Scaramouche

"The largest supercell that Oklahoma had, and likely ever will, see."

Scaramouche found himself thinking back on that news report from a few days ago that'd been issued on storm chasing forums that he was a part of. Truth be told, a part of him didn't want to believe it. It was pretty common for attention-seekers to lie about big opportunities in hotspots like the midwest just to get some recognition and about five likes. He couldn't help but scoff at the idea. And yet, here he was, pulling into a motel parking lot where the supercell was at its peak.

Nothing so far. Some hail, winds, rain, but nothing much yet. Scaramouche could feel his hopes, which he shouldn't have had in the first place, diminishing. Was there really not about to be any tornados on a supercell this huge, smack dab in the middle of tornado alley; let alone in such a big season too? The weather was perfect (for the tornadoes, he means. His car being pelted with hail was far from ideal.) and yet.. nothing.

Just as he moved to shift his car into drive to make another long trip back home, the Doppler radar on his phone started blaring. A hook had formed not too far from the motel he was at, about 4 miles, and evidently a funnel was starting to form. Holy shit. It looked big too. Scaramouche could see the funnel all the way from where he was, the long thin rope slowly descending from the sky. Debris and dirt could be seen swirling where the winds were strongest, something like a drill bit tornado formation, before the funnel officially touched down.

The sounds of tornado sirens started to blare in his ears, local residents running for shelter within the motel. Scaramouche, however, quickly put his car into drive, practically flooring the gas to catch up with the slow-moving twister. As he drove, he could see that it was slowly growing in not only height, but width as well; a proper cone shape, although it veered more on the wedge side. Multi-vortex too, with small vorticies emerging and quickly fading as they prbited around the main tornado.

Clear visibility, midday, a normal speed, seemingly no harmful path (aside from the field it'd formed on top of, but better that than someone's home.).. It was, quite literally, the perfect tornado. Scaramouche could only gawk as he got within a safe yet close distance in front of the twister, making sure to stay out of its path, before parking his car. He'd come to take photos and analyse the damage left to sell to news stations (he made proper good money doing this, by the way.), but this was.. simply jaw dropping.

He'd noticed that other storm chasers seemed to have gotten wind of the twister too, as various other vehicles (some more professional than others, clearly.) pulled up in the road and surrounding field to also do whatever they'd come to do. Scaramouche, as the very bitter and antisocial man he knows himself to be, figured that he should just get to work. He didn't fucking like these people anyways, those who were in it for the 'passion'.. Passion doesn't get you far in the world. Plus, who's passionate about weather? That's stupid.

With a sigh, Scaramouche pulled out his camera, setting it up and aiming it at the large twister, trying his hardest to zoom in on the vorticies that made it so picturesque. Idly, he held on to his large sunhat, keeping it from blowing away in the winds radiating off of the supercell.