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹⍊ᒷ∷?
~*~
Pearl can hardly believe her ears when Grian yells that the storm’s over. Maybe he’s hallucinating, going crazy. She’s about to. The only thing tethering her to sanity is the presence of her friends by her side, safe, and now, the little flower of hope blooming in everyone’s minds.
The sun. People tell each other not to look at the sun all the time, but Pearl’s never cared for that before and she sure as void doesn’t now. It can sear her retinas for all it wants— the sun. If she was a little bit more melodramatic, she’d say she can hardly believe it’s real.
The squadron of people previously stuffed into the storm shelter shuffle out, squinting at the damaged picture of the town. The roof tiles of her and Gem’s tower have been blown off, vibrant paints muddied, leaning at an unnatural angle. She hears Jimmy choke on a sob as the bad boys take in the ruined image of their beloved bakery, standing platform bending and crumbling, leaving the building itself laced with cracks. Watches Martyn pull Scott into a hug as the latter covers his mouth, looking like he wants to run back into the ignorance of their shelter.
They’re the embodiment of grief, wandering around their shelter, unwilling to stray too far in fear of residue waters and the debris scattered across the once-picturesque streets. Unable to do anything but hold each other in horrified mourning of their home.
All of them had wanted to get out, to see the sun again, to see the familiar sights of their town. But with their salvation wrecked to the ground, what hope is left for them?
~*~
Rebuilding does eventually begin, as pained as they all are. The only way to get out of a mess is to fix it, right?
It’s slow work, and not particularly fun, either. The storm had lasted much longer than the non-magical ones the town had been meant to withstand, and every time they fix one thing, a million other problems appear. No one really knows how to handle the situation, and it doesn’t help that they’re all exhausted from being confined in a small space with a large group for a prolonged length of time.
All in all, the general spirit of the town is dampened, the initial joy from finally leaving the shelter fully faded, by the time the neighboring towns arrive with aid. Their neighbors come with fresh food and safe water, apologizing for the delays caused by flooded roads. They help with drawing up plans for the new buildings, and they help with getting the necessary materials.
Even after the others leave, the residents can tell that rebuilding no longer seems quite as daunting. One after another, new buildings take the place of those that were destroyed, and with each day that passes, the storm seems like more and more of a distant memory. The bad boys celebrate the opening of the new-and-improved Bread Bridge Bakery by hosting a town-wide flour fight (Grian, Jimmy, and Joel are the final three standing, due to their extensive practice), and Scar temporarily gives a 50% discount on all magic crystals at his shop in honor of its grand reopening.
Grian and Scar’s new apartment is horribly empty when they first move in, as is generally true of new apartments. They spend the first few days eating with their plates on their laps before their table arrives, but neither of them really minds. It’s still enough to just be together, without the whole town in a shelter with them and without the incessant sound of rain in the background. As time passes, they add more decorations and personal touches throughout the apartment, until it feels like home again. One day, Scar asks how Grian knew that the storm had ended, and Grian begins the long processes of learning how to talk about what happened with the ∴ᔑℸ ̣ ᓵ⍑ᒷ∷ᓭ, something he’d never told anyone about before.
Gem and Pearl are hailed as heroes for shepherding all the townspeople to the shelter, but they’re not really interested in any of that. No, they’d much rather just go back to making their soups, but if they periodically go to their store only to find someone had restocked their ingredients for them, well, they aren’t going to stop people from showing their appreciation.
Months later, the last thing left to do is restock the storm shelter’s supplies of all the things that had been used up. No one really wanted to revisit the place, so eventually they agreed to all do it together, so no one would have to face any memories alone. The sun is shining as they carry bags of food and bottles of water into the shelter, and in its warm light, it seems silly that they’d ever have thought the storm would last forever.