The Party: Before Twelve | Evie and Open
"Fire cracker," Barclay said, sitting next to her on one of the crates. He was dressed in jeans, his old, beat-up shoes and a leather jacket. He looked like a cross between a beatnik and a punk rocker, though he was pastier than any of those had any right to be.
He stared at the fire, the flames flickering gorgeously. Another force of nature, so different from the ones he wielded. He did the quiet growers, but fire was one of the flashy showers. He wasn't good with fire, but he appreciated it's power. "It looks good," he said. "All of it your handiwork?"