The bloated, grey downpour hung over North Sacramento with the terrible patience and slowness that only miserable, heavy rain could possess. A strangling sheet of water settled onto the highway like a diseased rat come to brood. In the midst of the torrent, blaring horns could be heard. Snails could easily outdo the pace of cars lumbering down the interstate highway. Only the odd flash of white or a shock of color emerging from the obsufucating downpour could interrupt the near universal greyscale. One beat up Ford Explorer counts itself among the number of cars making the slow slog.
Inside, Dr. Thao Ngoc kept his eyes on the road, his callused and odd-jointed fingers clenching tightly onto the steering wheel while he kept his eyes firmly on the road. In the passenger seat beside him sat another Changeling who reminded him of the place he had worked very hard to let go. His fingers rap against his steering wheel while Thao struggles for something, anything to say as he maneuvers traffic.
At last, he glances to the Changeling beside him and remains quiet. Musoka could tell him on his own time. It might have been a little rash or sudden to immediately jump to his former Houstonian Freeholder's aid without knowing the entire situation. But if he tried to pry it out of him, Thao risked the Nightsinger clamping up for even longer. Thao waited for him to speak. They had a good twenty to twenty five minutes in the car. Any sort of distraction would be welcome.
@WakingDream
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