Thomas had never been on a star ship before. He didn't find the experience particularly enjoyable, either, especially when one was dressed in nothing more than a grey robe (decorated with skating penguins, no less), a pair of ratty, plaid pajama bottoms, and giraffe slippers. Sophia looked entirely out of place on his lap, being, as she was, a primped and pampered purebred Persian with a pedigree a mile long, but there was nothing he, or she, could do about it.
His hair could probably do with a bit of a wash as well.
Thomas wasn't exactly sure what he was going to do when he reached Avengaea. He didn't have any money on him (not that a different planet would use the same currency, but perhaps there was a conversion system?), he didn't have a spare scrap of clothing, and he certainly didn't have anything to trade or barter with. Except Sophia, but that was utterly out of the question. More than that, he didn't have a clue what Avengaea was, where it was, or what he'd have to do when he got there. For all he knew, he was shipping himself off to some deserted planet to spend the rest of his days eating space-roaches and hunting wild thing-a-ma-bobs.
Not that he could think very well right now. His brain was pulsing with the first stages of an awful headache and he hadn't gotten any sleep for the last twenty-some hours. His wrists and hands were smarting painfully (all directly the cause of Sophia, who had not been in the least bit happy about being snatched up and shucked out the door by her hind legs. She hadn't taken the 'lift off' particularly well either, and Thomas dreaded the landing.)
All in all, the day hadn't gone very well. And he was very...very...tired....
...
"Excuse me sir."
Thomas mumbled something incoherently and rolled over in his...seat. He blinked his eyes open, feeling rather disoriented, until his gaze landed on the woman standing over him. He must have still been dreaming. The woman had bright yellow skin. He clicked his tongue off the roof of his mouth and tried rolling over again. He felt Sophia slip off his lap and amble into the seat beside him. She was probably giving him a dirty look for squishing her.
"Sir? I'm sorry sir, but you'll have to get off now. We've landed."
Thomas somehow managed to squeeze his eyes open again, Youre yellow, he said. Perhaps not the more courteous thing to say, but it was rather...unusual. Bright yellow people and all that. "And you're hair is white." She didn't look old enough to have white hair.
The woman beamed down at him and helped him out of his seat, handing him his cat with surprising ease; Youre a candidate, aren't you?"
"Hn?" grunted Thomas.
"We're in Nidus Avengaea, the only off worlders come here are potential candidates...or those coming to fly their dragons, she eyed Sophia, You didn't have a dragon with you, so I assumed-"
"Dragons? said Thomas, blinking rapidly. My, the world was rather topsy-turvy this morning, wasn't it? "You mean...big beasts with teeth and wings and the like?"
The woman seemed a little flustered, Well, yes...partially."
"A dragon would be able to chase off a few...intruders, and save someone's cats from a horrible death by starvation, couldn't they?"
"Oh, yes, I'm quite certain of that."
Thomas nodded to himself. Sophia 'meowed in his arms. She wanted down.
"Candidates, they...bond dragons, don't they?"
The woman nodded.
Thomas rubbed his stubbly chin, Where does one go to become a candidate?"
The woman smiled, Id be happy to show you, sir."
He beamed back at her, Thank-you."