by Hydrargentium

“Jeez, I wish I had weather powers.”

Killerwatt looked at him like he’d just said he was thinking of donating an organ to charity.

“Whaddaya mean? What’s wrong with your powers?”

“I hate this rain. If I had weather powers, I’d make it stop raining.”

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about. You’re not getting wet.”

Sandblast looked Killerwatt up and down. His friend was huddled under a black umbrella, his shoulders dry but his spandex leggings soaked through. Then he looked up at the sky, watching rain teem out of the darkness, and shook his head to clear the rain from his eyes.

“Well, my skin’s not getting wet, but you know what happens when you mix sand and water? You know what. Mud.”

Now that he’d mentioned it, Killerwatt noticed that Sandblast’s layer of protective sand was beginning to resemble gritty, half-melted wax. It drooped from his nose and his chin, was streaked with gullies off his shoulders and down his arms, and the ground was marked with tawny droplets the size of nickels.

“Yeah, it uh, it looks like you’re losing some there.”

Sandblast looked down and sighed. Another blob rolled off the top of his forehead, slid down his nose, and landed in a puddle with a plop.

“Doesn’t really look like mud, y’know? Looks like quicksand.”

“Not helping.”

“Or maybe puke, like if you’d got drunk at the beach, and there was sand in your beer…”

“Not. Helping.”