(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 )
Stepping out of the way of a pack of tourists, she leans against a room divider, shivering against the cold of the glass. "Not Termina, but it's a term from the merfolk who live 'round and about the islands." And living in a large port town, the languages intermingle all the more quickly.
Going over the particulars again, it does bear noting, "And it's a native term here as well, it seems." Which says something to the make-up on the English language and its habit of roughing up other language and taking their lunch money and syntax.
Canting her head to the side, she looks over, passing curious. It might well be time for an explanation of the interest.
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This is what she remembers flight being like. None of that smoothness brought by magic, but some distinct jerking and, wait for it, the feeling that your stomach is bottoming out and leaving for safer grounds. Tucking some fly-away strands of hair back, she peers out the window, all attention on the rapidly approaching bank of clouds.
As the plane's path evens out to something approaching perpendicular to the ground, she settles back in her seat. Lights come on, indicating that people are free to move about the cabin and one of the stewardesses announces that drink service will begin in about ten minutes.
The estimated time to destination is fifteen hours and twenty six minutes.
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His eyes do open a little bit, though, and he looks at Miki sidelong.
"Did you hear that?"
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