James Tiberius Kirk (
boldygoing) wrote2017-06-08 09:37 pm
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Road Trip [for losthunter]
It's a beautiful spring day in Riverside, Iowa. The skies are clear and the weather is pleasantly mild, and across the endless fields that stretch out into vast distances, automated farm machinery is hard at work planting corn for the season.
There's no such machinery around the Kirk farm, though someone has bothered to zap away some of the weeds threatening to devour the foundation. The old homestead still sits disturbingly empty, all but abandoned if not for a few small signs that someone has been there recently. One of those signs sits just outside the house, leaning up against his motorbike as he waits for another rider to come join him, a set of riding goggles resting against his forehead.
The motorcycle has clearly seen better days, but it's nothing like twenty-first century bikes. There are no spokes in the wheels, for one thing - indeed, the wheels don't even seem attached by anything visible, held in place by some invisible force. It's keeping itself upright without a kickstand, as well, even though the young man in question is leaning most of his weight against it.
There's no such machinery around the Kirk farm, though someone has bothered to zap away some of the weeds threatening to devour the foundation. The old homestead still sits disturbingly empty, all but abandoned if not for a few small signs that someone has been there recently. One of those signs sits just outside the house, leaning up against his motorbike as he waits for another rider to come join him, a set of riding goggles resting against his forehead.
The motorcycle has clearly seen better days, but it's nothing like twenty-first century bikes. There are no spokes in the wheels, for one thing - indeed, the wheels don't even seem attached by anything visible, held in place by some invisible force. It's keeping itself upright without a kickstand, as well, even though the young man in question is leaning most of his weight against it.
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"And sometimes I wonder, if other versions of me never had a Kendra... what would have happened to them."
"It is never a good train of thought."
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They're almost to the craft store, and it's much larger than the tiny hardware repair shop. A person could spend hours browsing the shelves, stocked with most items an artist might need. Paints, brushes, canvases, several different types of clay, enormous bolts of fabric in dozens of textures and colors, feathers and buttons and beads, upon countless other items.
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"This is amazing."
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"You spoil me."
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