Midsummer's Night (Solo)

Only the sound of a turned page could be heard in the large penthouse of Devon Hadden. He sat comfortably on the couch, a bottle of water on the table before him. Bare feet also rested comfortably on the coffee table. He’d retreated from a long Tuesday to the comfort of black sweat pants, soft brown leather, and likely his favorite piece of fiction.

“The king doth keep his revels here tonight,” the silence broke again, this time by a voice not unlike Devon’s though mischievous and warning. “Take heed the queen come not within his sight; For Oberon is passing fell and wrath, because that she as her attendant hath a lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king; She never had so sweet a channeling; And jealous Oberon would have the child Knight of his train, to trace the forest wild.”

Devon grinned at the Puck’s warning, setting the book aside to reach for his water while one hand absently scratched his bare chest. Here was the knave who played with hearts and minds, servant of a lord but friend too. It was he who caused chaos between the mortals all in the name of his lord’s goals. But was he perhaps seeking the rejoined hearts of Oberon and Titania? Maybe not, perhaps he simply enjoyed watching it all fall as it may. He did apologize at the end…

The day’s final rays were golden and rose, illuminating his terrace. The pool looked inviting, but it wasn’t drawing his eye. Something was wrong. Hadn’t the sun set already? Why was it taking so long? More than once he’d felt there was something off, minutes here and there, but hours? And it was warmer than it should be as well…

Deep midnight clouded his eyes, consuming them as he slowly rose and studied the air that drifted into his home. Some knave was playing with him, certainly. A fae had flown outside and stirred the dwindling day to some extended twilight. It should not last this long, let alone there were cooler airs to marshal this night. The currents were wrong, but there was such potential in it.

Out he crept with curious wonder, a brow creased and crossed though his jaw was set with eager determination. This was it of all the small events; Devon would have his answer if someone could play these games and make foul of fair the weather. If not, he worried for what made accidents of these powers that were proving to vex far more than he. The sky would give him answers.

Ashen clouds were lined with silver and sewn with soft hues of indigo. A mere sigh could let loose a rainstorm upon the metropolis. Patterns of electrons wove through the clouds in higher elevations, striking at one another as pockets of moisture clashed with electrical activity. An occasional gust of wind stirred the debris upon the city streets but fiercer winds blew about the penthouse balcony he lingered upon. Devon suppressed such details in the local area near him; Muse had helped him see the bigger pattern to these woven threads.

At higher portions of the troposphere the wind was far stronger, though isolated in pockets of nature’s chaotic brewing. A tinge of pink was edging at the horizon, flavoring the cloud cover with a peach’s warmth. “Hm, I am hungry, aren’t I?” Devon whispered aloud. Twilight was holding but so too was this unnatural storm, a wide breath held by the city.

Rustling winds and conflicting gusts encircled their son as he stared down at wiggling toes. His feet arched and up he went, slowly at first and lurching toward his pool house once. But a rush roared, buffeting his topiaries as he surged upward, night’s swift dragon lost but the clouds full fast. He inhaled deeply, ready to catch himself though he hoped in the moment he’d spot his quarry.

Instead that wide breath held him.

Every brochure for the city spoke of the shopping, the sites, the food and the culture. The skyline was just as worthy of note, marvels of architecture reaching up from the bones of the earth to the gateway of the heavens. The monuments had charm but each skyscraper was compared to a finger, a part of humanity’s hand reaching up in awe of the sky’s majesty.

The day’s sun would soon sink over the western coast. Most of the clouds would trek eastward, slightly north, escaping the sun’s path to burn partially away. The sky would be blue, occasional clouds traversing over the eager, claw-like talons by midnight before blue would blacken for all the wandering shadows.

There were no hobgoblins at play. Forgotten was the temporal plight as he saw to the marveling turbulence and energy in the sky, held too long. When finally, he’d spun round for a witness of the full city’s plight, Tempest found himself in the silvered ash. He roared and cheered and the storm’s exhalation exploded in thunderous applause.

Rain cleansed the dry hand of humanity. The misled was the merry wanderer of the night; he flew with eager ease on the whistling winds. Over the park he dipped low to touch a pond, the trees bowing to him as he passed. Thunder and lightning answered his ardent calls as he sailed on until finally a morning lark called him home. He danced dizzyingly on those final breezes, gently focusing to carefully land, his pants wet and clinging.

Devon could not quench his grin as he cheered, tears still streaming to marvel the summer’s first storm. He gazed upward as the night faded, its offending shadows vanishing. The dark dream might be gone but it surged through his eyes once more as he dappled the sky with wispy willows to catch the dawn. Golden roses blossomed as Devon sought to restore amends for such a tempestuous night deserved such an exquisite day.