Ninjas of Love

All Aboard

She glanced at her scroll to check the time. 07:48. Twelve minutes to spare, she thought to herself with a smirk, Charlie and Yang have gotta be proud of that! She walked up to the dorm door and tried to push the handle down to open it. Alas, the door was locked tighter than a nun's fanny, and no amount of sweaty grunting would allow Emily to force it open. Defeated, she knocked on the door firmly- not quite as much as Nora, but not in any way filled with trepidation- and waited for one of the dorm's inhabitants to answer her percussive call.

It would turn out that her call was answered by none other than Kerian Furry, who was holding the door handle in one hand, and clutching both his weapon and a fresh role of gaffer tape in the other. "Emily's back, guys!" Kerian called to both no-one and everyone simultaneously. "She was gone?" Charlie asked, walking into the living room while still absentmindedly chomping his way through yet another slice of toast, which he'd smothered in cheese spread. "Oh hey there, love. Fancy some toast?" Emily shook her head, which led Charlie to look very concerned. "Please have some toast. I've made so much, and I don't want to let it go to waste. I'm not even taking the piss. Please." Emily's eyes scanned across the room, and she identified six different humans, other than herself. "Is Ruby still in the dining room?"
"Yes." Charlie nodded to emphasise his point.
"Well, there shouldn't be a problem finishing off that toast then." Emily explained as she hobbled over to the sofa.

***

"Come on, gang! We don't want to be late, we're fighting first!" Charlie called out into the room, slightly more chipper than usual. Emily stumbled out of the bedroom at a near-glacial pace, with her larger, metal knee braces wrapped tightly around her chubby, yet still muscular legs- and Electro Velvet strapped securely to her back. "Emily, you aren't walking right. Take the wheelchair." Charlie said, a tinge of pleading in his voice. "No, it'll be fine. I don't want to look weak in front of potential opponents."
"Emily. I wasn't giving you a choice. Get in the fucking wheelchair, before I decide to tie you to it."
"Who's to say I don't like being tied up, Charles?"
"She's right," Yang interrupted the conversation while trying to tie her hair back into some form of frizzy, golden ponytail, "she loves being lashed up and whipped like a piece of meat." Weiss gave Yang a shocked and almost nauseous look as Charlie simply muttered to himself, "More than I needed to know, love."

"Anyway," Blake piped up, placing her bookmark in her latest novel, "shouldn't one of us go get Ruby and then head out to the Amity Arena?"
"Yeah, probably. Anyway, Emily, at least take your cane." Yang answered, trying to continue multiple conversations at once despite her well-known inability to properly focus on even one conversation without going off on some pointless and frivolous tangent (a bit like the author of this book, amirite lads?)

Emily reluctantly grabbed her cane from its position next to her wheelchair by the door, and took it in her right hand. Yang whispered a soft, but husky "good girl" into her ear that just made Emily melt on the inside. Those two words were all it took to get Emily all hot under the collar and wet under the trousers. The eight-strong army of mediocrity and likely abject failure strutted toward the ship that had been arranged to take them to the floating stadium, after they'd all got out the lift that made any groups of more than about three experience a full playthrough of Sardine Simulator 2018. "What is that?!" Emily asked, looking forward- but mostly upward- at the geometrically intricate but messy aircraft with its insanely large top-mounted jet engines.

"This beautiful specimen here," Blake explained informatively and matter-of-factly, "is a Mác Domhnáill, specifically a Mác Domhnáill Parovstelar series. If I had to guess from the engine, it's an 850 or 900 series too. She can't have been cheap. Isn't she just beautiful? I didn't know Beacon had access to such a gorgeous little piece of kit. Not only is she gorgeous, she's not Atlesian either. She's from Vale, at least Mác Domhnáill as a company is. This was likely assembled in rural Mistral, by child slaves. Didn't they do a great job?" Everyone nervously laughed at Blake's sense of humour, which was darker than her raven-black hair. "It's always been a dream of mine to get to ride in a ship as beautiful as she is. I mean, any Parovstelar is a thing of beauty, with its asymmetrical chassis and sleek, aerodynamic design- but a 900 series? It's the perfect combination. The beautiful bastard son of power and beauty, amplifying the best of both to create the best mechanised attempt at perfection. It's not just an incredible aircraft, I'd argue it's a piece of art- a delightful sculpture to be admired as something more than simple transportation."

Charlie placed his lips onto Emily's ear. "I bet you're wishing you hadn't asked her now. Bloody Jeremy Clarkson wannabe." His sister suppressed a laugh as Blake went off on some sort of tangential unimportance about this being the anniversary aircraft of a factory disaster. Who cares? Billy asked himself. The history of Valish shipbuilders does not affect any of the academy classes, nor does it interest me. "Well? Are you kids getting on my ship, or are you just gonna sit here gawking at it like it's the Mona goddamn Lisa?" The pilot himself had a thick accent of some sort, but the gang couldn't place it any closer than Vale. "Getting on, sir!" Blake answered excitedly, practically sprinting onboard and into one of the back three seats. She was joined by the siblings, Charlie and Emily either side of her.

"Is now a good time to mention I get really travelsick?"