Jet engines tore across the Alphia skies, scenery swapped from the upper plateau to a gentle descent onto the Scaican beaches. A smooth landing had the duo on the hard ground without much effort, same exchange, the pilots and air-hostess bid Medusa and Igna a warm goodbye. The black outline carefully taxied to one of the many hangars, most seemed to belong to other, richer families. As ordered, a bike was handed off by a confused-looking driver.
"Express delivery," she added.
"I know," Igna straddled, "-get on in." Medusa flung her long legs over the seat, tightened her grip with Igna's back, and cozily wore a pink helmet.
"Looks good," he said through the mirror.
"Yeah, good for a princess," she added sarcastically.
"Come on, there's no need to be rude. It weirdly befits thee."
