Mick Rory (justonespark) wrote in newalliance, @ 2012-09-13 20:20:00 |
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Entry tags: | heat wave, weather wizard |
Narrative/Thread
Who: Mick Rory, Open to the Rogues
Where: Rogues' Hideout
When: Very Early Morning, Thursday, September 13th
What: Fire is our friend a.k.a. Mick burns a lot of shit.
Rating: PG, but R if anyone tags in.
Usually Mick could keep things under wraps. The urge never truly went away, but over the years he'd managed to find a system that worked. It was like he was constantly bargaining with it. There were times and places for fire and usually that was enough. A burglary there, a wall of flame here and that got him through until the next job. It wasn't perfect, of course, because once the fire started, he just wanted to watch it spread and spread, but it helped to have a goal to focus on or a cape to throw down with. Self preservation usually took precedence. Usually.
This past week had been horrible. His fingers twitched and vivid, fantasy images were constantly in his mind. How things would like as they were licked by flame, curl and smoke and smolder as the fire caressed them all. He'd been constantly playing with matches but it wasn't enough. It was never enough.
The Stanley Cup was set out in the middle of the room and inside was a small smoldering flame. Mick had started small. Any flotsam and jetsam that had been lying around. He hadn't bothered to check if it was important. It didn't matter. He'd gone through the entire collection of post it notes, used and unused, before he'd had to go looking for other things to burn. A familiar scarf, grubby and barely white, hung over the ridge. The entire thing hadn't caught fire yet but it would. Everything would.
But first things had to get hotter. Clad in over sized pajama bottoms, Mick shuffled to the bathroom. He turned on the light then opened the mirrored cabinet, surveying all the random products found inside. A good assortment of chemical bottles greeted him and he gathered up them all and even took the toothpaste for good measure.
From there, things were easy enough. Drop in an object and watch the fire do its job. Melting plastic before blooming into wonderful bursts of color, like time delayed fireworks each more beautiful than the next. It was beautiful. His gaze only left the flame for the briefest of moment, selecting an object and then dropping it inside. He looked away, gaze trailing over the number of bottles (most of which seemed unnecessary and overpriced) before the can of hairspray caught his eyes.
Do not expose to extreme heat. Contents under pressure. Flammable. Inflammable. "What did you want to be when you grew up, Mick?" "A fireman. But the fire wouldn't let me." Avoid fire and flame. But it was always so beautiful, so alive.
He dropped the can into the fire. It took a while for the fire to do it's work but it was worth waiting. He watched the label peel and crack and the edges of the can bubble and warp. Finally, it exploded with a loud pop, letting out a rushing fwoom! Mick didn't even flinch, just watched entranced as the flames leapt higher.