Is there a hero somewhere / Someone who appears and saves the day
Characters: Wolfram (bumpychampion) and Burn (unprotagonist)
Date/Time: 05.21 - Day, not long after the Tree's 'all clear' is given.
Location: Wilderness - Zanarkand Blitzball Stadium
Rating: PG to PG-13, depending on if/how much headbutting there is.
Summary: Waking up amidst the first wave of Wilderness departures thanks to a little encouragement via Burn, Wolfram takes his first steps out into the sunshine and finds out just why that's a bad idea.
A dream, a reliving of the same blurred moments he had experienced when he was 'born', had its claws in Wolfram's brain. Although the day's sun was still shining bright, he was only midway through what was starting to become his normal sleep schedule. If he had had more hours under his belt, maybe the hustle and bustle of Edensphere's citizens as the all clear was given out would have startled him to consciousness. The fact that everything he had eaten at Disney World was bland and unfulfilling - the downside of a supposed cartoonish paradise? - and each day his hunger made him drag just a little bit more certainly didn't help things, either.
The sleeping arrangements had been a little too indulgent in the amusement park and, as those things often went, Wolfram hadn't realized how good he had it until the 'Blitzball Stadium' had bullied its way into being. There finding a bed seemed to be impossible if someone didn't want to bum it in the bleachers with some of the others. So, with no visible alternative and no will to ask where the pillows might be over the journals, Wolfram had snatched away a chair from one of the snack bars, tucked it against a wall, and did his best to treat it like a recliner. It was far from comfortable, and he was going to wake up achy and stiff the next night, but it was the most he could manage.
When the small mob made there way past him, Wolfram sleeping like the dead he didn't know he was, a small clique of overzealous teens sprinted past him in the midst of a pointless race; to see who was faster, maybe, or better, or cooler, or just who was going to pay the bill for the cheeseburgers they had been craving. Whatever the case, one of these eager youths proved to be a little too daring for his own good. Catching his foot against one of the chair legs at the end of a bad lunge, his weight only managed to nudge it as the rest of his body slapped against the stadium's sleek floors. Strangely, still conked, it didn't so much as stir Wolfram. The teasing, and the 'shut the fuck up, man!'s that followed had little effect, to boot. What it did manage to do, however, was start his body in a slow tilt to the side, his white medical scrubs dragging ever so quietly in a subtle threat of his own impending fall.
Date/Time: 05.21 - Day, not long after the Tree's 'all clear' is given.
Location: Wilderness - Zanarkand Blitzball Stadium
Rating: PG to PG-13, depending on if/how much headbutting there is.
Summary: Waking up amidst the first wave of Wilderness departures thanks to a little encouragement via Burn, Wolfram takes his first steps out into the sunshine and finds out just why that's a bad idea.
A dream, a reliving of the same blurred moments he had experienced when he was 'born', had its claws in Wolfram's brain. Although the day's sun was still shining bright, he was only midway through what was starting to become his normal sleep schedule. If he had had more hours under his belt, maybe the hustle and bustle of Edensphere's citizens as the all clear was given out would have startled him to consciousness. The fact that everything he had eaten at Disney World was bland and unfulfilling - the downside of a supposed cartoonish paradise? - and each day his hunger made him drag just a little bit more certainly didn't help things, either.
The sleeping arrangements had been a little too indulgent in the amusement park and, as those things often went, Wolfram hadn't realized how good he had it until the 'Blitzball Stadium' had bullied its way into being. There finding a bed seemed to be impossible if someone didn't want to bum it in the bleachers with some of the others. So, with no visible alternative and no will to ask where the pillows might be over the journals, Wolfram had snatched away a chair from one of the snack bars, tucked it against a wall, and did his best to treat it like a recliner. It was far from comfortable, and he was going to wake up achy and stiff the next night, but it was the most he could manage.
When the small mob made there way past him, Wolfram sleeping like the dead he didn't know he was, a small clique of overzealous teens sprinted past him in the midst of a pointless race; to see who was faster, maybe, or better, or cooler, or just who was going to pay the bill for the cheeseburgers they had been craving. Whatever the case, one of these eager youths proved to be a little too daring for his own good. Catching his foot against one of the chair legs at the end of a bad lunge, his weight only managed to nudge it as the rest of his body slapped against the stadium's sleek floors. Strangely, still conked, it didn't so much as stir Wolfram. The teasing, and the 'shut the fuck up, man!'s that followed had little effect, to boot. What it did manage to do, however, was start his body in a slow tilt to the side, his white medical scrubs dragging ever so quietly in a subtle threat of his own impending fall.