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Some complained about their speed, some seemed mostly indifferent to it, and then there was Silje, hooting in glee from her 'seat' atop the roof. She'd planted herself directly above the driver's seat, shouting words of encouragement and pleas of acceleration down at her friend. Most of it came out a muffled mess from the wind, though.

Of course, with the roof not meant to be seating a person — a shame if you asked her, it was only the [i]best [/i]place to feel the wind[i] ever[/i] — Silje'd had to get creative to stay on board. But with Mist at her fingertips, both figuratively and literally, she'd made-do well enough. There was a handle in the metal by her legs, moulded from the roof with fingers made hot by Mist. She'd held onto it for a while, letting the rest of her body swing any way the wind blew. When she'd grown tired of it and her back had ached for a respite, she'd created a wall of Mist behind her to lean against — the most she'd ever used her barrier magic so far.

Now, she'd literally glued her legs to the roof with Mist as the adhesive. It made her bare, usually colourless legs, sticking out from equally colourless shorts, glow a faint, pleasant blue.

Silje tipped her head back and emptied the rest of the can down her throat. Grape soda. Justice had forbidden her from touching alcohol for whatever reason, and considering how foul beer tasted to her, she didn't mind. It just meant she had her own personal stash of drinks that the others wouldn't touch! Not that she [i]minded[/i] sharing her stuff. The shirt she was wearing, long enough to reach her thighs with ease, had been likewise 'borrowed' from one of her friends. She hadn't asked, but she'd also not been told no, and that's what really mattered.

The unfortunate thing about her seating arrangement was that Silje barely heard a thing from the wind. When a conversation broke out over something said in the radio, though, she sure did[i] try[/i] to listen. She caught bits and pieces; a princess, the capital, vacation, kidnapping, offing, and— 

[color=a1e1fd]"A bomb up a[i] dress!"[/i][/color] was the part she honed in on, loud and amused, a grin cracking her face. She wasn't sure how much the others heard from the wind, but she didn't mind talking to just herself, either. Before she'd met the others, before she'd met[i] Kalina,[/i] she'd done that a lot. [color=a1e1fd]"That's such a good idea! Oh, but, hmm, it'd be more efficient to just turn the dress itself into a bomb, I think. Like this!"[/color]

Even with a warning, it happened fast. Silje ran a thumb across the empty soda can in her hands, leaving a streak of red in her finger's wake. A deep, beautiful colour that seemed to seep into the aluminium itself, to bring the entire can into life against the monochrome that surrounded it. She pulled her hand back and tossed it forward with as much strength as she could muster — except, at 70 miles an hour, it was yanked backwards instead, detonating right above the rest of the crew behind her.

Oh. Well, at least she'd made the thing more for demonstrative purposes rather than to harm! 

Silje whipped her head around to catch the last of the explosion, the quickly withering fingers of colour in the air, then let her gaze drop down to her companions. The sheepishness of her smile was ruined by the laugh that almost slipped past it.[color=a1e1fd] "Oopsie!"[/color]
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