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Old 10-19-2002, 11:43 AM   #1
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Join Date: Sep 2002
Location: Bedford, England
Posts: 2,577
Default Round Robin Three (not yet titled)

Leaping was always disorientating for Sam. He was snatched away from the frying pan, immersed in a blue hazed limbo for an unknowable time, and then plunged into the fire of a new situation; totally unprepared and ignorant of even the most basic information, such as the name he should be addressed by.

He was used to it being a dizzy ride, but usually things settled down fairly quickly. This time, the giddiness remained. He found himself panting for breath, and his head swam alarmingly.

A strong salty wind in his face made it hard to focus. He was having trouble keeping his footing; the ground seemed smooth and slippery beneath his feet.

He made a grab for something, anything to steady himself, and realised his hands had been full; something fell out of his right hand, and seemed to fall a very long way. His hand snatched at a thick steel cable.


He closed his eyes and concentrated on steadying his breathing, not daring to move a muscle.

When his pulse rate had returned to almost normal, he slowly dared to raise one eyelid a peek at his location. He immediately closed it again, and gripped the cable tighter, panting again.

?Ohhhh b-b-b-boyy!?

After what seemed an eternity, he realised he could not remain as he was indefinitely, and his strange behaviour was attracting attention. A voice was being carried thinly on the wind:
?Danny, you okay over there??

?Nah-uh? he managed weakly, guessing that he must surely be the Danny in question.

He opened his eyes and tried to find the friendly voice to anchor himself to.

What he saw nearly made him follow the article he had been holding, and made him wish he could have kept his eyes firmly closed; preferably until he woke up.

He was standing on what appeared to be a huge orange cylinder, which angled steeply downward behind him. He dared not follow its contour. His left hand still held a pot of paint in the same hue. The item that had disappeared was presumably the brush his host had been using to apply it.

It was a distinctive shade, properly referred to as orange vermilion, or International orange, if the can were to be believed. It was enough to tell Sam exactly where he was, and wished to God he wasn?t.

A distant fog made the horizon hazy, but there could be no doubting it: Dr Samuel John Beckett was high atop the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco!

Suddenly, a figure appeared alongside him from nowhere and grabbed his arm, nearly making him lose his footing; he jumped so high in his startlement. A metallic rattling made him aware that he was strapped into a harness that was clipped onto the cable handrail, but it felt little comfort to him. His situation was still far too precarious.

?What?d you do that for?? he accused, though in truth he was relieved that he was no longer alone.

?Stop clowning around, Danny, we got a job to do. Where?s your brush??

Sam gulped, and nodded downward, without daring to tip his head to look.

?I-I-I?m s-s-sc-scared of heights!? he announced to the stranger-friend at his side, his eyes moist from wind and fear.

?H-h-help me!?
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