Localized Storms

It had been a half a year since Serrano had last dropped in at The Dirty Brass, but it was the kind of bar that didn’t change much. She had confidence the tap list would be just as limited, the mixed drinks just as mid, and the ambiance just as grubby as ever. The old-enough-to-be-retro neon sign remained half burned out. It’d never beat Saint John’s, her quintessential Mensura dive bar, but you had to change things up occasionally. Also, it secretly had some of the best burgers—both meat and veggie—in town. And frankly, it was the kind of place that she wouldn’t be capital-R Recognized as one of Obsidian Rose’s lead singers. As thrilling as being an overnight success after a decade was, quiet was nice, too.

A change she hadn’t expected came as a hand-written sign taped to the door:

“Huh.” Lifting a brow, she pushed the door open, stepping from bright early evening light into smoky dimness. Nobody had smoked inside for going on three decades, and the smell of tobacco and ash had long since been extinguished by the ever-replenished scent of fry oil and cheap beer soaking into wood and carpet. Yet there was no other word for it.

As foreseen, the interior hadn’t changed, and neither had the clientele—except for dropping in number. The place had never been crowded when she’d been in before, even on Friday and Saturday nights, but this Wednesday it was just four customers shy of empty. That old squirrel guy who was always there, always at the same bar stool, gave her a nod as she entered, munching on a burger; there was a wolf guy a few stools down looking at his phone, a rabbit guy alone at a table staring into his beer, and a tall hot vixen chatting with the surly bear behind the bar.

One of these things is not like the other. As she moved toward the bar, she recognized the out-of-place vixen. “Tori?”

The vixen turned. “Serrano. Good to see you.” She smiled and nodded before turning back to her conversation.

Tori—Ventura—tended bar at both the Echo Lounge, a craft cocktail place on the edge of Mensura’s gay-friendly Parkcrest neighborhood, and the Lexington, a lesbian bar in Parkcrest’s heart. She and Serrano had gotten close enough to call one another casual friends, at least.

Sighing heavily, the bear straightened up and motioned Tori toward an EMPLOYEES ONLY door. “Come on back to the office.” He turned to Serrano. “What’ll you have?”

“Whatever IPA you got.” As she spoke, Tori headed to the door and waited.

He grunted, filled up a pint glass, then trundled after the vixen.

“What’s that about?” she said aloud.

Nobody else looked up, save for the squirrel. “She’s probably trying to buy the bar.”

Serrano lifted her brows. “No shit. Well, that’d be a change from Mr. Sunshine, wouldn’t it.”

“Tony’s not so bad. Well, wasn’t.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Last year or two he’s gotten way more cranky. I love him, but it’s past time he got away from any business that involves him, y’know, dealing with people.”

“Fair.” She sipped her beer. Yep, that was a generic IPA, all right.

“But if it’s too much of a change, he won’t sell. He’s turned down a few good offers.” He shrugged and sipped his own beer. “I’ve seen you here before, right?”

“You have, and I know I’ve seen you here before.” She chuckled. “I’m Serrano.”

“Dale. Nice to meet you.”

A minute or two of amiable quietness passed. Then the office door swung open with a bang, Ventura stalking out straight toward the front door.

The bear—Tony, she guessed—stuck his head out. “Have a great day, sir,” he called with exaggerated cheerfulness. He didn’t bother to fake a smile, though.

Dale lifted his brows, glancing at Serrano.

“Back in a sec.” Serrano got up and jogged after the vixen.

Ventura had already made it to her car. “Tori! Hey!”

She turned and looked at Serrano. It was the kind of gaze that, if she’d seen it from a magic student, she’d expect to see before everything around her burst into angry flames.

“So, uh, what the fuck?” Serrano waved between her and the bar.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You sure?”

Tori sighed after a moment, leaning against her car and crossing her arms. “He won’t sell to me because I’ll make it a ‘gay bar.’” She made air quotes with her fingers.

Serrano winced. “And that’s a problem for him.”

“I think everything is a problem for him. I’m queer. I’m a woman. I’m a tall woman, so he thinks I’m trans.” She rubbed her face. “It’s a great location and I made a great offer, but…” After a second of silence she straightened up, shrugging. “Some things aren’t meant to be. There’ll be other bars that aren’t owned by assholes.”

The coyote stepped away, rubbing her chin. Gears were starting to turn. She wasn’t sure they were connected to anything yet, but they were turning. “Yeah, but now making this specific bar into your bar becomes karmic justice.” She looked back at Tori. “Let me try talking to him.”

“No offense, but what do you possibly think you can do with somebody like that?” She waved at the bar. “Trick him? Threaten him?”

“Good question.” She tapped a finger against her chin. “I’m going with threat.”

“Serrano, I appreciate you wanting to go to bat for me, but do not do anything that’s going to get you—or me—thrown in jail. You’re a rock star now. You can’t afford that shit.”

Serrano suppressed a smirk. “It’d probably be good press, and besides, that would not go well for the cops.”

Tori eyed her. “You know you’re a little scary, don’t you?”

“Oh, occasionally I’m existentially terrifying. But I won’t do anything that’s going to, like, level the bar.” She glanced over at it. “No promises about minor to moderate repair work, though.”

The vixen stared hard at her, tail swishing slowly. “I’m going home,” she said after a moment. “Let me know if you have any ideas that don’t break laws.”

Serrano waved after her, and headed back inside. She took her seat again, took a big sip of her beer, and announced loudly, “You should sell to her.”

“How about you sell your bar to her,” Tony grumbled without looking up from the sad garnishes he was busy rearranging. “This one’s for sale to who I say it is. And it’s not gonna to be her. Assuming she even is a ‘her.’”

“She is.”

He grunted. “I’ll take your word for it. Still ain’t selling to her. End of discussion.”

“Do you really want to piss off the storm goddess?”

“The what now?”

“Washahne. The goddess of storms.”

“I know her,” Dale said confidently.

Both Tony and Serrano looked over at him, Tony sourly, Serrano with an amused brow arch.

“I mean, if you’re a fisherman, you leave her an offering before you go out.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You’re not a fisherman, you’re a retired lineman.”

“I fish! I’ve placed in a few tournaments.”

“All right. So why’s the god of fishermen care about who I sell my bar to?”

“Normally, she wouldn’t.” Serrano sipped her beer. “But I think she might get a bug up her ass about you blowing off a perfectly good offer just because you’re a bigoted dick.”

“I can sell to who I want to, and I can serve who I want to, also.” He pulled the half-drunk beer away from Serrano and made a shooing motion. “Get out of here with this storm goddess shit.”

“Oh, we’re gonna play it like this, are we?”

He just glowered at her.

The coyote got up and headed over to Dale. “Can I have a fry before I go?”

“Sure.” He slid his plate toward her.

She grabbed a fry and shoved it in her muzzle. “These fries are a great offering. You get to stay dry, Dale.” She grinned manically at Tony. “You’d better grab a raincoat.”

The bear pointed at the door. “Now.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” She put a hand to her ear as she walked toward the door. “What’s that?”

“What’s—”

A thunderclap sounded loud and sharp enough to rattle the floorboards, followed by the sound of rain.

Dale turned, frowning. “The sky was blue when I got here.” He got up and padded after Serrano, who walked through the door as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

Grumbling curses, Tony came out from behind the bar, heading toward the door, too. “So it’s a surprise storm. It’s…”

He trailed off as he and Dale looked outside. Rain came down in torrential sheets, so thick it was hard to see. But just over the Dirty Brass, over its entire parking lot. The road outside looked dry. So did Serrano, as did the path she followed toward her car, the rain filling in behind her.

When she got in, she turned around and waved, then got in the car and drove away.

“What the fuck,” Tony muttered.

“How the hell are you dry?” Tony glowered at Dale.

It was two weeks after Serrano’s visit. Every day, the storm clouds moved in right when the Dirty Brass opened, staying put until closing time. Sometimes lightning bolts struck just in front of cars daring to turn into the parking lot. More often than not, those cars turned around. For the past week, Dale had been Tony’s only customer.

And, every day, Tony asked him the same obvious question, and every day Dale could only shrug in response. “I didn’t piss off the storm goddess.”

“She’s not a storm goddess, she’s a queer coyote punk. Lucky I don’t call the police on her.”

Dale just lifted his brows. “And tell ’em what, that she’s making it rain on you?”

“Fuck you, Dale.”

The squirrel shrugged, going back to his beer and burger.

The door jangled. Tony looked up, hopefully, then visibly shrank down when Serrano entered. She’d leaned hard into “queer coyote punk” today, with black denim shorts and a faded ripped T-shirt a size too small for someone with her build. Dale stared at her chest for just a moment before catching himself, studiously returning his attention to his food.

“Man, Friday night and it’s this empty?” She shook her head, walking up to the bar.

“Get out.” Tony pointed at the door.

“Or what?” She swished her tail, resting her hands on the bar. “Am I making a disturbance? I mean, we both know I am, but we both know you can’t explain it to anybody.” She grinned, showing her teeth.

“I’m not selling to your lesbo friend just because of a little rain.”

“Should I ramp it up?” She rested her elbow on the bar and her chin on her hand, looking up at him. “Snow? Hail? Tornadoes? Trampling?”

He squinted at her. “‘Trampling’ isn’t goddamn weather.”

“It could be, when the weather’s manifesting as a taur.”

“What’s a taur?”

“Mythological creature,” Dale offered. “The lower half of an unevolved animal with the upper half of an evolved person. Washahne is…” He blinked several times and stared at Serrano. “…a coyote-taur.”

Tony gestured at Serrano. “She isn’t.”

She waggled a hand back and forth. “I kind of am. Do you wanna see?” She gave him her manic grin again. “Think very carefully about your answer.”

“Fuck off.” Tony pointed at the door again. “Get out of my bar and tell that vixen bitch I’d rather close the damn place than sell to her. Got it?”

Serrano stared back at him levelly a few seconds, then backed away from the bar, raising her hands in the air.

“I said—”

With a deafening crack, lightning burst through the roof in two places, touching the coyote’s hands. Or maybe she shot lightning out of her hands through the roof. Rain started pouring in the new holes.

Tony and Dale both stared up, then back down at the coyote—

At the coyote-taur. Serrano’s waist merged into the body of a large quadrupedal coyote—forelegs sporting the same studded wraps that encircled her wrists. And the tips of her ears now brushed the ceiling. Incredibly, her T-shirt remained on, albeit even tighter and sporting new rips, but her shorts didn’t.

“Holy potatoes,” Dale breathed, staring up at her. He had that very specific expression she’d seen before that her girlfriend Sarah cheekily dubbed terrorousal. She flashed him an impish grin before turning back to Tony.

“I’ll tell her you’re going to sell the place to her for a dollar.” Serrano set a huge forepaw on the bar. “Because if you don’t, I’m going to stop playing nice.”

Tony opened his muzzle and closed it several times without making a sound. Finally, the bear got out, weakly, “You can’t frighten me.”

Serrano put her other forepaw on the bar, too, and leaned forward over him, her weight starting to crack the wooden counter. “Yes,” she said flatly. “I can.”

He swallowed, eyes wide, but didn’t say anything.

Serrano backed up, forepaws thumping heavily to the floor. “Take care, Dale.”

“Y-yes, ma’am,” the squirrel squeaked.

It was clear when she reached the front door she wouldn’t fit, but it didn’t slow her down. She just punched her way out, breaking the door completely off its frame.

Tony leaned over the bar, resting his hands on it. “Three fuckin’ Lords.” He glanced at Dale. “What else do you think she can do?”

“Ah, honestly, Tony, I think the answer is ‘anything she wants.’”

He looked at the squirrel balefully. “I’m being blackmailed by a fuckin’ storm goddess.”

“I think that’s called being taught a divine lesson.”

“Fuck you, Dale.”

Tony lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the hail.

The hail. In summer.

The last evening he’d seen Serrano, after he locked up the bar, the storm followed him home. The torrential rain perfectly tracked his car down the road, into his driveway, then expanded to cover his whole property. Just his property, just his yard and his modest house.

And he thought he could tough it out. Goddammit, he’d been in the Navy. He’d seen worse.

But on the seventh night of constant 24/7 storms, just around him, he was starting to go crazy.

He couldn’t get anyone out to repair the bar’s roof; even if they’d show up, they’d stare at the rain and tell him they couldn’t work until it stopped. He’d managed to get somebody to show up after it closed, and the rain started again over the bar as soon as they drove up.

And now, the hail had shattered two of his home’s windows. Gale-force winds had pulled off shingles. He’d found three leaks, with a fourth impending.

He rolled over, pillow over his head, and fell into a fitful sleep. He didn’t wake up until he felt a new leak—right over his bed. Six-thirty in the morning. A fine hour to wake up if you weren’t a lifelong barman who’d gone to bed a little over three hours ago.

Pushing himself to his paws with a groan, he stomped outside, staring up at the sky—black over his house, but suffused with the golden and red streaks of dawn just past it toward the east.

“All right!” He bellowed at the sky, balling his hands into fists. “All right! You win! I’ll sell to her! I’ll do it! Just leave me alone!”

The hail tapered off, and the clouds shifted. As he watched, they took the form of—of—a giant coyote-taur. Much, much bigger than he’d seen before. She eclipsed the horizon, paws the size of thunderheads, one vast forepaw lifting into the air and settling back with tiny tornadoes trailing off the claw tips.

Bending at the waist, she dipped her vast muzzle down, down, down, until it hovered directly overhead. His pupils dilated. Her nose alone was bigger than his house. Possibly bigger than his neighborhood. How could she be standing there without having destroyed the entire city, the entire metro area—

She murmured softly, the sound of a gale, the force of a thunderstorm. “If you go back on this, I’ll swallow you and your house whole. Do we understand one another?”

“Y-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

He stared up dumbly, then swallowed. “Yes, goddess.”

The vast coyote-taur dissipated like lifting fog. Within a minute, the sky had cleared. A rainbow glittered in the sky, its end seeming to intersect right with his house’s damaged roof line.

From the outside, the Dirty Brass didn’t look like it’d changed that much. The roof had been fixed, the building repainted, the parking lot repaved. And the neon sign had been restored.

As Serrano walked inside, the updates became more apparent: not a radical remodel, but everything had been deep-cleaned, and the bar had been entirely redone. Twice as many beers ran on tap, and the cocktails the two rabbit girls walking past her carried both looked…good, something she’d never had said about the Dirty Brass’s previous mixed drinks.

The rabbit girls signified the biggest change, though. The place was busy, with most of the tables and bar stools taken occupied. The crowd was younger, queerer, and frankly hotter. Also, a couple of them were clearly looking over at Serrano with wait, is that…? in their eyes. Hopefully they’d stay cool.

Ventura was one of three people working behind the bar. When she saw Serrano, her ears perked up and her eyes widened. She murmured something to one of the other bartenders, then headed out from behind the bar to the coyote.

“Tori! Wow. This is pretty amazing.”

The vixen thrust a finger down at her. “You did this somehow.”

Serrano put a hand to her chest. “I may have had a quiet talk or two with Tony.”

“He said you’re a vengeful storm goddess.”

“I’m pretty chaotic, but I don’t think ‘vengeful’ is fair.”

“He swore you were a giant—what’s the word, ‘taur’?—big enough that one of your paws was a city block wide.”

“And nobody else in the city saw me? Think of all the damage that’d cause.” She flexed her toes reflexively as she thought of all the damage it would cause, barely suppressing a grin. Being a storm was monstrously fun, but not something you could explain without sounding psychopathic. “Just a figment of his imagination.”

Ventura eyed her, then motioned her to follow, heading back to the bar. “Take a seat, there.” She pointed. “Drinks are on the house.”

“You don’t need to—”

“For life.”

As Serrano started to take her seat, she paused, staring. The bar top had a huge paw print in it: a coyote paw print. No, wait. Two. The impressions of her taur forepaws as they sank into the wood, cracking it. Tori had varnished and clear-coated the entire bar surface, filling those parts in to keep the bar level.

“So.” Ventura crossed her arms. “What can I get you, Figment?”

“Uh.” She grinned lopsidedly. “I’d never ask this at the old Dirty Brass, but can you make a Hurricane?”

The vixen laughed, shaking her head. “Naturally.”

Before her drink arrived, someone called to her from a few seats over, a little timidly. “Hey. Uh. Serrano. Ma’am.”

She turned to see Dale the squirrel leaning over and waving. He had his beer and his burger in front of him. They both looked about the same, even if the glass might be visibly cleaner and the burger’s lettuce and tomato visibly fresher.

“Dale! Huh, so you came back after the…” She waved a hand around. “Everything.”

“Oh, sure. It’s nice to see the place looking new, seeing it busy.” He pointed at his plate. “I think the burger’s even a little better, and it was already great. I know most of the other old regulars didn’t come back, but their loss, I say.”

“Good for you.”

He got up after a few seconds and headed over to her, speaking a bit more softly and shyly. “Uh, ma’am, are you really a goddess? I wasn’t sure you weren’t just messing with Tony, until I saw…” He nodded toward the paw prints.

“That’s kind of a complicated question.” She grinned. “Just say I have some pretty powerful strings I can pull.”

He nodded, brow furrowing, then looked distant. “Part of me’s kinda terrified to even say hello to you,” he suddenly blurted out, “but you were just the most beautiful damn thing, and, uh.” He turned away, rubbing the back of his head.

“Thank you.” She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “How’s the fishing been recently?”

He blushed deeply, putting a hand to his cheek, then gave her a knowing smile. “The weather’s been almost unnaturally good.”

She patted him on the shoulder, and he went back to his seat, finishing his meal and waving to her when he headed out.

Serrano had made it halfway through her Hurricane when a plate of fries, with three dipping sauces, got slid in front of her by one of the barkeeps. “From the guy who was sitting over there,” he said, nodding toward the seat Dale had just vacated. “He said to tell you it was an offering?”

Laughing, she dug in.