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Description
Mortimer Scald entered the cafe, slipping his device into the pocket of his large coat.
"As impressive as the belly-dancing is, the Foxtrot would be more appropriate for this kind of music," he said with easy confidence, and took the woman's hand. A few moments later, the belly-dancing (now foxtrotting) beauty noticed that there was something amiss. She stepped away from Mortimer and asked of him:
"What have you done to these people?"
The crowd that had surrouned them had gone perfectly still.
"Nothing. But we're now moving at a speed approaching that of light. Thus, they appear to be frozen. I thought it was a rather neat little trick."
"Alright, smart-arse," she said, cheekily pushing him away from her, and laughing a little at the absurdity of their situation. "How come I can still hear music?"
"You can't. Power of suggestion, old girl."
"I'm not old- I'm twenty-one!"
"Biologically, I'd be inclined to agree with you. Chronologically, you might be anything up to five hundred years old, depending on how fast time passed in your home dimension."
"Is that so?" she said teasingly, "Don't you know its rude to comment on a lady's TTA?"
"You know the terminology, then? TTA: Technical Temporal Age. The standard measure for the passage of time amongst all dimension-faring species."
"I love it when you talk technical."
Mortimer was impressed. In all his long years, he'd never met a Reality Jumper who wasn't scared to see him. This woman seemed to be treating him like a close friend or lover- someone with whom she could confidently joke and expect recipricol good-nature.
"I've been sent to track you down," Mortimer explained. "I'm from the Department for Temporal Stability and Travel." Pause. "It wasn't neccessarily a wise merger of departments, but at least it didn't end up as the Department for Temporal Stability and Agriculture. Or the Department for Agriculture and Temporal Stability..." he shuddered at the idea. "What a ghastly prospect."
"Oh, honey, am I really worth the attention of some big ol' Dimensional Thing? I just like the travel!"
"Your careless dimension hopping has been causing ripples in the fabric of reality. It's potentially dangerous." Mortimer attempted to sound stern, but its almost impossible to that while wearing a crevatte.
"Look, what's your name?" he asked.
"It's Sojourn. I'd give you my phone number, too, but I don't have one."
"Its alright. The Department doesn't need it."
"It wasn't the Deparment I was hoping would try to... take advantage of me..." as she said this, Mortimer realised she was unbuttoning her top. This was, he had to admit, a pleasent surprise.
"Look, he said," as she began to untie his crevatte with her plump yet elegant fingers, "why are you doing this?"
"The dimension hoppin' or this?" By this she apparenlty meant kissing him forcefully on the mouth, because that was precisely what she did next.
"Mostly, 'this'," Mortimer replied.
"I feel like it. But then, I suppose the light-speed thing may be making me a little drunk..."
'Shit!' thought Mortimer- he'd forgotten the effect lightspeed movement had on some people. Quickly, he snapped his fingers and teleported them to a hotel room he had walked over while tracking the woman. There, he slowed them both down to normal speed again, and Sojourn lay panting on the bed as though they really had just made love.
"Thanks..." she said. "For not taking advantage of me that is." She paused. "Hold on a second..." she said blearily. "You can teleport?"

It was a couple of hours later. Mortimer had gone downstairs and booked them into the room properly. The fact that no-one had seen him and his companion enter (what with the teleporting and all) did not seem to be an issue. It was a fairly anarchic hotel at the best of times. Mortimer's inexplicable nature only added to the general atmosphere. Now he and Sojourn sat on the big double bed, talking about the latter's alleged Dimension Jumping. Or rather, Mortimer talked. Sojourn was taking full advantage of the room service, and has already ploughed her way through bags of jam-filled donuts, eight boxes of chocolates, and, because she felt it was important to get her five-a-day, a massive bannana split.
"I really should take you back to the department for processing, you know," said Mortimer, barely paying attention to what he was saying: he was watching Sojourn's belly strain with soft but persistent force against her belt.
"Look at you!" she exclaimed suddenly, licking syrup delicately from one of her fingers. "You can barely think about your job, let alone do it!"
"Yes, sorry," said Mortimer, aware that he must have been staring.
"Oh, relax, sweetie!" Sojourn told him. "I haven't had much of THAT kind of attention since I got to this dimension, and was never that easily offended. Besides, you are quite good-looking. Come here, help me undo my belt, I'm too full to bend over properly, so I may need a little help."
Obliging her, Mortimer unbuckled the belt and marvelled as, without its additional restraint, Sojourn's stomach popped the button on her jeans and flowed forward onto her lap. Mortimer decided there and then, that no matter what else happened- and a lot more was to happen- he would not be taking this woman in.

Description
Mortimer Scald entered the cafe, slipping his device into the pocket of his large coat.
"As impressive as the belly-dancing is, the Foxtrot would be more appropriate for this kind of music," he said with easy confidence, and took the woman's hand. A few moments later, the belly-dancing (now foxtrotting) beauty noticed that there was something amiss. She stepped away from Mortimer and asked of him:
"What have you done to these people?"
The crowd that had surrouned them had gone perfectly still.
"Nothing. But we're now moving at a speed approaching that of light. Thus, they appear to be frozen. I thought it was a rather neat little trick."
"Alright, smart-arse," she said, cheekily pushing him away from her, and laughing a little at the absurdity of their situation. "How come I can still hear music?"
"You can't. Power of suggestion, old girl."
"I'm not old- I'm twenty-one!"
"Biologically, I'd be inclined to agree with you. Chronologically, you might be anything up to five hundred years old, depending on how fast time passed in your home dimension."
"Is that so?" she said teasingly, "Don't you know its rude to comment on a lady's TTA?"
"You know the terminology, then? TTA: Technical Temporal Age. The standard measure for the passage of time amongst all dimension-faring species."
"I love it when you talk technical."
Mortimer was impressed. In all his long years, he'd never met a Reality Jumper who wasn't scared to see him. This woman seemed to be treating him like a close friend or lover- someone with whom she could confidently joke and expect recipricol good-nature.
"I've been sent to track you down," Mortimer explained. "I'm from the Department for Temporal Stability and Travel." Pause. "It wasn't neccessarily a wise merger of departments, but at least it didn't end up as the Department for Temporal Stability and Agriculture. Or the Department for Agriculture and Temporal Stability..." he shuddered at the idea. "What a ghastly prospect."
"Oh, honey, am I really worth the attention of some big ol' Dimensional Thing? I just like the travel!"
"Your careless dimension hopping has been causing ripples in the fabric of reality. It's potentially dangerous." Mortimer attempted to sound stern, but its almost impossible to that while wearing a crevatte.
"Look, what's your name?" he asked.
"It's Sojourn. I'd give you my phone number, too, but I don't have one."
"Its alright. The Department doesn't need it."
"It wasn't the Deparment I was hoping would try to... take advantage of me..." as she said this, Mortimer realised she was unbuttoning her top. This was, he had to admit, a pleasent surprise.
"Look, he said," as she began to untie his crevatte with her plump yet elegant fingers, "why are you doing this?"
"The dimension hoppin' or this?" By this she apparenlty meant kissing him forcefully on the mouth, because that was precisely what she did next.
"Mostly, 'this'," Mortimer replied.
"I feel like it. But then, I suppose the light-speed thing may be making me a little drunk..."
'Shit!' thought Mortimer- he'd forgotten the effect lightspeed movement had on some people. Quickly, he snapped his fingers and teleported them to a hotel room he had walked over while tracking the woman. There, he slowed them both down to normal speed again, and Sojourn lay panting on the bed as though they really had just made love.
"Thanks..." she said. "For not taking advantage of me that is." She paused. "Hold on a second..." she said blearily. "You can teleport?"

It was a couple of hours later. Mortimer had gone downstairs and booked them into the room properly. The fact that no-one had seen him and his companion enter (what with the teleporting and all) did not seem to be an issue. It was a fairly anarchic hotel at the best of times. Mortimer's inexplicable nature only added to the general atmosphere. Now he and Sojourn sat on the big double bed, talking about the latter's alleged Dimension Jumping. Or rather, Mortimer talked. Sojourn was taking full advantage of the room service, and has already ploughed her way through bags of jam-filled donuts, eight boxes of chocolates, and, because she felt it was important to get her five-a-day, a massive bannana split.
"I really should take you back to the department for processing, you know," said Mortimer, barely paying attention to what he was saying: he was watching Sojourn's belly strain with soft but persistent force against her belt.
"Look at you!" she exclaimed suddenly, licking syrup delicately from one of her fingers. "You can barely think about your job, let alone do it!"
"Yes, sorry," said Mortimer, aware that he must have been staring.
"Oh, relax, sweetie!" Sojourn told him. "I haven't had much of THAT kind of attention since I got to this dimension, and was never that easily offended. Besides, you are quite good-looking. Come here, help me undo my belt, I'm too full to bend over properly, so I may need a little help."
Obliging her, Mortimer unbuckled the belt and marvelled as, without its additional restraint, Sojourn's stomach popped the button on her jeans and flowed forward onto her lap. Mortimer decided there and then, that no matter what else happened- and a lot more was to happen- he would not be taking this woman in.