The Island of Newfoundland (Jeimu/Sal's reality), 3 PM, on a Tuesday:

[fire-in-flight.livejournal.com]

The sky is cloudy and grey, but it doesn't look like rain.

For this, Sal is grateful. She'd brought the giant behemoth of a maroon van out from the garage and was now dutifully vacuuming it. In her three year absence it had acquired a lot of dust, and several small insects littered the floor of the thing.

It was good to be back home - even if it was only for a little while. She wasn't sure how long she'd get to sleep in her old bed, to lounge in her old living room, and cheerfully answer the tourism enquiries of what seemed like a billion and one American tourists (most of whom were coerced into coming to this particular B&B by Jav).

She'd also spent the mornings watching Jeimu's friend Vic brandish a feather duster. He was an interesting character, this one...

Sal rooted around the garage, looking for her garden hose and some car wash soap. They were taking that van to Aubrey's Florida beach house to watch the launch, and she figured it wouldn't hurt for it to at least seem somewhat respectable.

She finally finds the hose and walks around to the side of the house to connect it.

And she shrieks when she notices a shimmery pattern in the air. She trips over a decorative stone and manages to sprawl out in front of the van in time to catch her balance.

"Why do you do this to me at the worst times, b'y?" she said under her breath.