High above the Austrian Alps, Seven Eleven and Kapono Cloudstalker were passing the time on their way to the Desert by playing charades. Several times Seven Eleven nearly plummeted off the side of the carpet to meet a bloody and rather flat death on the ground below, but she figured the gain outweighed the risk. There was no in-flight movie, so boredom was a distinct problem, and besides, she was absolutely sure that should she go overrug, Kapono would save her using the Force.
“An orangutan?” Kapono guessed as Seven Eleven attempted to convey a waitress pouring tea.
“No,” Seven Eleven said irritably, “you have guessed orangutan for every single thing I’ve done and it’s never been right!”
“Which is why I keep guessing it.”
Enraged, Seven Eleven threw down her invisible tea pot and smashed the invisible teacup into a thousand invisible pieces. “I don’t want to play anymore,” she said sullenly, displaying the emotional maturity of a six year old child.
“I could do an orangutan,” Kapono suggested helpfully, only to receive a withering glare. Luckily for him, as Seven Eleven was not versed in the ways of the Force, her look was impotent and neither he nor anything about his person withered.
“Are we there yet?” Seven Eleven whined.
Cloudstalker glanced over the edge, but as all he saw was clouds, he could not answer. “So,” he said instead, in a conversational tone, “How long have you been a secret agent?”
“That’s top secret,” Seven Eleven replied, predictably. “How long have you been a Padawan?”
Young Cloudstalker was more than happy to talk about himself for hours on end, and so he proceeded to do so, telling Seven Eleven all about his fascinating history, complete with sound effects and incredibly true to character vocal renditions of other prominent figures in his life. Seven Eleven found it all terribly interesting, but I don’t particularly agree with her point of view, so rent the Star Wars movies if you care. Only remember that Kapono is South Pacific Islander in origin. Just ’cause.
They enjoyed a pit stop in Istanbul, before continuing on to Paraguay and Argentina. Eventually, Seven Eleven had to ask whether Kapono actually had any idea where the Desert of Even More Unpleasant things was.
“Of course,” he said, in a lofty tone which confirmed Seven Eleven’s suspicion that he was pretty clueless. He waved his hand vaguely toward a pile of clouds. “Thata way.”
“Is not,” Seven Eleven argued. “It’s that way,” she pointed in the opposite direction.
“Well,” sniffed Kapono, “if you knew where it was why didn’t you volunteer to steer the Force carpet? Oh right, you don’t know how to use the Force.”
“Do not mock me. I will smack you upside the head,” Seven Eleven warned.
“I will deflect your hand using the Force before you even raise it,” Kapono mocked. Seven Eleven quietly seethed, which she was good at, and sat down on the carpet with her back to Kapono. She then proceeded to pout in a stormily silent manner, which she was even better at than quietly seething. Kapono, unmanned as he was by her feminine wiles, eventually apologized in his usual stiff and insincere manner, and all was well again. He turned the carpet in the correct direction and they sped off into the sunset, which was odd, because it was morning. Surely, a sign that they were nearing their unpleasant destination.
Next Chapter:
Enticing Fleshy Bits
Elevenses: The Daring Exploits of Agents 1111 and 711 
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