milliways_bar | (no subject)

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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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?"

"Dunno, I ain't spoken to-"

Adrian blinks a few times, then slouches in his seat with a face not so much disgruntled as grumpy.

"Yup. That's about right."

"Hang on," she mutters, and banks to try again.

Same thing happens, and she concedes defeat, and heads back over the forest towards the lake.

"No, seriously. The ever-lasting fuck? That's...okay, that's weirder than my freakin' floating mountains

"Hell if I know, and I been to another fuckin' dimension where gravity don't count for much more'n a tin-plated fart," says Shephard sourly. "Ain't nobody been able to explain it to me so far. I gave up tryin'."

He has the vague impression that one of the scientific types might understand, but he'll be damned if he asks Freeman to tell him why the mountains here are weird. Mountains are his territory, not that goddamn egghead's.

Chacon pulls a face.

"Maybe they don't know, either." Her opinion of academics isn't...that high, her respect for the work the Pandoran scientists do notwithstanding.

"Maybe," Shephard agrees. "Dr. Freeman spends more time out shootin' shit'n blowin' stuff the fuck up than he does doin' actual science, far as I can tell. I don't know none of the others enough to bother 'em with it. Don't much matter to me long as the weird shit's always the same weird shit, if you know what I'm sayin'."

Trudy snorts, making them fly down close enough to the lake's surface to kick up water, just because she can.

(she's flying again, and after five months grounded, it feels good)

"I hear ya, Shephard."

It's how she rolls on Pandora.

Not looking out the window. Not looking out the window. Not looking out the window.

"What, uh... what kind of range does this thing git?" he says instead. "My hunter's good for 'bout, mm, twelve hundred nautical miles or so all tanked up."

Trudy Chacon, it should be said, has a pure joy of flying - despite her skill, this joy can make being a passenger 'interesting' at times.

"'Bout...huh, 'bout fifteen hundred."

"Not bad," says Shephard, letting out a breath. "Uh. I ain't distractin' you, am I?"

Distracting pilots is Bad. Really Bad.

She laughs.

"Aw, hell no. This is easy shit."

"Okay," says Shephard. "good. Glad t'hear it."

Oh Jesus they're going to be up here for HOURS aren't they.

"Nothing's flying to try and kill me, the plants aren't attackin' me, no one's shootin' me...easy."

Fortunately for Shephard, Chacon is keeping in mind how much fuel she has, how much she needs to get back to base, and how much she needs to explain if there is too much difference to normal (goddamn fucking accountants). Once they cross the lake, she smoothly sets them down on the grass.

"And thank for flying Air Pandora."

"Y'welcome. 'Scuse me," Shephard mumbles, and lunges out of the helicopter. To his credit, he gets his prayer of gratitude done first, and even finds a small bush.

Nothing against Trudy's piloting skills, you understand. Trudy could be Chesley Sullenberger himself and Adrian would still be doing this.

Chacon is just...going to smirk. And, once she's finished shutting down the Samson, smirk at him.

But in a nice way.

Probably.

"Y'right?"

"'m fine." He wipes his mouth on the back of his arm. "Happens every time, thassall. We all got our little rituals."

Right. If that was done on purpose, then Shephard speaks BBC Standard Received.

Everyone has their quirks - particularly soldiers.

"That we do. My girl be okay if I leave her out here for a bit? Reckon if I wait 'til the sky darkens here, I'll see the sky-door that leads me back."

Yes, Adrian, she was contemplating how to fly home at the same time as flying you. She multitasks like that on occasion.

Gnnnnnn. Yeah, he's not going to think about that part.

"Yeah, she'll be fine," he says. "Nobody 'round here's gon' attack it or nothin', and none of the critters eat metal. She'll be all right."

"Good. In that case...coffee."

"Coffee's good," Shephard says. "Let's go git some."

And not leave the ground.