OOM
It was a perfectly average day.
It was a perfectly average street.
There were cars slipping by their parked (and occasionally double parked) brethren and a few kids playing a came in the courtyard between the apartments. It was a little past noon, and a pair of old women trailing behind their poodles looked sideways at the tall man who looked singularly uncomfortable in his perfectly ordinary jeans and his perfectly serviceable t-shirt.
This is a bit... strange, isn't it?
*Trust me.*
As if that's been pleasant.
*No, but always necessary.*
He couldn't argue that.
What am I doing here?
*Just a simple task that needs doing.*
A simple... what kind of task? What does this involve?
*I explained this, Garion. It's really not that hard.*
What part of it involves being here though? It doesn't exactly look like your average battleground.
*How many times do I have to tell you: it's not all about the big clashes or the assassinations or any of that. Sometimes, it's just something that has to go just right.*
And it involves being here.
*Actually, it involves being three feet to your left and one foot back.*
Despite his skepticism, Garion moved to the approximate spot. Nothing happened, however, and he couldn't help the moue of irritation from quirking across his features. One hand reached back to scratch behind his ear and he was about to say something when he looked down.
*There you go.*
He ignored it and grabbed the piece of mail almost too quickly, glad that something finally made sense. Or at least, was turning out like the Voice had said it would.
*Now put it in that mailbox over there. That one. 423.*
Isn't this a little, well... mundane for me? Couldn't you have sent someone else?
*And have you complain that I never give you the easy tasks? Ha.*
He had to concede that if he was going to be dragged to another world (an Earth, unless he missed his guess) to start on this new 'pro-active' approach to keeping the Universe on the right course, it was at least a blessing that he'd been given an exceedingly easy task to start with. It certainly meant that he'd be a little more willing to go out and do it again; granted, he knew the stakes and probably wouldn't refuse, but he'd be a lot less grumpy about it.
He slipped the letter into the slot.
I do have one question, though.
*Which is?*
Who's David Levinson and what's a mit?
*All in good time, Garion. All in good time.*
It was a perfectly average street.
There were cars slipping by their parked (and occasionally double parked) brethren and a few kids playing a came in the courtyard between the apartments. It was a little past noon, and a pair of old women trailing behind their poodles looked sideways at the tall man who looked singularly uncomfortable in his perfectly ordinary jeans and his perfectly serviceable t-shirt.
This is a bit... strange, isn't it?
*Trust me.*
As if that's been pleasant.
*No, but always necessary.*
He couldn't argue that.
What am I doing here?
*Just a simple task that needs doing.*
A simple... what kind of task? What does this involve?
*I explained this, Garion. It's really not that hard.*
What part of it involves being here though? It doesn't exactly look like your average battleground.
*How many times do I have to tell you: it's not all about the big clashes or the assassinations or any of that. Sometimes, it's just something that has to go just right.*
And it involves being here.
*Actually, it involves being three feet to your left and one foot back.*
Despite his skepticism, Garion moved to the approximate spot. Nothing happened, however, and he couldn't help the moue of irritation from quirking across his features. One hand reached back to scratch behind his ear and he was about to say something when he looked down.
*There you go.*
He ignored it and grabbed the piece of mail almost too quickly, glad that something finally made sense. Or at least, was turning out like the Voice had said it would.
*Now put it in that mailbox over there. That one. 423.*
Isn't this a little, well... mundane for me? Couldn't you have sent someone else?
*And have you complain that I never give you the easy tasks? Ha.*
He had to concede that if he was going to be dragged to another world (an Earth, unless he missed his guess) to start on this new 'pro-active' approach to keeping the Universe on the right course, it was at least a blessing that he'd been given an exceedingly easy task to start with. It certainly meant that he'd be a little more willing to go out and do it again; granted, he knew the stakes and probably wouldn't refuse, but he'd be a lot less grumpy about it.
He slipped the letter into the slot.
I do have one question, though.
*Which is?*
Who's David Levinson and what's a mit?
*All in good time, Garion. All in good time.*