[center][b] Das the Son of the Achians[/b][/center]
[center][i]”Straight to the moon”[/i][/center]

	Das cocked a brow as he slid into a chair. All that had happened up to this point was a blurred mess. He wasn’t sure who he was with or where he was, but he was there and there had a chair. So he decided to stick with what he did know, and slouched further into the rather uncomfortable wooden chair, flickering it’s wooden finish by an orange candle light.

	The fur vest that warmed his shoulders opened and fell to his sides, revealing his stomach. He started to slap it out of boredom, drumming a beat to rhythmic song of alien make. A dull motivation bite at his mind, the slap of boredom that often accompanies the lack of orientation in a situation. People left, people came, people sat here, people stood there, someone swung something, and another person did that one thing that Das didn’t quite see. 

	Whatever had happened, or was happening seemed to fall ignorant to the elf as he idly tried to figure out what exactly was happening. Deep inside his chest he felt a hollow, and his mind knew that it could mean only one thing, he had just witnessed a post about nothing.

Das slapped his forehead and groaned, why him? There was so much to do and so much to see. Das clenched his teeth and groaned again out of insufferable boredom, and now here he was, in a chair, smack dab in a post about absolutely nothing. 

	The elf shook his fist to the air, “damn the fourth wall, and damn you!”