(a story of pictures + excerpts)
That which was meant to be a simple transport of persons and cargo from one base to another became a fight for one's life.
A swift evasion from sudden invaders led to a crumb of a crash landing by the discord of spa...
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There was nothing like a bunch of bros, gals, and other pals bonding and bathing together, and here collected a trio of tiny travelers tending to themselves atop a visceral baseball diamond in a rainstorm. Water droplets pouring down from a waterfall flow, each the size and speed of fastballs, made easy distractions for musing over and, except when needed to rinse, avoid the further reminder of the grander world wielding them all and how things got to this point.
Them all.
Despina, the team's saving grace in getting the Conscience functional again. The troupe's two civilians: the elder Viking-type Armand Maas and the soul-searching, yuppie-esque Sol Varner. The living sports field itself and the rest of him single-handing the others and running the show in his shower, Kolvyr.
Off her best guess, looking through burning eyes from clouds of suds, Despina guessed the cutesy crew was at in a thirty-sixfold downsizing. But in truth, she knew they were technically smaller than that. Six feet for them only appeared like a comparable five centimeters for the towering titans, maybe less with how much longer than average Kolvyr looked, yet she couldn't bear to verify it with a measuring device she knew someone in the household had to have. The colossal pseudo-caretaker cupping them as they all bathe together, along with the rest of his family that came to know the itsy extraterrestrials just as well, meanwhile, seemed never to pay a mind to the differential.
Despite how little some may have felt and all truly were in comparison, they were still people (and a dog) with wants and needs. They needed to get home, but for now, they wanted to get clean.
