Chapter Text
Scene. A tent in the desert; the sun shimmers through the lining, the cloth flutters in the wind. Two groups of negotiators face each other, everyone is heavily armed; the situation is fraught and unstable. Nobody really dares make a move.
Suddenly, a swishing and crackling is heard, growing ever louder. The negotiators turn their heads upwards, discuss whether they might be in a trap. Some prepare their weapons. Some step back or try other ways to flee.
Then, something crashes down in the sand, tearing a giant, irregular, sooty-at-the-edges hole into the tent. As the fire and smoke dies down, those people who haven’t fled see a round form, dominated by metal and red cloth, in a blackened crater. There is a broadsword attached to that thing, appearing unwieldy in its length and heaviness.
Then, the form moves: a comparably (and comically) small head, red-hooded and white-haired, unrolls from the crouch, and a man stands up, squat and broad-shouldered while slim-hipped, with one bulky prosthetic limb. Still, his head almost brushes the top of the tent. He looks around, appearing to try finding a target for his anger. One of the humans attending makes a move to level his automatic gun at him, but at the glare of the stranger’s pure white eyes, he retreats with a whimper.
A whinny is heard outside; the stranger scoffs and turns around without a word, stomping out into the desert. Only as the people hear the sound of hoofbeats in gallop do they dare to peek outside the tent; the stranger is gone, but he left along his way regular, vaguely oval puddles of smokeless fire in which the sand congeals into glass.