Sirius thought of the intimacy that had formed between her and Nine Hundred Days. They attempted carnality every couple of days. His impotency caused it to lead to nothing. She blamed the combination of drugs he used to negotiate each and every day. She liked the shared experience though, and the nudity, and worried little about labeling it.
Wind rose and began to whip around her. The tunnel that once connected them to the terminal moaned and shrieked. The vehicle tilted and a drink cart ground down the aisle and then was slurped up by the tunnel.
The sputtering old man trailing teeth start to slide after.
Sirius and Nine Hundred Days steadied on seats.
The Helitransport righted but the howling wind continued. Nine Hundred Days continued his speech.
Let us join in welcoming a sunrise after long periods of storm. The winds have tried to tear us to pieces but our love and dedication have brought us through. A father is jealous of the youth of his son, just as society is jealous of us. We have built on top of the void, something permanent, a monument to eternity. The redundancy of the world will be shown in a bald light.
Nine Hundred Days thinks of words. Words he spouts all day, and writes in unedited or published manifestos all night, chemicals surging through his veins. He wants to share more than words with Sirius. Silence. Connection.