Note from Greegrue: Much thanks to those that reviewed. It made the hour I spent trying to bugger around with HTML well worth it. Who would have thought you needed to open with the HTML tag?
Serge's eyes fluttered for a moment. Then, in a rush something akin to a dam bursting, he remembered. Standing on a beach thinking deep thoughts. The wave. Getting pulled in, veritably, a direction he didn't know existed. Again.
And so he opened his eyes, rather than fluttering them like the wings of the nerve-trying seagulls. He was sitting on a comfortable easy chair in the middle of a black void, and in front of him sat a hovering, cross-legged Harle. As soon as she saw his eyes open, she began a chattering tirade that Serge couldn't listen to if he tried. Besides, his current position afforded him an ample view of, as he obtusely put it, the harlequin's goods. He was starting to feel wonderfully auspicious when a gloved hand struck his cheek.
"Serge, mon ami, do not be perverted. I mean, merci, but I am telling you something of utmost importance," so said a slightly bemused Harle. Serge looked slightly dejected but averted his eyes and trained his ears.
"Do you not wonder at all why you're sitting in a floating recliner?" Harle again. Serge looked pensive for a moment, pretending to ponder the question, which was simply a guise-in truth, he was insanely curious as to when he'd be able to eat again. His stomach was growling like a dog. An angry dog.
Harle grimly noted that Serge's train of thought was on a runaway. With something that could be a shrug, she snapped her fingers (which made the sound a snap makes when you're wearing gloves) and Serge passed out again, in the middle of wondering how salt got to be such a prized condiment.
~*+-=/_\^/_\=-+*~Sand. In his mouth. A brief notion wavered over him, which was, of course, a wonderment-why couldn't sand be eaten? Chewing slowly, that question became one of the few to actually be answered. Serge dragged himself to his feet, swearing softly that he always had to fall face first.
He looked at some fish in the ocean, which triggered something akin to an epiphany. He was a fisherman-now the author has another noun to call him by.
The fisherman ambled out of Opassa Beach, a rather smug grin splayed over his countenance.
~*+-=/_\^/_\=-+*~Note from Greegrue: I swear it has a plot. I just haven't thought of it yet.
~*+-=/_\^/_\=-+*~The fisherman poked on along to Arni Village-it seemed as good a destination as any-when an apparition suddenly appeared, right in front of him! Serge let out a small shriek and fumbled backwards.
The ghost, the phantom, the specter gazed at him with soulless eyes. He was a fairly normal looking specter-that is, it looked much like a person with a white sheet draped over their head-and when it spoke, it was that chillingly eerie echoic wailing. "Oooooooh, Serge. Yoooooou must have many questions regarding your presence."
Well, Serge thought about that. He still remembered the final battle with the Time Devourer, still remembered the less-than-tearful goodbyes-'I'll find ya mate...'-but, truth be told, after an adventure like that, he was restless. So no, he didn't really care that he in this other world, and he sure didn't want an explanation. He trusted his serendipity, in the less tangible sense.
The specter stared unmoving while Serge thought. After what seemed like-well, a long time-the fisherman spoke. "Nah...not really. Harle filled me in." It was a glib lie, the specter thought appraisingly. So he nodded and disappeared.
Arni Village was, as is inveterate, quiet and peaceful. A few sea birds bellowed lazily in the fading afternoon sun, the gentle slapping of water on the dock, and the wind blowing through the native trees was all familiar ambience to the fisherman. He wished Radius was here, because old men are invaribly wise, and his 'servant' made good food. As it was, he walked to Leena's house to make his presence known.
~*+-=/_\^/_\=-+*~That night, while sleeping, a huge hurricane struck Arni, without ryhme or reason. Serge managed to escape, though he was despondent over the loss of his pink socks.
So it goes.
Note from Greegrue: That was really horrible, I know. In the next installment I plan for the story to lose all sanity, because that's always a lark. I've already gotten enough reviews to last a lifetime. That doesn't mean you shouldn't do it, though.