>>5295654>>5295719>>5295830>>5295878>>5295900>>5295904>>5296046>>5296635>>5297173>>5300054…this is either going to be a very good idea, or one that backfires horribly. But with the weight of the Godwin-Barbet’s off your shoulder, your more impulsive inhibitions are finally let loose once more.
“…Gully, c’mere a moment.”
The pilot frowns. “You didn’t break my camera, did you?”
“No, I didn’t. Just…humor me for a second, please.”
Still frowning, she meanders over to your side of the parapet. Completely unprepared for the arm that pulls her flush against you.
Gully yelps. “Hey, what the hell are you-?!”
“Smile for the camera,” you retort wryly, all the while praying that this gambit pays off.
CLICK.
No sooner does the Polaroid spit out a photo does Gully wrench herself out of your grip. Eyes blazing, she demands, “Sinleq, what the hell?!”
“Before you clobber me,” you say, holding both her camera and the still-developing photo in your hands, “…can we wait ninety seconds?”
The glare in her eyes could sear paint off the hull of a ship. But the raised hand that’s about to slap or punch you is withdrawn. She mutters something under her breath, grumbling about impertinent men. Gully leans back against the wall, crossing her arms in an annoyed huff.
…it seems that a stay of execution has been granted.
They say that a picture’s worth a thousand words. But you probably don’t need all of them. Insofar as something taken in the heat of the moment, it doesn’t look too bad. That much you can tell, even as it’s starting to come into focus.
Photo-Gully looks surprised, but not distressed. Her eyes are wide, mouth parted as if to demand an explanation. Only at the last second, just before the flash goes off, her gaze instinctively turns towards the camera.
Photo-Sinleq didn’t know what face to make. Somewhere between impassively indifferent or mildly smug. The grin stops just short of being insufferable – just curved to a reasonable degree. The visage of a harmless prankster, one you haven’t worn in a very long time.
But it isn’t a perfect photo. The sudden motion of getting your fellow pilot into the shot left a slight blur around the edges. The light of the city’s gone and washed out, if not otherwise negated by the flash of the bulb.
Yet it’s still the best one of the evening. And you aren’t tooting your horn – it looks better than the rote landscapes, cityscapes and ant-sized subjects meandering in the streets. To your own satisfaction and relief, Gully seems to think that too. There’s no missing the astonished expression on her face. Or the wonder in her eyes.
Not that it takes too long for it to turn accusatory. “I thought I told you earlier-”
“It’s not a picture of you,” you interject, “It’s a picture of [i:lit]us[/i:lit]. So if you’re gonna hit me, please only do it at half-strength.”
(cont.)
