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Outside Milliways it is a nice day. Mostly blue skies, with just enough cloud to be picturesque. Just enough breeze to be pleasant, with the temperature pretty decent for mid-March.

The peace is spoiled by a loud sound not unlike that of a Black Hawk helicopter.

This would be because an Aerospatiale SA-2 Samson has been pulled from the skies of Pandora for a visit, and the pilot is flying the craft over the lake to land on the grass. It's a smooth landing, the two sets of rotors tilting as Trudy moves the controls, but she's far from pleased.

This fact is fairly audible should anyone approach once she climbs out (the cockpit window/door not moving until the blades have stopped spinning, of course). The normally easy-going and laidback pilot is swearing, fluently and multi-lingually, as she inspects her Samson for any damage (none).

This was not how the Chief Warrant Officer had planned on spending her first day flying again, no sir, it is not.

[ooc: *falls over* I love you all, but my brain is dead, so I'm going to have to call slowtime. Will pick up in the morning!]

tiny!tag: trudy chacon

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After reassuring herself that nothing has been damaged by the inter-dimensional traveling - up to and including the paintwork (the big black 16 on the sides, and the two snarling tiger's heads under the cockpit doors are new, and the latter two Trudy spent a lot of time on) - she takes her helmet off, and stows it the cargo-bay next to the doorgun. It's then she notices Adrian.

"Mornin', Corporal," she says, lifting her hand in what is half a salute and half a wave.

Edited 2010-03-24 02:44 (UTC)

Shephard returns the gesture. "Ma'am," he says. "That, uh... that's your bird, huh?"

Jesus. That looks like someone crammed an Osprey full of steroids and meth at the same time.

Despite how angry she is - and she is angry, with a crackling, caged simmer that makes the tiger painted on the Samson less a symbol and more a warning - Trudy smirks and pats the side of the craft.

"That she is."

"Fuckin' damn." Shephard shakes his head, moving forward to observe more closely- not closely enough to touch, you understand, this thing might very well decide it needs blood and grab some of his. Just... more closely. "Now that's got to be one shit of a ride."

...Adrian really needs to see a Scorpion Gunship if he thinks that the Samsons are bad. Or the Dragon Assault ship.

Chacon just grins at him. "Oh, she is fine, trust me."

Edited 2010-03-24 03:10 (UTC)

Adrian's helicopter was designed to seat two and drop some mines on people and that's it. It's like putting a whippet next to a Rottweiler. He glances up at the rotors, heads around towards the front, and comes back again.

"My hat's off to you, ma'am, it really is," he says. "Ain't no power on Earth or in Heaven could get me behind the stick of one of these, I'd reckon it'd try'n take over from me if I tried."

By the time he comes back, she's leaning against the edge of the cargo bay, hands in her pockets. Then at his comment (and expression), she just laughs.
The sound is closer to a witch's cackle than anything else, and probably doesn't make her words that believable.

"'Ain't that bad, but thank you kindly." Then she sobers. "Theory is, I should just be able to fly back out, yeah?"

Well, people farther up the chain of command are always supposed to laugh at you if you show fear or signs of weakness, that's part of the job even if they're not in your direct chain of command. So that's all right.

"Far as I know, yeah," Shephard says. "Might want to keep an eye out over them mountains in the distance. I been up those things more times'n I c'n count on foot and the fuckers're all completely fuckin' wrong."

"Do they float?"

"No ma'am. They have one side."

"One. Side."

"You go up any one of 'em-" He points at the central mountain. "You git up to the highest point you c'n git your ass over, you make sure you're walkin' with your back to the Bar, you git over the summit goin' in a straight line, I swear to God you gon' find yourself walkin' straight down the goddamn mountain back towards the motherfuckin' Bar and it will be the same goddamn Bar you just walked away from."

"Huh," is Chacon's reaction, her expression turning more speculative than anything else.

"I c'n show you if you want."

"In m'Samson?"

Shit, he walked right into that one.

"You don't mind me bein' sick soon as I git off 'n touch ground, sure, that'll work," he says.

"As you as y'get off? Nope. In the helo, then I'll be pissed," she says, grabbing her helmet and pushing herself up. She walks around to the pilot's side of the cockpit, leans in and pulls a lever, and the other door swings up.

"In you hop," she says, giving him a wicked grin before climbing up and in.

Yeah, he's gonna take the opportunity to offer up the other A. Shepard's prayer: "Lord, please don't let me fuck this up." Then there's nothing for it but to hop on in and look for the safety harness, because here comes the ride.

The nice things about Samsons is that, inside, they are fairly simple - the safety harness is plugged in on the seat.

"Earphones there," Chacon says, flicking switches and shutting the window-doors. The engines grow louder, and then the Samson smoothly lifts off the ground as the twin-rotors tilt this way and that.

"Anythin' else flyin' around out here, or just the fucked up physics I gotta watch out for?"

"Nothin' bigger'n a turkey vulture," Shephard answers as he reaches for the earphones. "Eagle owls at night, that's about it."

It's a much smoother liftoff than the Ospreys ever had. Perhaps any horrible plummety death will be equally smooth. Not that he is going to say anything about that out loud, of course. It's just. You know. A thing.

Chacon's fairly good at avoiding horrible plummety deaths, too. Despite the loudness that comes with flying all types of helicopters, the Samson seems to glide through the air, even as she banks to turn back over the lake and towards the mountains.

"Good t'know. And the wacky-quantum thing kicks in just over the summit?"

Adrian nods. "'Bout the size of it," he says. "Ain't never been in the air 'round here, just on the mountains themselves, but yeah, that's where shit gets weird."

"Anyone else fly in?" She asks, scanning the horizon. Nothing seems out of place, and that in itself strikes her as out of place. But she keeps flying, and keeps being alert.

"Ain't seen it happen yet," says Shephard. "Saw this big glowin' squid thing open the front door, take a look at outer space, 'n close the door. That's as close as I seen to anyone flyin' here. Sky's pretty fuckin' quiet 'round these parts."

"...was that Vergil?"

The Samson flies up to the summit, and Trudy is focused, and waiting, and there is a sudden odd disorientation, as if she went into a gun-roll and came out on the opposite side than the one she was aiming at. Without swearing, Chacon straightens her Samson to find them...

Back where they started, albeit flying away from the summit.

"The fuck?"