Becca Stareyes (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} invoking_urania) wrote,@ 2009-01-04 18:37:00 |
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It Ain't Kansas, But There's No Place Like..., [Dresden Files, Harry, G[
Title: It Ain't Kansas, But There's No Place Like...
Series: Dresden Files
Rating: G
Genre: Vignette
Words: 200
Notes/Warnings: Done for 'the language of cities' for 31_days @LJ
Summary: Harry returns home.
Disclaimer: The Dresden Files copyright Jim Butcher and this derivative work was created without permission.
Like most wizards, I hated travel. Real travel, I mean, not across town to get groceries, even if 'across town' can feel like forever during rush hour. I either had to duck in through the Nevernever, which had its own hazards, take the long way on technology I trusted, or take a chance on something more modern.
I normally took the bus, since like hell I was trusting the Beetle to driving across country to meet up with Ramirez. I'd probably end up marooned in Cornfield, Nebraska, miles from a mechanic that could get it working. In exchange, I get jammed into a too-small seat on a too-full bus for days on end. By the end of it, I was considering lifting my ban on air travel -- at least if the plane fell out of the sky, it would be a quick death.
As I stepped off the bus, easing cramped legs, I took in the surroundings with all senses, feeling the presence of my city outside the terminal. Even without the bus driver calling out our stop, or the signs welcoming me to the Windy City, I could feel I was home.
Title: It Ain't Kansas, But There's No Place Like...
Series: Dresden Files
Rating: G
Genre: Vignette
Words: 200
Notes/Warnings: Done for 'the language of cities' for 31_days @LJ
Summary: Harry returns home.
Disclaimer: The Dresden Files copyright Jim Butcher and this derivative work was created without permission.
Like most wizards, I hated travel. Real travel, I mean, not across town to get groceries, even if 'across town' can feel like forever during rush hour. I either had to duck in through the Nevernever, which had its own hazards, take the long way on technology I trusted, or take a chance on something more modern.
I normally took the bus, since like hell I was trusting the Beetle to driving across country to meet up with Ramirez. I'd probably end up marooned in Cornfield, Nebraska, miles from a mechanic that could get it working. In exchange, I get jammed into a too-small seat on a too-full bus for days on end. By the end of it, I was considering lifting my ban on air travel -- at least if the plane fell out of the sky, it would be a quick death.
As I stepped off the bus, easing cramped legs, I took in the surroundings with all senses, feeling the presence of my city outside the terminal. Even without the bus driver calling out our stop, or the signs welcoming me to the Windy City, I could feel I was home.