The trip was long. He'd almost forgotten just how long -- especially when babies screamed and the man across the aisle made frequent use of the barf bag. He'd been squished in next to the window next to a portly American couple -- first time visitors to Japan, he'd gathered from their conversation -- who buried themselves in a tourist book and rattled off the pros and cons of visiting each national landmark. Wormmon huddled in the bag next to his feet; Ken kept one foot guarding it against any sudden movements.
From time to time, the American couple attempted to make conversation with him -- halting bits of Japanese they'd learned from their guide book. He'd answered slowly enough for their ears, smiling faintly, but did not reveal his English, maintaining the polite Japanese facade. It was useful now. In spite of their warmth and their eager interest, he had no desire to talk. Instead he stared out the window, chin in his hand, watching clouds and water slide away beneath him as he was pulled, inexorably, by an invisible string towards Japan.
From time to time, the American couple attempted to make conversation with him -- halting bits of Japanese they'd learned from their guide book. He'd answered slowly enough for their ears, smiling faintly, but did not reveal his English, maintaining the polite Japanese facade. It was useful now. In spite of their warmth and their eager interest, he had no desire to talk. Instead he stared out the window, chin in his hand, watching clouds and water slide away beneath him as he was pulled, inexorably, by an invisible string towards Japan.
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