+1 Ghost Boy

[schrodingersghost]

True to his usual luck, Danny makes his grand entrance to the Nexus by skidding across the plaza when his attempt to slow down after exiting the portal fails.

He was really starting to hate portals.

With a groan he rolls over and rises back up into the air, stopping to float a few feet above the plaza.

"Oh, great. I have no idea where I am. Again. Could this possibly get any worse?"

He stops and slaps himself on the forehead.

"And... I just jinxed myself. Awesome."

The Fall of Every Sparrow

[rekindledtitan]

It’s a calm cold morning on the outskirts near the Wilds. The aeronautiloids are hibernating in their nests, the odd small creature chirps in the bushes, and the blue grass is hidden by a shallow layer of snowfall. It’s picturesque, and quiet: most of the Nexus visitors prefer the shelter and hot drinks of the built-up streets this time of year. In fact, someone’s counting on that.

There’s a white flash, a split-second burst of horrendous noise. An armed figure drops out of the air backside first, her plate armor in flames, and hits the ground with a low whumph. She rolls over immediately and pushes herself to her knees, swearing- then looks up, over her shoulder. There’s just a second to register the source of the noise above, and then the blazing, half-melted remains of a hoverbike crash down onto her.

It takes a minute before she pushes herself back up, twisting to shove the smoldering wreck off of her with a grunt. The fire on her own armor has gone out at this point, but it's black with chemical ash. Blaze lurches back a step or two and surveys the damage through the half of her helm that isn’t totally destroyed. The nearby snow has melted and begun pooling around the ex-bike, steaming away from the hot metal. Ghost materializes above her shoulder to scan his smoking Guardian, then the bike. Here’s hoping they didn’t land on anything important.

“Think we can salvage it?” Blaze asks him. The tiny floating robot gives her a Look.

Abashed, the Exo Guardian reaches up to try and detach her crumpled helmet, wincing at the pain when something jostles inside. Anyone getting close to help (or spectate) will get her hand lifted in sheepish greeting and a rueful look, the glow of one optic visible through her cracked faceplate.

“Ever had a great idea that you, uh, kinda regretted instantly?”