Campanula raineri
Sophie sipped her hot chocolate pensively, letting the gentle pitter-patter of raindrops on the roof soak in. Outside, the grey sky seemed to hold a tone of somber acceptance as it carried on in its monotonous work of watering the earth.
I wonder where Plu is, Sophie thought, her mug warm in her hands as she glanced behind to the living room. From the edge of the patio door, her eyes skimmed over the empty armchair—on which Pluvius often sat, staring out the window—and vacant couch—where Sophie had seen him on many a rainy day, cuddled up amongst the cushions—and she wondered where he was napping today.
He ought to always stay where I can easily spot him, she thought wryly, bringing her mug up as her attention turned back to the showers outside. The rain stirred up thoughts of times past, its gentle, ebbing rhythms helping to unwind the long reel of memories inside her head. It helped that many of her memories related to rain; Oregon was a state of showers followed by rainstorms, which Sophie hadn’t thought to question as a child.
As she watched the showers now, the pair of bright pink rain boots she’d worn to her first day of kindergarten—courtesy of her well-meaning mother—came to mind. Protecting her from toe to kneecap but no more, they’d made her early puddle-splashing exploits possible, invariably landing her soaked when her raincoat and umbrella failed to compete in the face of her enthusiastic leaps and bounds. She’d loved the boots, despite how much they made her stand out amongst her classmates, and she now looked back on the time as a fond memory.
Plu, though, hates the rain, Sophie thought in amusement.
And rightfully so—keeping him from heading out ought to be a crime.Whenever it was due to rain, Sophie could always count on finding Pluvius waiting for her indoors, staring out the window with thinly-veiled annoyance. Fifth sense or not, he always knew when the rain would come, and Sophie had soon learned to trust his judgement more than the weather forecast.
And that’s where we differ, Sophie thought, smiling as she adjusted the mug in her hands
While it was clear that Pluvius hated wet weather, Sophie would easily say she loved it—storm, shower, drizzle, downpour. The only time her opinion would change was when she didn’t have an umbrella with her; being soaked was only welcome if she’d planned for it.
When she’d lost her umbrella in second grade, Sophie had been forced to wait ten minutes in the pouring rain as the bus pulled up. The ride home did little to dry her off, and—much to her mother’s horror—she’d arrived drenched from tip to toe. Though she hadn’t fallen sick, the feeling of being toweled off by her fussing mother, of plastered hair and sticky clothes slowly lifting away from her person, stayed with her. Even now she could recall how she’d felt at the time: cold, wet, and miserably close to tears.
Needless to say, she quickly learned to keep her umbrella close—which earned her a few snide remarks from amused classmates she didn't care much for. The case of her disappearing umbrella, however, remained a mystery to this day, though it didn’t take much imagination to guess how she’d managed to lose it in second grade.
Still, Sophie would argue that the rain brought with it both the best and the worst moments. The day she’d broken her arm in fourth grade after a fall from the playground slide, for example, was a low day, and the day she’d graduated from elementary school—showers or not—a high one. In fact, she’d met Pluvius on a rainy day as well, way back when she was only a nervous, stuttering fifth grader whose voice barely rose above a frail tremolo. She’d argued with her mother that day, running out into the slippery streets in desperate anger, no destination in mind but forwards. Childishly unimaginative as she was, her fifth grade self had been taken by the idea of seeking shelter under the slide in the neighborhood park, but when she arrived on scene, she found the spot already taken. In her planned hiding spot was a curious cardboard box containing a blue blanket and a single, silent sliver of cold, shivering fur.
Thinking back, Sophie realized that her first reaction to her dear Pluvius was, in fact, anger; how dare the measly creature and its tattered box squander her safe haven, thwart her carefully laid plans? But whatever her initial impression of the tiny creature, when she finally bent down to investigate further, she found waiting for her a being wholly innocent and helpless, pitifully mewling from the corner it’d huddled itself into.
It was anything but love at first sight at the time, but Sophie had no better reason for the sequence of events that followed. And, with each time she’d recalled the memory, she was more and more convinced that the reason she’d come up with was the correct one.
Having completely forgotten about her plans to hide away under the slide, Sophie had shed her raincoat, draping it over the box before picking the whole contraption up and sprinting homewards. In those moments—which Sophie could still recall clear as day, adrenaline sharpening her memory with vivid color and clarity—she’d felt, over any discomfort or fatigue, a sense of panicked responsibility. Not helping the creature she’d found hadn’t even occurred to her; in fact, it wouldn’t occur to her until long after she’d woken up from her fever and found the creature sleeping soundly in her arms, little rumbling purrs running absentmindedly through its frail chest. And it was from that moment on—not earlier, and not later—that Sophie decided firmly that it had been love at first sight.
Her memories were skewed by hindsight romanticisms, she was sure, but such was the only way she could express the pure
affection she felt for Pluvius. Oh, how lovable he was, how soft, how wonderfully well-timed in his entrance into her life. In the face of her love for Pluvius, going to school suddenly didn’t seem so bad. The names she might get called, the furious teasing that bordered on insult she might have to endure—they were painful, but she’d risen above it all. She’d managed, despite her trembly hands and shaky voice, to do something right. No longer would her peers’ accusations and taunts her pierce at her soul, for if Pluvius could transform from frightfully fragile to large, pompous, and proud, so could she. As he filled out, Sophie followed suit, finding her voice and conquering her stutter. As his coat grew longer, she replaced her anxiety with snowballing confidence, learned to ball her fists and smile through her freckles. As he grew more luminous, more present, Sophie grew to stand straighter, laugh louder, and before she knew it she was bound to college, a real girl at last, ready to take on the world and all it was made of.
It’d physically hurt to leave Pluvius behind, yes, and though the video calls did little to help—Pluvius looking wildly around for her when the mic produced her voice in staticy imitation, thoroughly confused by what he couldn’t understand to see—he was waiting for her when she got back, a bit less lustrous but no less loving, all purrs and adororant nudges. It was for him that she’d willingly suffered nips and scratches during nail trims, adapted to avoid dark colored clothing and use an indoor voice. In return, he’d patiently helped her prep for her interviews, aided her in celebrating her first job that paved the way to her new apartment, of which Sophie’s first requirement was that it allow pets.
Thinking of it all brought a smile to her lips, and she set aside her mug to reach over for an umbrella, opening it up before stepping into the yard. The rain pelleted down at her with full, heavy droplets of sound as she walked towards the blooming harebell at the head of the garden. She stopped in front of it, bending down to gently caress a leaf.
“Thank you, Plu.”
Remram
Achronum