Adjusting the Clock [K] Aug 16, 2017 1:11:51 GMT
Post by darkblade on Aug 16, 2017 1:11:51 GMT
@kEver since Dr. Mikemon made his way back into the Digital World, he felt like he had hit the ground running. It didn't matter how smooth is travels to the Human World and the checkup of that Kudamon went; it didn't change the fact that time went about seven times faster on the other end, and it also didn't help that the Mikemon didn't wear a watch!
It was exactly how he found himself in this predicament. Before heading back to Whitewater, Mikemon had a few errands to run, his trek bringing him out to an alchemist in the depths of the Eastern Timberlands. And it was easy enough to get a Trailmon out to this remote place, and on any ordinary day, it wouldn't be a problem to simply get on a late train and get a nice, long nap in as the mechanical Digimon would roll out to the coast.
But that just wasn't his luck today. Right in front of the station, the cat stood with a bag slung over his back, his free paw clenching over his sinus.In front of him was a sign, scrawled out in Digital Script:Track Closed for Repair.
"... So its the fifteenth. Well, s***." Several miles away from the Stingmon, the cat just shook his head. Yup: every month, around the fifteenth, they had to go and clear up the tracks that got pushed down into the forest's mud, lest the entire vehicle derail and take out a good section of the woods! And it really couldn't be helped: the sky's orange tinge proved it way too late to try and set out by foot, and he wasn't going to find a flier way out here! Muttering to himself, he made his way down to the scant main-street of this isolated city. Maybe he'd find a shed or something-
Something, indeed! Though he didn't expect it, his eyes latched onto a sign, seeing the word 'Inn'. With a shrug, he walked forward, pushing his way in with his free shoulder. To anyone there, he'd look like a tired cat who had just dragged himself out of the woods: the fur was still tinged with twigs, paws caked with dirt, and light scratches over his forearms.
"'Ello?" He called out, looking for a front desk. Did he arrive too late?