Board Thread:Fun and Games Forum/@comment-1524575-20160616204843/@comment-35609040-20160618115726

Khyber got to his feet and barely managed to stride into the old paved path where his Sparrow was left. "It's getting late", he says to his ghost, "We should move on."

"So when I say it, it's pointless, but when you say it, it's godsend."

The Exo hopped over a concrete barrier in the middle of the road, "Welcome to the world, my flying friend. Where", he mounted the Sparrow, "what I say goes, and you try your best to listen." The Ghost recoiled at the sight of the accusatory finger aimed at his eye. "Got it?", asked Khyber. With that, the ghost decipated into non-existance, "At least." Khyber hit the power on the bike and pushed the the throttle forward. In reply the Sparrow revved to life and darted forward. He veers it off the pavement and into the snowy woods. The term for this sort of flying was ususally "suicide", but the trees were just scarce enough that the vehicle could go full speed without worry.

"At least what?", he finally asked. "I don't know", comes the reply. Khyber chuckles, and twistd the Sparrow through a rather tight bit of stones, "Well that's no help." The ghost wend silent for a while, but in such a way that it's easy to tell he was thinking. "Why don't I have a name?", it asks.

"Why do I care?"

"What is in a good name?"

"Letters."

The Sparrow catches some air on a snowy hill.

"What's in a name", the Ghost's voice became vaguely poetic, "That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." Khyber slows the Sparrow down as it approaches a collection of tall stones, "How do you know what roses smell like?". The Ghost says morosely, "I don't"

"Well, Khyber said, "When you're done being a philosophical dreamer with a midlife crisis and are ready to be my Ghost again, just tell me."