(closed, completed) ---> plot post.
Day Four, midnight, into Day Five.
Oh, what was the whole point of asking the passengers, anyway? As always, everyone was so very fickle! There was no “popular” vote… most called for a better investigation rather than making an easy, quick decision. With all Cid’s glory, he was most known for his rather terrible impatience; while the little kids were maybe (probably) looking for a solid decision-however long that may have taken-Cid was already talking to Grandore, standing tall on the Gion’s shoulder as the whispered the order. With that, the man took off into a window of the Caravan.
How curious, indeed!
It was quite late into the night already, and although everyone must’ve been already sleeping inside the Caravan, there was still a loud warning bell to alert any who may have been wandering outside to hurry aboard. It seemed as if it was… that time again.
Within half an hour, another obnoxious bell rang, and then Grandore, after a thoughtful moment, attempted to haul the Caravan across the river, which ended up being as deep as poor Grandore’s collarbone. …Ah, how there should have been some sort of warning beforehand because the building shook and shook and shook! The rumbling of furniture and chandeliers could be heard quite clearly, and it shouldn’t have been a wonder that the passengers were enjoying the perfect condition for motion and sea-sickness… not to mention the potential injuries.
As much as Grandore would have loved to panic, there was literally no time to! He dragged the Caravan on until the depth the water reached his throat and breathed heavily as he struggled with its weight. If he even wasted a second, the water could easily flood the Caravan and drag it down under… but no matter. With the last of his strength, Grandore moved the building in front of him, lifted it slightly… and then attempted to run. (It felt as if the water was holding him down by the feet!)
Finally, after an awful ten minutes, the Caravan managed to reach the other side of the river, water pouring out of the lower levels’ windows and whatever openings were present. Grandore waited for the Caravan to drain out all the water it had collected, occasionally tilting it at an angle to make sure every drop was out.
Once he felt it was good enough, the Gion continued on with the journey and through the darkness of the plains ahead as if nothing had happened.
…But, oh, what was that increasingly dreadful smell?
Oh, what was the whole point of asking the passengers, anyway? As always, everyone was so very fickle! There was no “popular” vote… most called for a better investigation rather than making an easy, quick decision. With all Cid’s glory, he was most known for his rather terrible impatience; while the little kids were maybe (probably) looking for a solid decision-however long that may have taken-Cid was already talking to Grandore, standing tall on the Gion’s shoulder as the whispered the order. With that, the man took off into a window of the Caravan.
How curious, indeed!
It was quite late into the night already, and although everyone must’ve been already sleeping inside the Caravan, there was still a loud warning bell to alert any who may have been wandering outside to hurry aboard. It seemed as if it was… that time again.
Within half an hour, another obnoxious bell rang, and then Grandore, after a thoughtful moment, attempted to haul the Caravan across the river, which ended up being as deep as poor Grandore’s collarbone. …Ah, how there should have been some sort of warning beforehand because the building shook and shook and shook! The rumbling of furniture and chandeliers could be heard quite clearly, and it shouldn’t have been a wonder that the passengers were enjoying the perfect condition for motion and sea-sickness… not to mention the potential injuries.
As much as Grandore would have loved to panic, there was literally no time to! He dragged the Caravan on until the depth the water reached his throat and breathed heavily as he struggled with its weight. If he even wasted a second, the water could easily flood the Caravan and drag it down under… but no matter. With the last of his strength, Grandore moved the building in front of him, lifted it slightly… and then attempted to run. (It felt as if the water was holding him down by the feet!)
Finally, after an awful ten minutes, the Caravan managed to reach the other side of the river, water pouring out of the lower levels’ windows and whatever openings were present. Grandore waited for the Caravan to drain out all the water it had collected, occasionally tilting it at an angle to make sure every drop was out.
Once he felt it was good enough, the Gion continued on with the journey and through the darkness of the plains ahead as if nothing had happened.
…But, oh, what was that increasingly dreadful smell?