A summer storm that edged on the horizon. Promised a downpour as easily as it promised dry crackles of lightning and no rain at all. For the moment, it only offered humidity and a blanketing of dense cloud cover, a roil of thick, static lined air. The place, inside, hyper-charged like the air outside of it.

A writhe of bodies and base set loud enough to match the roils of thunder that boomed in the distance overhead - stench of things Mier had no familiarity with. Though he aimed to thoroughly remedy that. Over the next few nights, the next few weeks. Until he had a firm grasp on all the things that others raved about - what youth should've devoted themselves to in the sparse moments of life before 'the party stopped'.

Rebelliousness - even if it was carefully planned - after years of living on a schedule made in minutes, existing solely on someone else's time clock. He was finally, in these moments before adulthood snatched up the rest of his life, granted a little freedom. Carved it out for himself over the summer. Knew he was mandated to return in the upcoming months.

Had been told he was slated to receive some accolade or award from the school for his time well spent there.

A promotion of sorts?

Though he imagined getting called into the superintendents office, offering faux grins to faculty and staff and peers alike. Accepting some sort of placard or prettily lined, thick cut parchment, that had words of praise etched into it. Which Mier hoped would be good enough, insofar as recommendation's and proof of his success went, at wherever he chose to traipse off to next.

All of that sat at the back of his mind - shoved aside to bother him later - after.

In that moment? Wearing exactly what he wanted, unregulated, with his hair grown long and dyed softly at the ends. With the storm brewing out behind him as he slipped in through a sheetmetal hole, a panel that slid aside from the adjoining rust cut frame of the place, passed him easy entry into the derelict building as a whole.

In that moment? He wasn't concerned with any of those things at all. He was concerned with being - feeling - getting what he wanted in new ways. He could claim he was 18 - close enough. What did days or weeks matter?

Would claim he was 21 instead, for the sake of his wants. Back it up with proof in a the form of a very convincing in dim lighting type of I.D card. Oh, the works of kindness he'd done to get his hands on it from the tech department. Hours spent with sweetly shy artists and reclusive computer loving savants. Time well spent to get what passed as a 'free pass' into libations.

To be safe - to be completely safe - he'd picked a place that wouldn't be likely to ask any questions at all. The warehouse district held a treasure trove of events. This one in particular - a summers end - a rave made to rival the coming storms and shake the neon washed rafters to the floor.

Immediately overwhelming for him in the best of ways. A wash of bodies and the 'eek' of sound he made was drowned out by the noise - not even a foot in before getting dragged in. Caught up in the undertow, unrelenting press and swell of it all.

The initial panic for that, dizzying barrage of newness, and he quickly learned it was easier to just 'go' with it; rather than to fight through the crowd. Better to weave deeper in until it spit him out - a tumbled stone - and Mier clung to a rusted support beam for a moment when he found one. Breathed. Panted gasps of sweat and clove soaked air, a wry grin for all of it.