Part 2: Radio WDDL
On top of the world. . . .
The Carpenters. Wonderful love songs. Something to wake up to when the clock radio by the bed goes off at six in the a.m. In fact, this morning, Jenny Hall had indeed woken up to it--and promptly shrugged it off. She wasn't in the mood today, for some reason; Cardio had been going on and on for days now, swooning about some stud of a former soldier turned Outcast leader turned hero--some Pistola guy--so love songs, at least today, weren't really her thing right now. She just hadn't had time to change the radio.
Those same lyrics drifted through Jenny's head as she groggily came to her senses. Wherever she was, it was a little hard to breathe--
And don't those clouds look awful close, Jen?
"Friend OKAY!" came a shrill pipe nearby, and Ms. Hall found herself jerking upright--and being, quite literally, on top of the world.
"So this is Atlas. . . ." Granted, the truth was that it was closer to a woozy-headed, swimmy-stomached blaaaaeeeeeehhhh at this height. Jenny Hall never cared for heights. She kept her feet on the ground, pounding the pavement and sidewalks and grass and treadmills and--
"Friend. . . not okay?"
Cold! The frigid shock of Arctic temperatures, the clammy slip of a fishlike flipper down an unsuspecting shoulder, and a shriek from Jenny.
"Waddle sorry! Waddle sorry! Waddle--bad?" The flipper was removed, and a throaty cluck and gurgle escaped the talking penguin, whom Ms. Hall finally, slowly peered over to study, still quivering.
She hesitantly reached a hand over, herself, to return the gesture, patting the mostly black, misplaced fowl on his shoulder.
"W--"
What are you doing, Jen, talking to a penguin on top of a statue the size of the condo you call home?
"Waddle. . . Waddle okay. Waddle better than okay. Waddle good!" She offered. The runner then turned a thumb into her chest. "Jenny. Can Waddle get Jenny. . . umm. . . down?"
A glance stolen over the side of Atlas's globe was a Very Bad Idea on the line of going to a Carnival party or asking Lord Nemesis for simple directions. Down Jen started to flop onto her back, her vision spinning.
Jenny Hall's back never hit the giant sphere.
Wind almost immediately whipped past her face, setting her hair streaming. Three quick, running steps; a scoop of those mighty little arms; and a powerful lurch of leg muscles impossibly strong for a four feet tall bird; and they were airborne, due west, for the Mission Architect building about a block away.
Landing wasn't nearly as rough as Jen expected. A spurt of shimmering, crystalline ice softened the blow and set them gently skidding along the rooftop, whirling about like a child's top or gyroscope, spinning until coming to an easy stop.
"Waddle find door! Door good! Door help friend down safe!"