(Untitled)
Stepping out of a body’s usual modus operandi is a strange, and, in many ways, unsettling proposition. Though it can often be a rewarding proposition, it leads to strange feelings in the pit of one’s stomach often accompied by the feeling that one’s gotten in way over their head.
( In which our heroes discover that modern conveniences are anything but )
( In which our heroes discover that modern conveniences are anything but )
...how large was this world?
Basch leans up a bit, interested, and asks what's going! He has no idea what a fucking "orange" is (besides a color), and he thinks he knew a girl once named Apple, but that's about it. (Interestingly enough, coffee seems a universal presence as well. Strange times.) Water will do, thank you.
Any other conversation Miki makes will receive slightly staggered and short, but pleasant replies; in about ten minutes, hands folded over his stomach and chin repeatedly drifting down to his collarbones, someone's begun employing his acute skill of packing in the sleep anywhere that's comfortable enough to lay your head. Something of a tradition before a long trek, and he's certainly traversed more raucousness than this to achieve these sleepy ends.
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Somewhere in the realm of the third hour of the trip, the laptop is set aside and the headphones are put to use. Seems it's time for some heavy duty thinking and staring out the window. This may or may not also involve the occasional futzing with stray bits of Basch's hair.
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Around the four-hour mark, Basch starts to fidget a bit in his sleep. His new comfortable position apparently entails leaning his head on Miki's shoulder, and a stewardess bustles by in time to put a light powder-blue blanket over him. To his favor, his snoring when sitting upright is barely a peaceful drone.
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A couple hours later, Miki is woken from a light doze by the featured movie for this portion of the flight, curious, she perks up enough to catch the title. Highlander 2: Renegade Edition you say? Fair enough.
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"Morning," he croaks, obviously a bit disoriented by still being in the air and the time zone shifts that came with it.
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With a light grin, she taps the window, "And for some time, yet." The many and sundry joys of crossing time zones. It is much akin to budget time travel, with much less in the way of trouble.
A different stewardess comes by, presenting them with a menu of food and food-like products. It might be safer to stick with pretzels and coffee, truth be told.
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After the stewardess leaves, he leans over to peer out the port window. There's a landmass beneath them that is speckled with canopy trees and brown brush; to anybody else more familiar with Earth's geography, they could assume this is part of the African continent. As it stands, it gets a small, impressed "hm", and he leans back.
There is then bleary searching about his bag for a book or something like it.
"Been busy with your console?" What've you been up to, Mikkster?
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"Still can't get the bass line to register properly on one, but it's nothing that another set or three in the studio won't fix." If at first you don't succeed, taunt your bassist until he gets it right, dammit.
Ignoring some very rhythmic sounds coming from the steward's quarters up the way, she gestures at a couple of paused videos she has pulled up. "And 've been looking over some of this waltzing business that I need to have down for the classes in the next couple weeks. Looks to be easy enough, but then formal social dances usually work out that way." We'll ignore her fascination with the costuming for the moment.
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"Seems a bit antiquated," he observes, "do you think the wee ones will take to it?"
He glances back to the screen, ready to watch!
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With a click, the movie begins to play, the two players sweeping across the window, upper bodies remaining surprisingly still for all the footwork going on. "Really ought snag someone to get the hang of the syncopation." As the steps are easy enough, but working out how to move with a partner takes a bit of practice.
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"If you're that mad on it, I'd take a hit for the squad... but I've all the coordination of a toad in a sock," he offers, purely a self-mocking sort of statement rather than any real volunteering, and shakes his head a little. Still watching, as physical activity is some keen stuff, though it is a little frou-frou.
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The video cycles through, the two dancers parting ways. Miki's grin gives lie to the fact that she's more than aware of the fact the offer was given at least partially in jest. Pulling out of it is acceptable, though there's like to be teasing.
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Basch is completely quiet, mouth working a tiny bit, the wind taken out of his proverbial sails. This... yeah, he should pretty much stop volunteering for shit around her he didn't want to actually do!
"...aye, for really... really truly." There's a very clear note of 'what the hell have I gotten myself into', just then, and he watches the video with some mild breed of concealed horror.
Saving the world and beating up mecha-angels? Totally doable.
Ballroom dancing? Serious business.
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Closing the window, she moves to ruffle his hair. "Thanks luv." There's a kiss following in the wake of the thanks, a stifled yawn following shortly after.
The captain comes over the intercom, they've reached the half way point, and all sources point to smooth sailing throughout the rest of the journey. Seems as though the next flick is to be something titled Gladiator and that will be starting in the next five minutes.
"If there is anything resembling head-hunting alien immortals in this next show, I may well have to choke something." A common first step of coping with traumatic experiences is rage.
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At first, he can't see the picture -- there are many lines, most of three colors in an eye-searing pattern, running down the flat of the viewing panel. He squints, making an obvious face of displeasure; once the movement starts, however, his eyes pick up on the patterns and eventually lose the lines in favor of perceiving the images on the monitor.
It should be noted this is probably the last time for the duration of the movie that he exudes anything but totally entertained, mystified interest, face leaned on a hand. This is apparently relevant to Basch's interests.
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The ending though, is a satisfying sort of affair, the general at last coming home, after a fashion.
Across the aisle, a man and woman appear to be getting into something of a tiff with each other, whispered insults working their way up into some insults that are both creative and rather audible. There's motions made by their aisle mates for a steward to be called over to get them to cool it the fuck down. Or, as is likely the case, to at least move one of the offedning parties to another seat.
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