[Oh, dear. Verso thinks better than to laugh at Clive's harried state, scooting a little closer instead to hold his arm for a little extra grounding. Both he and Esquie often forget how new and different and, frankly, terrifying flight can be for the Expeditioners, and neither of them wants to be alone in enjoying themselves, so with his other hand, Verso gently taps Esquie on the shoulder.]
Hey, Esq, why don't you show him how slow you can go instead? That's pretty impressive, too.
[Maybe it's not flashy. Maybe it's just a big ole balloon floating in the middle of the sky as if caught on the gentlest breeze. To Verso, it still feels like a feat of its own. Sort of like when a train brakes while on an incline and doesn't budge. A different kind of power, of strength, of prowess.
"Dawdling through the sky!" Esquie calls out as he slows his pace. Perhaps a little too abruptly; sorry, Clive. At least it's not jarring enough to send him flying. And, once the impact of that sudden transition has faded, the world opens up beneath and around them in new ways, both improbably small and impossibly big.
Leaning in towards Clive, Verso whispers:] Tell him how great he is at being leisurely.
[Then, at normal volume:] It's really something else, huh?
[ It'd been miraculous enough when Mid had installed new engines onto their Expedition's ship before they left for port; once upon a time, the seabreeze hitting his face as they sped across the ocean had felt like the fastest any human could travel, but Esquie easily outpaces the Enterprise by leaps and bounds. Esquie also easily outmaneuvers it, too, with the abrupt stop and the languid hover that he falls into with surprising grace.
The world recomposes itself around them. Or, well－ below them. A long stretch of sugar-white that eventually fades into forest-greens and mountain-browns, winding and etching along coastlines and fault lines. The Battlefield rages in the distance, a scream of red along the horizon; beyond that are turquoise waters, yellow groves and misty valleys, monolithic rocks floating precariously along a broken sky. In the opposite direction is the actual Monolith itself, its bent and blunted outline like a gnarled tombstone marking the edge of the visible world.
Strange, disjointed, and beautiful. For a moment, Clive forgets to breathe... and to tell Esquie that he's very good at being leisurely, which Clive finally relays after an awed wheeze of a laugh. ]
...No one could ever fly as leisurely as you, Esquie. [ "Thank you, mon ami!" ] But, Founder－
－Just look at this place. Not even the fanciful stories we told in Lumière about the Continent come close to the real thing.
[ Splashes of color and ideas, coalesced. Clive doesn't try to get up on his feet (it seems rude to stand on top of someone), but cranes sideways to see the breadth of the world that they inhabit as it crawls slowly by. ]
It's beautiful. Enough for one to forget about Nevrons and wars.
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flamebrand) wrote2024-09-08 02:07 pm
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Hey, Esq, why don't you show him how slow you can go instead? That's pretty impressive, too.
[Maybe it's not flashy. Maybe it's just a big ole balloon floating in the middle of the sky as if caught on the gentlest breeze. To Verso, it still feels like a feat of its own. Sort of like when a train brakes while on an incline and doesn't budge. A different kind of power, of strength, of prowess.
"Dawdling through the sky!" Esquie calls out as he slows his pace. Perhaps a little too abruptly; sorry, Clive. At least it's not jarring enough to send him flying. And, once the impact of that sudden transition has faded, the world opens up beneath and around them in new ways, both improbably small and impossibly big.
Leaning in towards Clive, Verso whispers:] Tell him how great he is at being leisurely.
[Then, at normal volume:] It's really something else, huh?
no subject
The world recomposes itself around them. Or, well－ below them. A long stretch of sugar-white that eventually fades into forest-greens and mountain-browns, winding and etching along coastlines and fault lines. The Battlefield rages in the distance, a scream of red along the horizon; beyond that are turquoise waters, yellow groves and misty valleys, monolithic rocks floating precariously along a broken sky. In the opposite direction is the actual Monolith itself, its bent and blunted outline like a gnarled tombstone marking the edge of the visible world.
Strange, disjointed, and beautiful. For a moment, Clive forgets to breathe... and to tell Esquie that he's very good at being leisurely, which Clive finally relays after an awed wheeze of a laugh. ]
...No one could ever fly as leisurely as you, Esquie. [ "Thank you, mon ami!" ] But, Founder－
－Just look at this place. Not even the fanciful stories we told in Lumière about the Continent come close to the real thing.
[ Splashes of color and ideas, coalesced. Clive doesn't try to get up on his feet (it seems rude to stand on top of someone), but cranes sideways to see the breadth of the world that they inhabit as it crawls slowly by. ]
It's beautiful. Enough for one to forget about Nevrons and wars.