Alfred Jones | @wherenevereagleflew 👨🚀
“I think--- I’m getting--- the hang of this---” The chuckle is expelled as more of a wheeze as he tries to catch his breath, the smile etched across his lips broadening further as a wavy strand of dark hair gradually dislodges from the band that’s loosely holding his tresses back, drifting forwards to hover just over his left eye. Nour tries to shake it away with a sideways shimmy of his temple but soon finds the rest beginning to sprawl before him, the persistent motion of his legs and opposing forces against his body resulting in a means of disequilibrium about the man - any sense of normality is tossed out the window from the experience ( & he fully embraces it ). Brown eyes directed straight ahead to a series of luminous numbers, various readings and stats are being extrapolated from the activity, straps strained as they bind him to a COLBERT treadmill within a chamber that almost seems oddly antiquated with the rest of the modern vessel ( & all because he wanted to see how zero G-force felt ).
Reconnaissance - that’s what Al had called this interesting excursion when inviting Nour to tag along, warm eyes having lit up without needing further encouragement, meandering responsibilities instantaneously dropped with an overabundant zeal... that is, until the brunet realised that the trip wouldn’t be like the movies from the 1980s, feet firmly planted on the synthetic ground with toes idly drumming against it as opposed to lifted to float by ( well, at least the view outside was sublime if not life affirming ). “It says my heart’s doing well---” Looking towards the blond who buoyantly drifts past, the man beams with an amused quirk of his brow, fingertips splaying against the centre of his chest to playfully clutch at the inner organ. “No chances of it stopping any time soon.”
