[U][B]Mat Ruspanti[/B][/U]

The distance between me and the cold hard ground should approximately be twelve or so metres, if the height of these buildings aren't too dissimilar to those back home. The distance between the edge of the building and my desired landing point is around ... I'm one point six-oh, so about ten of me; sixteen seems like a good enough estimate. Angle of depression is congruent to angle of elevation. Angle of elevation is the inverse tangent of twelve over sixteen. Tan theta is opposite over adjacent. Basic trigonometry. My calculator slips into my hand with ease. You may begrudge me for deciding to attempt these mental calculations with the assistance of machinery, but this calculator is like a lover. It has helped me much over the years. Why should I ignore it, when my heart beckons for its functions?

I also happen to be accelerating rapidly in a negative direction, and for all that I tout myself as an engineering genius, I am not actually fast enough to use the Taylor series for my calculations while mid-air and descending. Not that I would need it when my beloved calculator is here with me. My hand clenches tightly around it as my body continues to fall towards the concrete ground. Fingers quickly tap against well-worn keys, repeating actions done so many times in the past.

[quote]tan−1 (12/16)
36.8698976458[/quote]

Hm, I have it set to degrees today. I thought I had it on radians.

But I digress.

The calculator slips back into my long sleeves.

Air rushes past my face.

You may be wondering why I am bothering to calculate such a number at this time.

The answer's simple. I want to. I want to keep my mind thinking. I want to do mathematics.

I enjoy doing mathematics.

Ah. There's the ground.

I detach a bean bag from my belt. Right side. I don't see it fall. I'm confident in my abilities.

A second later I hear a gigantic bean bag thud against the ground. Rinascimento worked. I hold in a laugh. Of course it did. If I couldn't trust my own power, what could I trust?

I hit the beanbag with a thud.

Ouch. I feel the force shudder through my legs. I should have picked a lower height to fall from.

At least my legs are still around.

And then I spring back up.

A visit to the local hardware store had netted me some springs and the beanbag. It had taken some tinkering, but I had managed to produce an amateur trampoline. Softer than the usual. Which suited me fine because I didn't want sore feet.

Rinascimento was so useful sometimes.

I'm flying over this building. It's high enough for me to see the lamp posts on the street on the other side begin to turn on for the evening. I think that this city is a den of scum and hive and villainy ... no wait I got the reference wrong; it's a hive of scum and ... wait that doesn't sound right ah yes "you will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy". Anyway; Arkhan's a horrible place. But all the lights, the circuitry that runs through the streets and power lines ... it's beautiful. It's sad that people don't know how they work. How the hidden LDRs allow current to flow. To bring energy and light to the world.

And I'm getting off-track again.

They don't see me until the last minute.

I decelerated a lot more gently this time. The ground in front of the Starbucks entrance rushes to meet me. My feet patter against concrete before the assembled group of Butei. I suppose I'm late. Maybe, maybe not. I don't think they expected me.

Brushing back some strands of hair so I can see better, I swivel on one foot, shooting them what my mother calls a "winning smile".

[color=ed145b]"Mes amis!"[/color] I exclaim, my arms opening wide in greeting. [color=ed145b]"C'est un plaisir!"[/color]

On second thought, I hope that they don't shoot me. Kevlar only does so much.