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NaNo section 2: further intros

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Nov. 3rd, 2010 | 08:08 pm
mood: workingworking

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Aboard the space-faring vessel “Knick-Knack”, the crew brace themselves for the worst -- which, little could they know, is about to turn out awfully different than the worst they might have formerly imagined. Previously it might have had something to do with culinary experiments gone wrong in the galley, or any of their captain’s other inventive enterprises, particularly after a sugar binge.

Right now, food is not foremost in anyone’s mind. The instrumentation for the last-resort portal-jump drive has just shown escalating activity, indicating the initial stages of its function -- completely autonomous of any action undertaken by the navigator. The control switches are showing no response to any attempts at deactivation (not the least desperate of which involved standing back and letting the muscle have a go at “persuasive” piloting), and in the words of the overstressed engineer, “I didn’t touch anything!”

“Well, folks-” Cheery as always, Captain Rhyme’s voice reaches over the ominous silence of space about to contort around their fragile ship, possibly tearing it asunder or casting it to the middle of an active star, gaping black hole, or into the jaws of whatever worse fate may exist. ”-Time for seatbelts! See you all on the other side! Y’know, wherever that is.”

If she meant to put in mind images of a potential afterlife for those space travelers whose mortal existence is ended in an abrupt or prolonged disfigurement, dismantling, or disintegration of their body among the vastness of the dark vacuum -- who can say? What is certain is that certain death did not meet them coming out the gate.

Not yet, anyhow -- not as far as they know.

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For those witnessing the supremely unlikely manifestation of highly-visible aurora borealis phenomena above the cloud-free skies of (Techno) Japan, the sign of something about to occur was not so obviously threatening. A light show in the sky during the light of day, even if the glow of sunset may distract from it, is not easily missed -- but is not so likely be widely feared, either.

The “collections agent” strolling the street to meet the next mark didn’t seem to think much of it at all. Sword resting over her shoulder, the bushy-ponytailed girl gives it a glance, almost as out of obligation, then focuses glaring eyes ahead again to see that none of these slack-faced gawkers will impede her mission.

What she wasn’t expecting was for the aurora itself to do just that.

Neither do the two newly acquainted young people, trapped in a jail cell somewhere halfway across the world, have any way of seeing what was coming until it was upon them. The cascading ribbons of color engulf them simultaneously, causing them to vanish as if a luminous-edged concealing curtain has swept over each of them. By this means they find themselves spared, at least, of the need to contrive a means of escape.

“Aio? How did you-”

“... That was not my doing, Miss Kaeya.”

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“That was wild, pardner.” A svelte, auburn beauty addresses her compatriot with a coy smirk playing her lips; hair tousled and bodice askew in the aftermath of moments prior. Under her, the roughly dressed cowhand merely grunts in the discomfort of being sat upon.

First and foremost, the pinned half of the duo reaches to check that vital pieces of equipment have not been damaged or misplaced: Gun in holster? Check. Dusty, reliable, wide-brimmed hat? On the ground, but just within reach to feel out and grasp hold of so that it can be immediately crammed back over a head of matted white hair.

“Git’cher bustle off me, woman, and you work it out where we done landed up.”

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Out of three particular individuals now faced with one anothers’ mutual stares, none immediately offers any explanation. One, a tall, broad-shoulded man in a ratty linen shirt and richly colored jacket with a mess of bright brass buttons, is clearly soaking wet. Strands of his long, dark blond hair escape his ponytail to drip into his eyes which are blue-green, wide-open, and displaying total incredulity. Next to him, a petite young girl in a white and orange-trimmed jogging suit with a backpack on her shoulders, is quite perfectly as dry as she is startled. The third individual -- purple-haired and floating a few inches above ground, with the toes of it’s small feet dangling beneath the hem of it’s robe -- raises a curious, flower-tipped antenna at the both of them.

On all sides around them ____ (scenery?) ____ (more confused people? A certain ship?)

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Several miles climb down the mountain, one wanderer encounters another. He first wipes the sweat from his brow, then takes the time to politely incline his head toward the very small person -- and, for good measure, toward the cat of average size which seems to have made a resting nest out of the boy’s plump, poofy hat.

“Ah-- good afternoon. This... may sound odd, but-- You wouldn’t happen to be able to tell me where I am -- roughly speaking -- would you?”

First only the child’s eyes respond, scanning over the originator of the question. The passenger upon his head makes it difficult for him to nod or to bow, but he curtsies. “Halfway.” He answers simply, without offering clarification for any ambiguity.

“Oh. I... see. In that case, thank you. I suppose I... had best continue.”

“You won’t change where you are that way.”

“... Pardon?”

“But I shall come along with you; as I, too, seem unable to awaken fully, at present.”

For a long, windswept moment, neither of them speaks again.

“Ah.” Finally, the grown man with the ice-blue hair and ice-blue eyes straightens up his back, and makes firm his footing on the rocky path. “Then... Be my guest?” He offers out a hand of invitation, which is accepted summarily by the small boy. Hand-in-hand, they proceed.

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