Location: Over Grimm, Indiana -> Airstrip
That's it, Charlie, you've got this. They said you shouldn't get back to work so soon after going cold turkey, but damnit, you've got moxie. Moxie! Yes, this problem is licked, pure and simple. It takes a lot of gumption (and that's a whole lot) to get back behind the stick of an aircraft after shoving a twenty year monkey off your back. Oh, and that was a big monkey, wasn't it? Such a big, hairy monkey named
GIN. Oh, but you beat that monkey with a stick, didn't you? Yeah... monkey. Let's just say that a few more times, okay? Monkey. Monkey, monkey, monkey. Monkey. And it's gone now. It
is gone, right?
Oh sure, it hasn't been but a few days since that last drink and you feel like leftover ass, but that's okay! These are times that you must remain STRONG. Don't let that monkey ride your ass like you're the official welcoming committee gift/temporary girlfriend for Cell Block Six's branch of the Aryan Vanguard! And it will, oh yes. It will. It's already getting out the Motion Lotion and Marvin Gaye albums, lubing itself up and setting the mood for its last big push to get you back, but you're not gonna do it! Oh no, you're gonna fly this plane,
no matter what.
No matter the chills that you've been getting, no matter the horrible, gnawing cold that radiates from your very core, yo will fly this goddamned plane over these United States, carrying your people from Point A to Point B without incident. Oh yes. Never you mind the squirrels that are staring at you from the shadows of the cockpit.
Hold the phone? Okay, the squirrels you can deal with. They're probably not there anyway. Just make sure you stay tight with the horizon, keep your altitude where it's supposed to be, and never you mind the sugar ants crawling up your legs.
Are you serious? Oh, and the wave of nausea hits again. Ok, just find that trash bin again, there's a good fellow. So, you can't throw up any more, can you Charlie? Not to worry! There's still some yellow-brown bile you can dredge up. Wait, quick... that guy Ross is back. Just chill. Maintain. You have to pilot this bird, and you're almost there. Don't let the monkey win.
"Yes, Mr. Ross, sir. Just a little while until we begin our descent." Yeah, there we go! That worked. Now, give yourself a moment to feel bad. This is natural! Part of the process! No, no... NO! Stop slapping those ants away! Now you know they're not really there, don't you? They're a product of
The Monkey! Alright, you're good. You're good...
Squirrels!
Fuckshitgoddamnmotherasswhyaretheyeatingyou? Why? Why are the squirrels chewing your nipples off? And why are you so tired? NO, you've got this, you've got this. You've got...
.
..
...
Okay! You're awake again! Good, good. That was a close one. It's a good thing that huge booming sound woke you up. Was that an engine? That was an engine. Are the geese even flying this high this time of year?
Can they? Oh, you're descending. That makes sense. It make sense that you haven't responded to anything in the last few... what time it it? But the geese. You remember the last time you piloted a small plane through a migratory path, don't you? Yes, it was all
that damn Monkey's fault! If you weren't so caught up under its influence, those geese never would have had to die. And neither would your engine. Is that what happened? Hmm?
You're not feeling too hot, Charlie, I know. But it's almost done. Oh dear, I believe that you've gone and soiled yourself. Well, no matter. And again. Alright, there's no hiding that from Mr. Ross if he pokes his head back in. But why are you so cold now? Why can't you keep your hands from shaking? Why are the
fucking squirrels back again? The staring, the chewing, oh God the chewing. They're not there though, are they? Then why are you fighting them? And why can't you move your arms so much? Damn you, Monkey.
Okay, shit is together, Charlie. There's the airstrip. Just put the plane down. Don't convulse! Don't convulse. Just set the bird on the ground. Just put the bird... no, don't pass out on the stick! You bastard! The Monkey is winning! No! Wake up! Wake up! WAKE U-
The plane made it to the runway, no question. It came in hard, plowing nosefirst into the earth. The front end turned into an accordion, but the main body remained roughly intact, allowing for the survival of the passengers. The pilot was significantly less lucky. If the withdrawal didn't do him in with mortifying, ugly, frothing last few moments, the crash definitely did. He hung on for just long enough for shock to stop his heart, his undergarments filled with unseemly beige foam birthed of delirium.
While the passengers survived, and can escape the wreckage of the plane, the phrase to describe them at present is "Severely Fucked".
Good luck.
Caesar & Keystone
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Location: Justice Airport, Private Hangar
Skills: N/A
Skills: Security Procedures
The words that came out of Maria's mouth were true. So far as family was concerned, the Mexicans and the Irish had certain similarities. Different flavor, definitely, but cultural similarities were abound. The stereotype for violence was strong in both as well. Unfortunately, it was one stereotype that Caesar lived up to.
"Because we are strong, Maria. Sometimes, we need to remind ourselves." He looked around the otherwise vacant hangar. His words seemed to echo back upon him. Three generations of La Familia were in one place, one
unsecured place, and they were not remotely armed enough. Justice, California was a place of death and betrayal. This was not acceptable. Purely for the sake of keeping the conversation light while they were still in relative open, he commented,
"Angelita, you would know - you're both Irish and Mexican, right?" He grabbed up his luggage and began for Keystone's vehicle, but slowly, as to keep his family, extended or otherwise, in his sights.
"My ma was Scottish, Tio.
Carmichael?" from the younger half-Latina, who had just righted her backpack over her shoulder. She gave a playful sneer in Maria's direction in response to the comment abut her metabolism, following it up with, "Jealous?" It wasn't the most fair of comments. Maria was a striking lady for any age, let alone her coming autumn years. But the exchange was enough for Keystone to note that they were, all three, very close if not altogether 100% friendly. They were family. Now, thanks to the baby in his arms, they were
his family. He'd never really had that before, not except for his mother. She was gone, now. To make matters even more real for him, Keystone caught a glance of Caesar. He was apparently back on the clock, as it were. A chill swept up his spine, and he too understood what it meant to fear for the safety of a family. This was not unlike him, but the application of it was new.
"Right then..." he rolled out in his solid Cockney accent.
Caesar grumbled something about Celts in general, unwilling to get into a discussion about the semi-murky cultural differences between Scots and Irish in the United States. Cultural identity was important, as well it should be, but foremost in his concern was getting his people to a site where he had relative control over the surroundings.
"Angel, get the carseat set up in the back and help me with the bags. We need to move. Ahora. Thalia's head snapped over at her uncle, about to say some manner of snappy retort, but the look on his face shut her down. Back to business.
Still cradling little Liam in his arms, Keystone made for his Ramcharger. He carefully inched one hand forward, opening the door without jostling his tiny son. It was a little harder than he had anticipated, being that he was not generally the baby holding type. It would require more practice, without doubt. What he
could do right then was his job. He was a security agent. They were in a junction point where the mode of transportation was being changed - a perfect spot to hit a target, if indeed they were a target. He scoped the entry points, windows, angles of potential attack. He mentally plotted the course back to the Queensguard MSS office, an alternate route of course, and tried like hell to retain his scope of professionalism despite the rising urge to put these people inside of his vehicle personally and cart them away to a cave someplace, preferably with a huge ironbound door and an electrified fence. Except for Caesar. He could take care of himself. Bastard punched him in his head. ...ok fine. Him, too.
Thalia took up the carseat from the baggage rack and gave it a quick jog to Keystone's Dodge. On the way, she passed by Caesar who was still looking more observant than usual, his piercing hazel eyes moving in a way that was not unlike the big Anglo guy carrying Liam. She shot him a quizzical look, asking a question without actually speaking a word.
"No, Sobrina. I just have a feeling. Like when I was still a Federale." He was indeed Mexican National Police once upon a time. It was a horrifying era and a highly corrupt organization. One did not know who to trust. Many died or were never heard from again. The whole situation with Justice reminded him of exactly that scenario, how it was likely going to continue to play out, and the fact that he had more people he cared about in the mix. This would not do.
"Go on, get Liam in and then let's grab our gear. I don't like us being out any more than we have to." Though the words were directed at Thalia, Keystone took them to heart as well, responding,
"Yeah, Boss. Gotcha." He buckled the baby into the carseat and made short work of grabbing and stowing baggage; the Ramcharger was damned good for both seating and storage. It was a good thing too, as he was unaware that he would need accommodations for four (and a half) people. He allowed his hurried need to secure these people and their things to motivate him, and in short order had his vehicle packed and ready to move.
"Let's be off, then. Set up in the Security 'ub back as MSS on the now, figure out the afters, after. Yeah?"
