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Flash bang flash

Flash.

The second flash there had meant to hit Bi-Face, except apparently the universe had different ideas. The third flash was an automatic reaction to suddenly being jerked out of Gotham and into some strange place that's other, and Sparrow doesn't really appreciate that.

"What the heck?"

- see?

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"Nah, haven't seen anybody like that for a while now."

...

"You were totally messing with me, weren't ya?"

Don't you know who this is?

Griffin applauds, slowly.

(He's not the most pleasant person ever, no.)

"What's with the get-up?" As he slides several whistles out of a device on his wrist. The big, masked, bladed fox shrinks into an altogether smaller, less pointy white fox. Where by 'smaller', we mean 'only five foot long.'

"Hey, I didn't choose the outfit," Sparrow says, adjusting the shades.

(They're not just the most stylish part of her get up.they don't just protect her identity. They also have a night setting, a heat detection and a zoom function. But mostly, they're rad.)

"What's wrong with it, anyway?"

"Ask Jo, I'm not a fashion expert." Granted, neither is she, as far as Griffin knows.

OK, there's only one way to respond to that.

"Who's Jo?"

"Short, dark-haired, likes finding food, you probably won't know her."

Sparrow eyes him through the shades and puts her hands on her hips.

"Do you know anything useful?"

"If I did, I'd keep it to myself."

"Well, gee, thanks."

First she gets stuck in the middle of a post-apocalyptic Canada, then she has to deal with the crazy diappearing girls and the buttwads. Sparrow hates this world.

And now she also has to deal with...

...well, it sounds like the demented offspring of a motorcycle and a steam locomotive.

It also sounds like it's approaching rapidly from the northwest.

It is both of those things, in fact.

"That should be Jo now."

Sparrow rocks back on her heels. And then rocks forward again because she has sidekick-syndrome that seems to do horrible things to your achilles tendons. But her thumbs are hooked into her Clawbelt with interest.

SOMETHING WITH AN ENGINE.

Something with a steam engine.

BUT STILL.

Jo rounds the corner, spots Griff, and puts away her Digivice.

She's still a little far for shouted greetings, but Pakamon waves as Josephine crouches over the brass-and-chrome handlebars of her steampunk motorbike.

Griffin waves back.
"I take it you finished categorising different types of canned beans, then?"

You'll have to excuse the gearhead. She's just going to stare

"Don't be a twat, Griff," says Jo amiably. "Who's your friend? Hello. Never seen a clunker like this before?"

It's a source of much ridicule back where she's from, but Hissbang (as she affectionately calls it) has been with her since she was nine and she's grown attached.

"She's not my friend, we just met." Griffin rolls his eyes.

Sparrow shakes her head, dumbly. Then,

"Not steampowered anyway. Cheee, 'clunker's the right word - is it really steam? How's she handle?"

"Yes, it is, and she handles fucking terribly but I like her too much to let her go and get a real bike. Besides, I'm used to it."

"Keeps her warm on those cold, winter nights."

Yeah, Sparrow's not really listening to Griffen anymore.

"Oh boy, though, she's a beaut. I mean, you should see my bike at home, but that's not steam and I don't get to handle her nearly enough..."

She'salmost about to ask for a try.

"Hah."

She stops Hissbang a few feet away and dismounts with a grin, leaving Pakamon curled in the seat.

"Mever thought I'd see someone like her."

"I like engines."

It's true, and something the old man often gives her grief for. not that he doesn't give her grief for a lot of things: that's his way.

"You guys native to this world?"

"You mean this plane? No. Still trying to figure out how we got here."

Well, Jo is.