Leape

In which Penn falls in loveeeee...

7

Penn's nose was painfully smashed against the ground. Again. He was, at least, alive, and he was very thankful for that. His finger twitched and he regained consciousness, eyes opening up slowly to take in the dimly lit room.

From his vantage point on the floor, he observed the small room. It was concrete-walled and smelled vaguely of dirt. It was a concrete chamber with a wooden barn-like door that looked misplaced at its entrance. The walls were painted a stark white, and a few lamps were stationed around the room. One or two pictures adorned the wall and a bed sat neatly in the corner, its blue comforter a pop of color in the otherwise colorless room. Moving his head and looking to his other side, the beige carpet scraping against his nose, Penn spotted a burnished bronze panel of buttons and switches which was nestled behind an antique-looking rocking chair, where Lethia sat, scribbling something in a notebook.

Seeming to notice his gaze on her, Lethia finally looked up, giving a smile when she saw Penn. "Finally! You're awake! That took you long enough. It's been, like, twenty-three minutes. And this is one of my favorite worlds."

Penn sat up, a wave of dizziness flooding over him. Rubbing his temples, he looked around the room, trying to orient himself again. He noticed Lethia was in her ninja suit again. "Where exactly... are we?"

Lethia beamed. "A holding cell! So much nicer than Arthurian prisons, by the way, and there's a change of ninja clothes on the bed," she said, talking at a mile a minute.

What... time period is this? Penn wondered to himself, unsteadily getting onto his feet and heading over to the bed, picking up the ninja outfit experimentally. The fabric was dark and Penn almost expected to see a black belt with it, although he saw none.

Immediately, the Narrator's voice piped up in Penn's brain. He had to stifle a groan at her voice. He had recently found that it had grown feminine, to the point where it sounded like a twelve-year-old girl's. Relax! Take some time to chill out here— nothing to worry about!

Penn bit back a snarky comeback. Who even are you!? he asked the Narrator. A laugh ran through his mind.

Don't worry about that, I have valuable information about this time-period-slash-genre. The upbeat sound of the Narrator's voice filled his mind. He waited a minute expectantly, before the Narrator spoke again, Well? Do you want to hear it or not?

He hadn't realized he was expected to answer. Um, yes. If it would quite possibly keep me alive and away from danger, then yes, info would be appreciated.

Penn could imagine a grin spreading across the Narrator's face, if she had one, which he doubted, since, as far as he knew, she was part of his imagination. So! There's no details in the book about what time period this is— there's a book!? —duh, what do you think you were dumped into? Let me finish talking, please. It's steam-punk, and there's sci-fi and weirdos involved.

Penn gave a grunt at the information. At least it was helpful. Sort of. Anything I need to be worried about? For now, at least?

There was a pause as the Narrator seemed to be thinking. Nothing I can... wait, actually, be careful of that lady who's about to come through the door, I don't remember her being in the plot anywhere—

What lady coming through the— the barn-like door opened, and a woman walked through. She looked to be in her younger twenties with her hair piled on top of her head in a ballerina-type bun, a fierce look on her face. Her gaze was commanding, sharp as an eagle's. The only thing that broke the image of an army drill sergeant was the rose gold glasses that rested on her dark face, with their slight pink tint to the lens.