Back in the world of Nur, I’ve decided! Today is a good day for... people watching! But let’s take a closer look, as I’m near-sighted. Closer, closer… there! Lessee here, whosoever shall be our next prey? It’s been but a small wrinkle of the many folds in the elephant of time…next is...!
Pokemon, I choose you! One finger from Oblivion focuses on a glaring boxer wearing red boxing gloves without a ring in sight. The boxer eyes me with a face of resignation, so I quickly decided on advancing. (Hehe, time to spotlight our fav keeper of the plot! The one! The only! BODY-SLAMMING BOXERRR) *RRrrrrrr* *Rrrrrr*.... *rrr*...*rr*? Moving on.
Our body-slamming boxer eyes me warily. They’ve known me well since the beginning, understanding that without a small shove every now and then it would take long to do what oft was started but exponentially slow to finish, with no end in sight. Much of little things seem to take the place of other pebbles, in an obstacle course, that (as we seem to keep mentioning), has no ending of any sort in sight. As the sole reason for the extending of an under-explained narrative and narrator(s), the necessity of this boxer who has taken the role of plot police is undeniable. But also is the fact of their existence. Them being more than but a simple boxer of plots (do they own a plot of land, eh). Who they are, I’d like to more than discover.
Now, if only they’ll let me sneak up on them without...gfff!....a power of over 9000...ahem…
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------09/29/2018
Boxer, body-slamming boxer, box and whisker plot boxer, of these our red-gloved acquaintance is nicknamed among plenty others. If there is a name, ringing true, t’would be shrouded in mystery. Which is why we’re tailing him, huhuhuhu, and why we’re hiding Wink [https://www.royalroadcdn.com/public/smilies/wink.png].
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
While in Nur, having returned from the time our MC was inserted, he returns to a little hut in a forest. The door creaks of wood while his thick tough boots step inside to where three of his arm lengths meant reaching the other end of the hut and out the wooden square that sufficed as a window, never being made to fit glass over it. We’ve snuck closer to peek in the doorway, stepping over nettles, feeling the small clearing sharp with fresh, wild air and hungry pests. Our faces get goosebumps. Sitting on a chair halfway into the hut, turning towards the main entrance, our stalk-ee turns to face us emotionlessly, yet with a powerful stare. Welp. Can’t put a thing past our slamming slammer, I guess. Blamming blammer? Tongue twister, here we go! We feint a quick surrender, heading back to where we started. Not. This is where we go with omniscient view. Or rather, birds’ eye! To the sky, quick! Kukukukuku. Soaring above, over the Oblivion cloud, we look downwards. Thankfully we have zoom-in, and it’s vector, clear as crystal. Puh-lease. Pixels, are trauma.
He leans back, releasing the tightness in his shoulders over the old yet smooth wooden chair (it’s without a personality: I know right, what a surprise), getting a free self-massage that was purely habitual. The gloves laid themselves over a nearby flat surface sufficing as a rock table, although bolted to the wall, and deflated slightly over being laid at rest.
Legs move with diamond calves in powerful suppleness, over a mirror, bringing an occupant. Their host has made a grim expression, though it don’t differ much, especially to their usual of outrage. Everything done with confident deliberateness. Drat, they must know they still got an audience.
Hurrying with an impossible sense, we hear a slam of their door and on our senses which cause our zoom-in to become a ‘zoom-out’. Guess mystery keeps the ‘ship healthy. Well, we’ll see, *smirk* we shalllll seeee! ufufufu. Gkf! They just sensed plot stasis! Gotta run, folks!
Let’s bother them at a later date, shall we? *wink*