Weldon sat, precariously perched, on the ledge and waited for the shuttle. He was not concerned by the fact said ledge was on the 27th floor of the Biltmore Hotel. While it was likely to draw considerable attention to sit thusly, he frankly didn’t give a damn.
He was dressed in the same suit, complete with the ludicrous top hat and the thoroughly unnecessary umbrella, he’d been wearing when he’d been dropped off on this odious backwater planet.
It had been a very long two years of service for one who felt himself destined for greater things when he’d enlisted in the Ambassadorial Corps. He wished his superiors had bothered to mention these coarse beings didn’t even realize his species existed let alone have use for diplomatic relations.
So, while he might currently be between assignments he fervently believed wherever they sent him next would have to be an improvement.
This story was written for the Visual Dare weekly flash fiction prompt: between.