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Sully had taken a personal day, which meant that Emmet had no one on hand to send out on errands. The wombat disliked going into town. It's a long bus ride there—he doesn't have a driver's license—and most of the shops cater to a diurnal clientele. There was also the matter of the unnecessary socialization that day trips always involve.
Even so, the task wasn't going to complete itself. So the crepuscular Emmet shook himself awake from his midday nap (not bothering to change out of his work clothes), chugged a pot of coffee, and headed out.
The "supplies" finally having been gathered, Emmet plopped himself on the bus stop bench. The day was hot. His feet were aching and his back was sore, and he wanted nothing more than to get back to the Burrow, fix himself a nice cup of tea, affix himself to his recliner and pray that no one else required his services that day.
However, as fate had it, there was a fellow who required the services of a wombat.
Mr. "Bill B."—as Emmet interpreted the diminutive gentleman's identity—had apparently traveled to this country from Australia on business. And he indeed looked like a business traveler: he had a disheveled and sleep-deprived look, and wore a suit that seemed just a bit too big on him.
Bill B. was exceptionally outgoing. After he scrambled up onto the bench (utilizing the footstool placed there for smaller species' benefit), he bombarded Emmet with questions. What part of Australia did he hail from? What brought him all the way here? Emmet's replies were hesitant, but that was no matter. "Bill" had his own life story to share, along with pictures of his joeys that he carried with him.
Now, something that may not be immediately apparent is that Emmet is not from Australia. His ancestors were, of course, but Emmet has never set foot there himself. He doesn’t know the difference between a bilby and a billabong. In fact, he’d never heard of a bilby before today.
So have some compassion for the poor wombat. To him, it's as if a very small alien just decided to tell him all about his home planet. He's not about to stand up and lose his spot, so he's restricted himself to monosyllabic responses (if he spoke a full sentence, his "friend" would immediately recognize the mistaken nationality), all the while wondering how far he can lean away without making Mr. B. wonder if he's got a body odor problem.
Sully had taken a personal day, which meant that Emmet had no one on hand to send out on errands. The wombat disliked going into town. It's a long bus ride there—he doesn't have a driver's license—and most of the shops cater to a diurnal clientele. There was also the matter of the unnecessary socialization that day trips always involve.
Even so, the task wasn't going to complete itself. So the crepuscular Emmet shook himself awake from his midday nap (not bothering to change out of his work clothes), chugged a pot of coffee, and headed out.
The "supplies" finally having been gathered, Emmet plopped himself on the bus stop bench. The day was hot. His feet were aching and his back was sore, and he wanted nothing more than to get back to the Burrow, fix himself a nice cup of tea, affix himself to his recliner and pray that no one else required his services that day.
However, as fate had it, there was a fellow who required the services of a wombat.
Mr. "Bill B."—as Emmet interpreted the diminutive gentleman's identity—had apparently traveled to this country from Australia on business. And he indeed looked like a business traveler: he had a disheveled and sleep-deprived look, and wore a suit that seemed just a bit too big on him.
Bill B. was exceptionally outgoing. After he scrambled up onto the bench (utilizing the footstool placed there for smaller species' benefit), he bombarded Emmet with questions. What part of Australia did he hail from? What brought him all the way here? Emmet's replies were hesitant, but that was no matter. "Bill" had his own life story to share, along with pictures of his joeys that he carried with him.
Now, something that may not be immediately apparent is that Emmet is not from Australia. His ancestors were, of course, but Emmet has never set foot there himself. He doesn’t know the difference between a bilby and a billabong. In fact, he’d never heard of a bilby before today.
So have some compassion for the poor wombat. To him, it's as if a very small alien just decided to tell him all about his home planet. He's not about to stand up and lose his spot, so he's restricted himself to monosyllabic responses (if he spoke a full sentence, his "friend" would immediately recognize the mistaken nationality), all the while wondering how far he can lean away without making Mr. B. wonder if he's got a body odor problem.
Category All / All
Species Marsupial (Other)
Gender Male
Size 2048 x 1584px
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