Here's…something…dunno what to call it, and it's not done
The day is cold, and wet, and grey. It's duck weather; it's weather for sitting inside, cozy, with tea or hot chocolate or a nice warm laptop. That was exactly what Matthew was doing as he reclined on a large couch in his living room, facing a wide window which looked down to the boardwalk. The water seemed alive as it writhed and frothed, slamming itself into the barrier. He watched it for a while. The sky was darkening, he could barely see that it was raining, except when he looked at the cones of light cast by the lamp posts, then he could see. And he could see a figure walking. He had been about to look away until they caught his eye. Bundled against the wind as the leaned into it, head bowed. They didn't slow, they didn't waver. A brave wave hurled itself at the wall and sprayed over, cascading across the figure. They barely flinched. Matthew propped himself up on his elbow now, taking more interest, but they soon passed from view behind some houses. He frowned before shrugging and turning back to the computer
He was halfway through the next episode of the series he was watching when he heard the front door open and slam shut. This annoyed him, so he went to investigate. As Matthew reached the foyer he saw his sister(?), Rachel, shrug out of her slicker and kick off her boots, before leaving them in little puddle and walking past him and into the living room. He frowned and followed. She wasn't in the living room when he got there, but he followed some small drops of water to the kitchen and found her leaning with her elbows on the island.
"Are you just going to leave those there?"
Rachel looked at him blankly for a couple moments before adding three teaspoons of sugar to her tea and stirring it slowly, watching the eddies created by the spoon.
Matthew sighed and approached the island. "Hey, was that you out there?"
"Out where?" She asked, blandly, without looking up from the cup.
"Whaddya mean 'out where?', out there, on the boardwalk." He gestured to the window, and boardwalk beyond.
"Mhmm." It was muffled as Rachel had been about to take a sip and hadn't felt that making a clear reply was worth stopping that action.
"But the rain, and that wave! Weren't you wet and miserable?"
"I just don't let myself, don't let myself feel it. It's just water, why should I care?" She shrugged.
"Just water? Hurricanes and tsunamis are just water too!"
Rachel laughed bitterly. "Jesus, Matthew, why are you so melodramatic all the time?" She braced herself against counter. "Sometimes things just are. Yes, rain is wet, waves are wet, whatever shall I do if some touches my skin? Think 'Oh, that was kinda sucky' and then move past it, don't let it consume you. Fuck." PIcking up her cup she moved into the living room.
Matthew stood stunned in the kitchen for a few second before turning to follow.
"Suddenly Frodo noticed that a strange-looking weather-beaten man, sitting in the shadows near the wall, was also listening intently to the hobbit-talk. He had a tall tankard in front of him, and was smoking a long-stemmed pipe curiously carved. His legs were stretched out before him, showing high boots of supple leather that fitted him well, but had seen much wear and were now caked with mud. A travel-stained cloak of heavy dark-green cloth was drawn close about him, and in spite of the heat of the room he wore a hood that overshadowed his face; but the gleam of his eyes could be seen as he watched the hobbits."