Anyone can join, with a 50-word vignette in the comments. Your vignette does not have to include the prompt term.
She drained her cup, slung on her backpack, and hurried out. The dragon cloud did not rain. It did not thunder. And it, she told herself, only seemed to pace her. She tried to not glance up at it, and with the great buildings hemming her in, sometimes she managed.
He looked shy and abashed. Her tongue touched her lips, and for a moment, the sounds of chatter seemed to fade.
Outside, suddenly, rain burst out, loudly enough that she could hear the patter of it on the ground inside. She smiled. "Only if it's mulled cider, in this weather."
A plump man in a red-violet robe came forward, followed by a man holding an umbrella over his head. No, thought Edmund, a parasol. It had not rained here in some time, with all this dust. Even this official had dust on his robes. But his gaze remained intent on Edmund.