Word count: 145 | Completed: Yes | Style: Thoughtful | Fandom: Frida Kahlo

The serene lake reflected a magnificent sunrise, curling the edges of clouds into intricate ripples. It seemed like hours since the peer had collapsed, the blinding light within extinguished by its creator. The silence after the tempest of light and magnetism seemed almost concrete, settling on the water and shore like a blanket of invisible snow.

Then it wasn’t quiet anymore. With an almighty splash, a tiny figure burst from the lakes depths, swearing and ranting at the top of his voice. There was no one save a tone-deaf cormorant flying overhead to hear his colorful language, and as far as the bird was concerned it was merely another human shouting at something. But the glowering figure wasn’t just another human…
Resplendent in six water wings, one either arm and one per actuator, the waterlogged physicist bobbed about on the surface of the water until his head cleared. He had not the slightest clue why he was suspended in the icy liquid, nor indeed what the words he was shouting meant, but it certainly seemed to make him feel better.
“Balloon lolly feck!” he finished, punching at the air for good measure. This was a bad move, as the tenuous buoyancy produced by his water wings was tipped off balance and he began to sink again.

“Vladivostok!” he protested, and began to clumsily swim to shore. Once safely on dry land, he peered at his reflection in the once again calm lake. A large bruise spread across the physicist’s forehead. Had he been a biologist and not a physicist, he would have immediately seen that he had gained a substantial blow to his speech centers [NOTE: I have no idea where the brain’s speech centers are, and if you got knocked on them I’ve no idea what would happen, but this is a comic tie-in fanfiction so cut me some slack!]. But he was a physicist, brilliant and spiffy, with very little knowledge in biology.
“Diminutive polymer box” he groaned, turning to the bright morning sun and hoping that his sodden trench coat would dry without too many unsightly creases. He had no memory of what had happened in the past seven hours, but he did remember one thing: He was meant to be re-creating the power of the Bun for the good of mankind. Gritting his teeth in determination, he stood on his actuators and set out in search for a bakery.

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