http://sinfulspeeder.livejournal.com/ (
sinfulspeeder.livejournal.com) wrote in
shatterverse2008-04-24 08:43 pm
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One moment, Edwin is tearing through the steppes...
...and the next, he (and his horse) find themselves in very unfamiliar territory. Huxley pins his ears back and snorts at the sudden flash, rearing slightly, while Edwin fights to remain in the saddle as he looks around. "A storm?" he asks himself, looking up a sky that seems anything but stormy. He starts as his attention goes to the rest of the landscape-it certainly looks dry enough, but this...isn't Euloria.
His horse, meanwhile, recovers quite a bit more quickly and begins to move along at a quick trot, apparently not bothered by the fact that he's trotting on pavement rather dirt. Edwin just hangs on, still staring at his surroundings, particularly at the sign that he passes by as Huxley continues onwards-Snakewater, Montana - Pop. 21,500.
At least, that's what it says underneath the scratch marks covering the population number. Beside the former number, someone's painted 15.
Edwin is fairly certain that isn't a terribly good omen.
...and the next, he (and his horse) find themselves in very unfamiliar territory. Huxley pins his ears back and snorts at the sudden flash, rearing slightly, while Edwin fights to remain in the saddle as he looks around. "A storm?" he asks himself, looking up a sky that seems anything but stormy. He starts as his attention goes to the rest of the landscape-it certainly looks dry enough, but this...isn't Euloria.
His horse, meanwhile, recovers quite a bit more quickly and begins to move along at a quick trot, apparently not bothered by the fact that he's trotting on pavement rather dirt. Edwin just hangs on, still staring at his surroundings, particularly at the sign that he passes by as Huxley continues onwards-Snakewater, Montana - Pop. 21,500.
At least, that's what it says underneath the scratch marks covering the population number. Beside the former number, someone's painted 15.
Edwin is fairly certain that isn't a terribly good omen.
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Thinking is for other people.
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"Quit that," she says, thwapping the back of his head. It's a little like getting smacked in the noggin with a blast from an air cannon (http://www.west.net/~science/acannon.htm).
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Her face goes all distant again.
"Doesn't look like much between here and the Kansas border at the moment."
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Until she gets bored and leaves.
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