Pilatus

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Jonathan McCord

Cassandra entered the briefing without her usual bravado, but nonetheless kept her unyielding aura of superiority without saying a word. Jon followed behind and stood with arms crossed as the Colonel presented the details of the mission. Occasionally, Cassandra would lean and motion silently to ask him a question about some detail or military jargon she didn’t understand. The briefings, at least the few that Jon had seen, were kind of unusual in military terms. Wayne never laid out exactly what he wanted his people to do, instead he sort of acted like an intel officer and set out the problems, then when the actual commander should have taken over and assigned ops and talked about strategy, the Knights’ just became an open forum which was slightly amazing and disorienting at the same time. Naturally, the strange-talking Raven was the first to pipe up, hardly able to contain himself as if it were a race to see who could get the floor first. Jon wiped a hand over his face.

The briefing continued and though he knew what was coming, he remained stoic. One of the nicer points about the scrapyard, being scrapper himself, was that it was very easy to act natural. Once he’d threatened to shoot a few of Uncle Mack’s crew if they came anywhere near Ossie, they all got along famously. Jon watched the discussion go around the room. Stolid as he was, it was damned hard to contain a guffaw at the thought of handing over discretion of the nuclear warhead to the haughty Lyran woman. He thought Cassandra might have noticed him flinch a little and she smirked. However the idea of a pocket-sized mechwarrior vaporizing all of them with a pocket nuke was not nearly as comical as the talk of “honors of war” and so on. He didn’t care about any of that. Victory would go to whoever could be the most feral bastard still standing. If the “Crimson King” showed him his front plate, he was going to shoot. A Battlemaster had a nice armaglass cockpit as big as a barn. Out to 500 meters it would be damn near like standing right in front of the target. He caught Marit’s glance and winked back at her.

Cassandra again pulled at his shirt and he leaned in to listen as the plans were apparently made by the Knights. From a distance her expression could be seen to lighten and then narrow into a fierce smirk as Jon whispered something back. She again patted him on the shoulder like a loyal pet. Smiling was an unusual tell for her and it was gone in an instant as she spoke up: “I will handle the negotiations with the FPA, Colonel.” She said, her tone was one that easily cut over all others, honed from years of politics and people on Espia and beyond. A company of mercenaries might as well have been a kindergarten class and she was fairly confident a few liked to eat crayons. “I will allow Jonathan and his mech to accompany the Green Knights for this mission, however-” Her face was cooler and businesslike again. This was her element and she did indeed own the place. “While I am disposed with the FPA, he is only to report directly to you Colonel, no one else.”

Jon surveyed the room for a moment, gauging the reactions and keeping quiet. No one had to like Cassandra and it was pretty obvious from what he had seen in his time on world that she had a certain disdain for younger females whether they were in her employ or otherwise. On top of this, for the Knights she also represented the bank and would see them paid if or when this was successful. He had no doubt she had a backup plan. She was definitely that thorough and was one of the smartest people he ever met, whether or not those plans included him was another thing altogether.

AZUL Islands - Drama, Romance, Mystery, Slice of Life

Taryn Rogers

The meeting hadn’t really gone as smooth as she would have liked. The enormity of the stakes had gotten to her. That never happened before and she conceded to herself that she would have to get better at holding her nerve. Still, the deal was done and as she walked along alone now, it was impossible to hide she was absolutely beaming, giddy even. Her smile arced to one side slyly under her hat and she almost wanted to skip. Passersby on Ave Pura Vida seemed to sense this and some smiled back. It was a good day. A really good day. She was a player now. They were going to get on that boat and bring this whole house down.

The boat.

She remembered.

The mayor’s boat wasn’t just going to give them an idea about what happened to Esteban Flores. The navigational computer was likely full of clues to every secret about Azul for the last half century, maybe more. Her mind swimming, she finally had to step aside and leaned against the wall in an alleyway to fan herself at the thought of it. Relief, exhilaration, dread and uncertainty all combined in a rush. She stared up at the sky between sun bleached architecture and the lively sounds of the evening. She couldn’t explain why, but she had to stifle laughter bubbling up like a cauldron. In the heat of the moment with Cori she sort of… neglected to mention it. Oh well. She was entitled to her finder’s fee. For a moment she considered how she was even going to extract anything from the ultra-high end systems of the Flores’ expensive Italian yacht, but decided not to worry about it. There was plenty of time to figure it out. She took a deep breath to compose herself and relax before she started walking again.

Ave Pura Vida, pronounced, ‘Ah-vaye Purah Veedah’ was the main drag of Isla Zafrio, running nearly the length of the island before it divided off into side streets, alleyways and footpaths. The name, a combination of British and Spanish nomenclature, was nonsensical in the native dialogue, but stuck over time as it had a particularly exotic sound when spoken among Westerners and to the locals seemed to make the visitors readily part with their freshly converted Pesos. Being one of the oldest streets on the islands, it was also scarcely wide enough for two small cars to pass so most traffic was either on foot or via small bike or kart and like most Caribbean towns the idea of traffic flow was more of a suggestion than a hard and fast rule. The throng of the late evening shifted and moved no differently than currents passing along boat wakes.

Taryn was accustomed to this and she walked along with her eyes again hidden behind sunglasses, undistracted by happy-hour celebrations or the bright colors of skillfully presented open-air venues painted in elaborate murals depicting Mayan history and life around Azul. In some places even further adornments were being added in preparation for Azul Days and there was no shortage of candlelit effigies or hastily assembled memorials for the late mayor. Differing music and conversation filled the air and occasionally a street vendor would mistake her for a tourist. There was nothing on Ave Pura Vida that she needed. She was just walking to walk and clear her mind, though over her shoulder her beach bag gave her the appearance of a young woman looking to spend. Along the side in crisp, but faded stitching read Palm Royal Yacht Club - Ft Myers. In Azul this meant nothing, but back home, it was a status marker of the most hoity-toity sailing club in Southeast Florida, each bag being handmade from the used sails of past members: state senators, executives, celebrities and philanthropists. It was tradition for suitors to gift the bags to the young women of the club. Though he was long gone, Taryn still liked the bag and it had a distinctive red, white and blue pattern and the edge of a multi-pointed star where the sail had been cut. The worn tag on the inside read simply: Donated by J. Blake. She had no clue who that was, something to do with an early phone company, but it sounded very chic.

She stopped somewhere between Casa de la Contessa and La Casa Del Sol Nasciento, just to look unimpressed with a street stand. Occasionally it was possible to find a suitable trinket she might send back home to her dad, but the man was essentially impossible to shop for, even here. The vendor tried to offer something encouraging in Spanish, but she knew the game and ignored him completely. It crossed her mind to send something cheap to her mother just as a slight, but decided against it as she continued to peruse the various trinkets and wares.

@AndyC

AZUL Islands - Drama, Romance, Mystery, Slice of Life

Taryn Rogers

&

Cordelia Flores

“Hel-lo” Taryn answered in almost a sing-song tone not yet looking up from scrolling her phone. She gave Cori an appraising glance as the redhead approached and her head tilted just a tiny bit as the other woman sat across from her. “How are the Flores today?”

Crossing her ankles Cori gave a nonchalant wave of her hand. “I would expect the term closing ranks could be said for any family dealing with this is a good enough term.” She was a bit taken aback by the straightforward way that question was tossed in. This just got interesting.

“Hmmmm…” She pretended as if she were giving this answer some consideration. A sea breeze from the lagoon wafted the loose strands of hair under her hat. “Does this ‘closing of the ranks’ include you?”

Cori pinned Taryn with a look that was a bit on the frosty side. “I did not realize this was an interview Miss Rogers. I still hold the name for all that I was only married to José for a few months before he was taken from me.” She pushed aside that minor fit of temper and continued; it wasn't Taryn's fault she was being cosseted. “What are you getting at and please be plain about it. You have my interest but do not push it.”

Taryn’s first reaction was to smirk. She couldn’t believe it’d been so easy to get some snark back, but she had to withhold her satisfaction and be careful, she needed Cori or things would get a lot more complicated. “It’s not, I’m just nosey, but anyone can see that there’s something going on with y’all. You didn’t even sit with them at the funeral.” She sat up and her relaxed posture became more focused and less playful. Her heart beat a little harder. “I know about what happened with your husband… and-” She bit her lip a bit, faltering some. She didn’t think she would get nervous. “Look, I saw some stuff before Mayor Fl- Esteban, just suddenly ended up dead and I haven’t told anyone…” Her eyes widened slightly and she steadied her breath as internally she started to realize what could happen if Cori just decided not to go along with her and tell the other Flores. “You’re the only one of that crew I think I can trust so I’m gonna tell you.”

Pausing Cori digested this information. Blowing out a breath she recalled the hurtful way her brother in law patted her hand prior to the funeral and all but stated she was too fragile to attend. She had not been welcomed by the ladies, both the French tart and her sister in law cut glares at her when she attended. What did she owe them? Nothing. She dropped the frosty glare and responded. “Ranks that don't include me don't need to know. You have my word. I'm listening.”

When Taryn saw Cori’s countenance relax it felt like she robbed a bank and got away with it. In her mind she thought she would go in and talk her way around whatever she needed, just like always, but something about the look on Cori’s face when she mentioned her husband finally made it real. The mayor was dead, her husband was dead and these were real people, not a movie or some high school manipulation. She felt stupid, but Pandora’s box was open now… Fortunately, she thought she could trust Cori; that same forlorn glance told her that her assumptions about the other woman were at least correct. She took in a breath and relaxed back some. Her eyes cut over past the palms to ’Donna visible at anchor in her regular spot within the lagoon and she recounted the story of seeing the mayor’s boat leaving to the south in the middle of the night.

“I know it was his boat, because no one else here has a yacht with that hybrid drive. It doesn’t make a sound and I probably wouldn’t have even noticed if I hadn’t been on deck… but it gets worse than that.”

Listening with a morbid fascination Cori held her breath as the same gut twisting sensation she had years ago when José died took her over. She'd been written off as a grief struck widow looking for someone to blame but it felt like it was all happening again. It was too… convenient. Not that Taryn was lying. Cori actually believed her but the timing was too convenient for Esteban’s death. The lack of follow through with an investigation was the next step. This had happened before and she was damned sure not going to relive it again.

Her resolve firmed. She looked Taryn in the eye as she spoke and focused on the words committing them to memory to turn over later. Led Zeppelin wasn't kidding when they said sometimes words have two meanings; she'd dissect this all later. If there wasn't going to be justice for José there would for Esteban. She owed José that much. “Please continue.” Her voice was pitched low so as not to be heard farther than Taryn's ears. The light in her eyes was reminiscent of what one would call a Penance Stare she was so focused on the injustice replaying itself years later.

“What was really shady, y’know other than having all the lights off, which is really unsafe, even for around here …was that someone on board turned off the AIS.” Taryn looked to see if Cori followed the acronym as she spoke, referring to the Automatic Identification System. Being in charge of the marina, she was reasonably sure Cori understood and continued: “And it wasn’t on passive mode either, because I looked, they had it completely off which meant they were not just invisible, but blind to the other boats around them.” She looked up, contemplating again for a moment, but shook her head. “I guess I could have turned my radar on, but it’s not really made for that.” She looked back at Cori unfazed by the woman’s intense concentration. It was easy, because it was actually the truth and she also wouldn’t deny that she liked hearing herself talk. “They would have been out of my range pretty quick and would have definitely noticed me trying to follow them.‘Donna’s not that fast anyway and I can’t sail her by myself in the dark.”

Being the owner of the Marina Cori was able to afford to not ask for money from her parents or accept any from the Flores family. “Of course you can't drive in the dark. And you're correct unless you dropped a cool half a million then Donna had no hope to catch Esteban’s. No offense. I'd rather not have to worry about your hide as well. That's rather odd he'd be flying blind. Anything else? Even the most innocuous thing could help.”

Taryn smirked. The information on the tip of her tongue was so deliciously obvious, but if no one knew what happened, no one would have known to look or ask questions. “After that no one saw him for days so all I had to do was look online and watch his schedule get canceled every day until someone finally just deleted it altogether.” She leaned in over the table and her glance narrowed and her countenance was of a knowing fire. “Someone knew he was dead way before the announcement and I don’t mean by a couple days. I mean by at least a week.”

This was very serious and proved that it wasn't an accident like the family thought; or said. Somehow this went deeper than Cori knew. But she was ready to play detective. “Ceremony was a closed casket. Give you three guesses as to why.” Taryn was sharing with her why not share with Taryn?

“Oh I can do better than a guess.” Taryn’s eyebrows had a flare whenever she had some particularly juicy piece of gossip, but this was even better. “You get me on board that yacht and we can check the GPS log. Even if they tried to wipe it they would have had to fly somebody from Italy to delete it all the way.” She leaned back in her seat and glanced at her nails, her tone changing as if she were commenting on something no more obvious than gravity, “Somehow I doubt your extended family is that thorough though, ‘no offense’.” She thought about it some more and touched a finger to her lips. “I’ve never seen ’em guard that boat either, be pretty interesting if they suddenly started. Might wanna see if your dock codes still work.”

“If they don't then we have a problem. Otherwise I'll get you on that ship. I know Esteban would have left some mementos of José on it. No one questions a still grieving widow who owns the marina.” Cori was starting to appreciate Taryn being a little nosy. Too bad she wasn't around when José died.

Cori leaned back. “When?” She was all in.

She crossed her arms and thought about it, looking around one more time just to be positive no one heard, but there was only empty plastic furniture, palms, and boats in the lagoon. Her lips twitched a bit, back and forth. She had a feeling this was going to be trespassing whether Cori had access or not and If they got caught she might as well pack her bags back for Florida, permanently. “I don’t think we could pull it off this weekend, there’ll just be too many people looking around, but if we wait until Vida de Exito, then everybody will be on the other side of the island. That’ll give some time to snoop around a little bit more too. What do you think?”

Nodding Cori considered Taryn's plan. It had merit and besides that the Flores family would be busy. Meaning there would be less experienced men left to guard the boat and likely a skeleton crew at that. She said as much to Taryn. “The family will be busy and will have a less experienced skeleton crew to deal with. You could be my ‘moral support’ while I gather a few things. You confident that you can get what you need within ten minutes or so?”

It would be a disaster if Cori couldn't keep suspicion off Taryn. And it wasn’t the cops she was worried about but Alejandro. He'd become cagey since Esteban’s disappearance. And the report that she'd been to the boat was far different than if they caught her and Taryn in the act of investigating the logs.

“Some of Alejandro's more experienced men are definitely not gonna let me near that boat,” Taryn answered, a little proud of her infamy. “But if they're all at the ceremony, then there may not be anyone on board… We'll have to play it by ear. If even one of the younger kids tells them I was there and you let me in then they're gonna flip shit- like nuclear meltdown flip, and then they’re gonna come back on you.” She considered it some more. It was probably for the best to wait. It would give them both some time to think more about it and see what the rest of Cori’s in-laws were up to during Azul Days. “Let’s just see if you still have access and we’ll go from there, I’ve never been on a boat like that so…” She gave a very nervous shrug to the ten minute deadline. “I dunno…” She said with an uneasy grimace.

Tapping her nails on the table Cori considered. Taryn was waffling on her own plan. Cori wanted to reach out and shake the girl but her control held the irritation at bay, for now. So close to a solution and now this. “Wear a wig? But yeah I can see if I still have access. Otherwise the whole thing falls apart. And Alejandro can't do more than yell. It's not his boat. If anything it falls to Connie. Who actually likes me. And if you're unrecognizable…”

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Reya Wyatt

Reya was quiet in the briefing and she sat in the back rather than up front like the good student. While she was excited about liberating the rest of the Knights, her care was much more focused and that was primarily for Diego, but her expression throughout the presentation was less expressive than usual and it had grown this way in the time that followed her meeting with the Precentor. What she thought would be a great relief to the Knights and maybe even a cause for some celebration had actually been the complete opposite and the feeling she had when they lifted off from the HPG complex had never gone away, it had just changed and what that meant, she still wasn’t quite sure, only that it was there. No one seemed to want to interact with her at all and not until the briefing had any sort of acknowledgment or appreciation even been offered. Everything distilled down to the look Pop’s gave her when they first got back and spoke of the meeting. It was like she had become marked somehow. Within a few days everyone had that same look. As the Colonel spoke, she absorbed everything effortlessly, but her mind, as it had slowly and more often, every day, started to consider what the Precentor offered.

They didn’t need her, not truly, and the sentiment was always there: Rich girl on adventure. In fairness, that part she had done to herself, but she made the most of it, if there was such a way to look at it; basically becoming Sunny’s mother while tyrants and suicidal maniacs tried to kill her, not to mention going on missions, surviving in a cave and keeping the Knights’ mechs running in top order with basic tools the whole time. She didn’t really consider herself religious, but the Precentor’s words always followed this train of thought- How fate had seemed to continually move her despite the odds. Now the fighting over this mudball felt so trivial. Comstar was so much more and not at all what she thought before. Stop it. A familiar voice chided from the back of her mind. Her countenance remained expressionless despite this, arms crossed and she only shifted in her seat to cross her legs the opposite direction. The Colonel and the Precentor seemed to speak in tandem almost like they were talking over each other. One in front of her and one echoing from her memory. Enough.

The internal debate continued though.

Who were these people even? She could leave now and take Sunny with her. No one knew who she was on Espia. In her shirt pocket was the flower and that would be all she needed. Her hand moved to touch it, just to make sure it was still there, just as she had done many times, but her attention snapped fully to the present as the Colonel mentioned her by name. She ignored the probing glances directed her way as he spoke. With Stiletto there arranging the meeting, she had no doubt Jerard’s influence would be involved. They would get the guns because of Comstar and aside from that, she now wanted to see Stiletto again. Reya had kept the woman’s true allegiance a secret, suspecting it might have been some sort of test however before she could give it much more thought, the entire briefing took an unexpected turn at the Colonel’s pronouncement that he would seek out single combat against the leader of the Crimson Fists.

The uproar was furious, but as soon as he said the words, her mind had already put together a complex equation of logic and emotion that seemed to be simply waiting for the right time. Two pieces that she knew instantly were meant for each other and would answer everything she had felt since all of this started. If the Colonel still would not acquiesce then she accepted her path. As the ruckus of the assembled Knights ebbed for a moment, she stood up and spoke above everyone louder than she ever had: “Colonel Wayne!” Instantly she could feel eyes turning on her. No one had ever heard her speak at more than a polite conversation, but she only looked at the Colonel. “Let me be the one to prepare your mech.”

AZUL Islands - Drama, Romance, Mystery, Slice of Life

Chris MacDonald

Chris killed the power and swung the door open as they approached the dock, stepping out onto the float to uncoil a lead of rope no differently than if they arrived by boat. The traditional shape of the plane made it appear small in the air, but as it calmly drifted its surprising size became apparent as the wing slipped overhead and Chris steadied the craft by the spar and began tying it down. He worked at a steady place with the cleat knot, sensing the welcoming party drawing close and glanced up when he felt steps beneath him. The action nearly caused him to do a double-take. There was a brightly colored extra along with the regular Cardenas clan and another quick glance over his shoulder confirmed it was Jewel. He slowly shook his head in surprise to process this information and cinched the knot a little tighter. Hearing Iris rummaging in the cockpit, he finished with the rope and stepped across the front of the plane to help her out, pausing briefly once more to look over the propeller cone, but his eyes, still shielded behind sunglasses, looked back to Jewel first.

Letting Iris fly had relieved nearly all the tension in the air. She was still beaming and it made helping her get unbuckled and daintily step across the floats to the dock slightly comical. A contingent of Miguel’s marina staff were quickly on hand and Chris moved back across to start unloading. To the trained eye of another aviator this would be unusual as a standard 206 cargo doors were on the starboard side, however, ERA’s 206 had the doors reversed, making coming and going from the dock much easier for plane and pilot. Not that this of course mattered to Miguel Cardenas as he stepped away from the reunion and smoothly approached. Chris reckoned he could have landed a Peterbilt truck and got the same reaction. The man had no interest in aircraft other than as tools that moved things and people from A to B. He spoke with eloquence and wore no glasses so out of respect, Chris took his off to chat with his client eye to eye, again catching Jewel’s glance for a moment long enough he had to refocus on the conversation. The smug undertones of the older man not going unnoticed.

“I didn’t get a big greeting party when I dropped off this morning, though.” Chris replied with a smirk, leaning on the wing spar.

Miguel grinned at the jab. “I’m afraid it would be too costly, you land here so much now. I would have to lay off some people to afford it. Perhaps a discount in exchange for more welcome parties each time you land, no?”

They both laughed. Chris was sure the Cardenas patriarch found it particularly delicious that the air service the Flores set up for Azul was now steadily busy in the employ of their biggest rival. This was business though. Miguel played the aircraft’s schedule smartly, rarely losing an appointment to the terms established by the Flores. Even though the man wasn’t a flyer, Chris was pretty sure he had already worked out the math on how long it took for him to fly to various destinations no differently than how quickly laborers could prune grapes in the vineyard. Behind him, the cargo door swung shut affirmatively and Chris turned, watching closely that the latch was secured. One of the unloaders gave him a nod and a thumbs up that the job was done correctly and Chris nodded thanks before Elena’s invitation shifted his attention back. With one quick glance back at the plane, he felt like a rider about to leave his horse tied outside, though there was no way he was going to turn down coffee. He felt Miguel pat him on the back and started walking.

The group made their way and the dock shifted gently in the water just enough for him to feel a brush of skin against his and he looked over at Jewel as she spoke, before he could answer though, Iris piped in and he snickered a bit at her comment before looking away back across the water where evening was just beginning to settle. Somehow he didn’t think it was the first time Iris had ever said those words. “Geez, I don’t even remember the last time I wore pants,” He said, plucking the khaki shorts he was wearing. It was true though, his wardrobe was essentially the same thing every day: a t-shirt or loose fitting rash guard and white soled sneakers for being around the boats. He looked back at Jewel, partly glad at the jovial tone Iris set. “You must have snuck back over here on the ferry, huh? ” He said, more of a statement than a question and figured she must have wanted to surprise her family for Azul Days. “Are you just in for the festival?”

@Fading Memory
@QueenBea

AZUL Islands - Drama, Romance, Mystery, Slice of Life

@Pilatus Thank you. I’ll work on my character and get a sheet to you tomorrow.

Edit: Discord link no worky.

@Infinite Cosmos

Check your messages.

AZUL Islands - Drama, Romance, Mystery, Slice of Life

Chris MacDonald

Chris gave a nod of confidence seeing Iris take the controls. Her broad smile was infectious and was the kind of reaction that was most satisfying. There was nothing he would let her do that could cause any harm. Just to share a little bit of the art of flight with someone willing to put apprehension aside was one of the best parts of being a pilot. The joy of flying was natural and something so few got to experience apart from the sterile repetition of loading themselves into a bus in the sky. It was tragic. He often considered his belonging in a time and place like Azul where the mystique of man and machine together still existed. “So what we’re gonna do is go ahead and start our descent.” He said, a little instructional in his tone, but relaxed all the same. Smoothly he countered her eastward drift with the rudder and eased the throttle back, the action putting Isla Ramilo back on the nose as the engine’s monstrous torque subsided. The plane’s attitude still wasn’t level, but he continued unbothered: “From where we are now it’s actually pretty easy, but let’s level the wings first.” He wiggled the yoke in his hand gently to get her attention and guide her hands to mimic his instructions.

Giving a passenger a chance at the controls was about the oldest pilot trick in the book, but it worked almost every single time and interestingly he found women tended to take to it more naturally whereas men would grab the column and suddenly feel like they had to be John Glenn. With the ladies there was more appropriate caution and he could see the balance forming in Iris’ glance. A mix of challenge, fear and determination. It was a good look for her and seeing her settle down and not hold a deathgrip, he reached over next to her leg and trimmed the controls again to give her more response. “Doing fine,” He said, watching the horizon of blue water settle evenly. ”Don’t worry about the rudder pedals or the throttle, I’ll handle those.” He pointed to the vertical speed indicator, not expecting her to follow, but more as a reassurance he was paying close attention. “We’re already descending at a steady rate,” He continued. “All you need to do is keep the island inside the prop disc and we’ll be right where we need to be, so keep your wings level and aim the nose towards the island. Once we get around five-hundred feet, I’ll take over.”

They came in over Playa Diamante just before the altimeter ticked under five-hundred ASL. Chris watched Iris’ wrapt expression and the odd twitch of her nose that seemed to follow intense concentration before he broke the trance and took the controls back. She looked both disappointed and relieved. “Not bad.” He said, looking over the nose as Isla Ramilo now moved underneath them. The shape of the island curved away and they were over the natural lagoon. A few boats sat calmly at anchor and he caught a glimpse of their shadow passing over the neatly rowed fields of the Cardenas Winery. From there his eyes looked up for three flags atop the main house of the hacienda he used to judge the wind before glancing back down at the boathouse coming up on his left. They came by low and leveled off again. Chris craned his neck a bit, seeing no one. Miguel’s marina staff were likely still on siesta he thought, turning his wrist to check the time, however he knew the sound of his prop would quickly rouse them. “ We’ll do a quick circuit and make sure the lane is clear, we don’t wanna run over a swimmer.” He joked.

Gentle waves were visible rippling under the evening sun and the clear water was no more disturbed than a bathtub. Chris glanced at his watch again and pointed over the engine to a regal looking estate, just on the edge of waterfront Puro Parque. “There’s an old lady that lives in that house right there past the jetty,” He said with a smirk. “And she absolutely hates this airplane.”

Azul had no ATC of any kind and other aircraft were rare, but he still scanned the area as they zipped by the house close enough it was easy to make out the irate resident down below shaking her fist next to a swimming pool before the portside float came up and he banked into a lazy upward turn that trimmed off the excess speed. As they ascended there was enough attitude in the wing to feel the pull of gravity and look down Iris’ window to see nothing but varying shades of candy blue water across the lagoon. They climbed and cut a sharp picture as the plane stood smartly on its side, gently carrying through the arc of the turn. As the nose came down they were pointed back parallel to the dock and Chris’ movements became more purposeful as he lined up just past a single buoy that denoted his “runway” for Isla Ramilo. It was clear. He permitted himself a tiny grin of satisfaction at his handiwork. Hemingway wrote books, Michael Jordan played basketball and Chris MacDonald flew airplanes. It was that simple. One hand reached down again to drop the flaps and turn on the hazard lights. A gentle flair and the floats kissed the water, skimming over the top like a skier as they crossed back in front of the marina.

@Fading Memory

AZUL Islands - Drama, Romance, Mystery, Slice of Life

I noticed some familiar names here. Alas, I was a bit late to the party. I will keep my eyes on this as it goes though unless yall can squeeze another character in.

Happy RP-ing~

@Infinite Cosmos

The tribal council has determined that we will allow one more so go for it.

approval

AZUL Islands - Drama, Romance, Mystery, Slice of Life

Taryn Rogers

She overheard it a few times. the old-timers, Americans of course, remarked amidst chuckles that the image of Taryn being chauffeured around Isla Zafrio whether on the water by dinghy or on land by cart, sitting with her usual proper posture was reminiscent of some boomer flick, Driving Miss Daisy. She had never seen the movie and was only vaguely familiar. It was true, she did prefer not to drive around the islands, however that was simply being practical, particularly when she had no other crew onboard. Apparently though, something to do with her favorite straw hat and her rich accent really set it off and this was a regular point of comedy at her expense. In response, she bought an even bigger hat, bordering on ridiculous, though still not anything she didn’t believe she could pull off and today her genteel countenance was even more upright; more striking than usual. Today she had a plan. Some might even call it a scheme. She smirked a little bit at the thought and held the brim of the hat over the angle of the evening sun as the dinghy angled happily over the calm waters of the lagoon. They might think her Miss Daisy, but she could give them Scarlett O’Hara. The small craft slid up easily on the soft beach and she daintily hopped over the side, thanking her driver in English. Fiddly-dee. She thought to herself and strode up the beach.

The sand was still hot underfoot, but it was a short walk into the canopy of palm trees that shaded Pat’s Bar. She stepped past a few sparse remnants from another lazy day: blankets, coolers and a couple deck chairs, most occupied by Pat’s regulars that were easily twice her age, minimum. The urge to scoff was right beneath the unamused glance she wore behind large-framed sunglasses and was her usual expression whenever she had anything to do with the bar. Still being an American citizen, Pat’s made her presence something of an enigma. On paper, she was more American than anyone in there and it was a matter of fact that she liked to remind them; making her feel superior to mock those that had, as she called it, “pulled the ripcord” on America. She had about a dozen or so pointed jabs that they found about as amusing as she did being called, “Miss Daisy”. As she stepped through the corridor, music played softly from weathered speakers and the scent of American-styled grilled food truly did smell fantastic. They could at least cook, though her lip curled a bit at the sound of Stevie Nicks' raspy voice. These people would listen to the same fifty songs until they croaked. She found the bar unattended, which wasn’t unusual. No one really “worked” at Pat’s.

“Oh, hi Taryn…” A voice welcomed, stepping from behind a bamboo partition.

“Hello,” Taryn replied, cordially enough and somewhat disarmed. She recognized the calm and cheerful voice of Dana MacDonald as she slid her sunglasses away. Like Taryn, she was only wearing a tank top and shorts. Everyone’s clothing was in some way beaten or faded by the ever-present blast of the sun.

“Nice hat.” Dana said with a smile somewhere between knowing the joke on both sides and being welcoming all at once. The woman was genuinely too nice and Taryn felt herself having to relax. She wished she had a mother with as much simple class.

“Thank you… is Cori here?” Taryn asked, getting to the point. She could see the slight look of surprise come across the other woman. Cordelia “Cori” Flores was one of the few dual citizens, but a Flores first and not exactly a regular patron for any reason.

“Haven’t seen her,” Dana replied with a shrug. “Can I get you something?”

“Just cerveza,” Taryn said, looking around. “I’ll sit out back and wait for her.”

Dana pulled a bottle of Sol from an icebox behind the counter. “Are you gonna come sing with the band this weekend?” She asked casually. The bottle top came away with a quick hiss and she slid it across the worn hardwood.

“I don’t think so.” Taryn snorted, taking a sip and pretending to be unfazed by the question. It was often asked.

“It would be more fun if you’re there,” Dana added with a hopeful smile. “The men will appreciate it a lot.” She pulled a bottle out for herself, shaking her head at the thought of the yet unnamed assemblage they called a band.“God knows, they really need a good alto…”

“I’m not singin’ in your hootenanny, Dana.” It was the nicest tone she could manage, like someone turning down a religious tract.

“It makes them feel young again…” The older woman added gently.

“I bet it does.”

“You’ll understand one day…” Dana said with an easy confidence, but let the words trail off, sensing there was no more ground to be gained this time. She did seem to truly care and wanted everyone to get along. Taryn thought she had designs for her son, the pilot, but the chances of that happening were about the same as pigs flying alongside their precious airplane. Taryn gave a polite smile with a shrug and moved back outside to a table in the shade.

@Almalthia

AZUL Islands - Drama, Romance, Mystery, Slice of Life

Chris MacDonald

The flight from Cancun International to Azul was a little over half an hour at cruising speed. Chris had flown it so many times he was reasonably confident he could do it blindfolded and include the water landing at Isla Zafrio just for thrills. Under thirty minutes was possible if he pushed it, but there was never any need and the climb up to thinner air at high altitude was hard on the turbine. No one on the islands was in that big of a hurry. This was an off day though. Normally he flew up every Tuesday and Thursday, loaded the mail run and if passenger service was busy, he might even make two trips. Wednesdays were usually a jaunt over to Belize City where he’d already picked up some survey equipment and dropped it back at Isla Ramilo. Now what would technically be a chartered flight and his third international border for the day was for the same customer, Miguel Cardnas, picking up one passenger and her assortment of luggage and gear that filled out his useful weight limit. In aviation accounting, it was a big score, but the Cardenas paid without reservation. Chris mused a little at the thought, glancing at the instruments in the exact same rhythm he did multiple times, nearly every day: fuel, speed, heading, and so on ending with an eye on the delicate temperature of the internals. Such was his feel on the yoke, the motion of the plane beneath him and the furious hum of the prop that he knew what they would read even before looking.

Decades ago, the Flores set up the MacDonald’s and Era to be Azul’s only aviation service and there was fair partiality there. The Flores would always get priority, but he could feel those days coming to an end even before recent events. The Cardenas could keep the prop turning just as much as anyone else and all the islands could sense their growing momentum in the business of Azul. The equipment he’d picked up earlier was for the winery and it was becoming more common for Miguel to fill out large blocks of the aircraft’s schedule with complex parts for the distilleries or even simple filters for the equipment that worked the land. The ability to get resources to the islands, sometimes on the same day, was indispensable and Chris rather liked the variety over the standard routes his dad worked out with Esteban Flores years prior. He’d been to Panama, the Dominican, Mexico City and once to Havana and these weren’t pickups, they were deliveries, exports. No one else within Azul was involved in this level of commerce outside of tourism. His current passenger wasn’t quite so exotic though, dressed about as casually as anyone else flying out of the US, meaning only a few steps past looking like they just got out of bed. She was easy enough on the eyes though and started off quiet, however she seemed to overcome any anxiety about the time he turned the nose south. There was a little relief when the handoff came from Cancun departure to Merida control and she had to pause so he could talk back to ATC.

The horizon beyond the nose was nothing but blue water and gentle evening-gray cloud for the moment. Isla Ramilo would come into view first and the Mexican coastline was visible to the west with waves churning ashore pushed by an easterly wind that buffeted the plane lightly. Iris was talking up a storm to the point that he was thinking about “accidentally” muting her mic, but that was bad practice. Even chatty or annoying passengers were another set of eyes that could catch something even a veteran flyer might miss, even if only by chance. He nodded and agreed as she rattled away while his eyes, shielded behind sunglasses, seemed to scan the airspeed and GPS position more often. As was often the case, Chris was the first and last person from Azul that many islanders saw in their journeys and there was a regular rhythm to their comings and goings, though he was sure it had been at least a few years since he’d dropped off Iris on this exact route in reverse. A fact that she quickly confirmed, but then dropped altogether preferring to talk more about the weather, dolphins and any number of other rapid-fire topics; vaguely alluding occasionally to the flurry of unintended circumstances that had landed her into his right seat. She was jabbering on about el nino or la nina or some other nonsense while Chris again glanced at the ETA to the next waypoint: the airspace boundary for Azul, at which time Merida would jump back on the radio and release him from their control. At that point he would normally start a slow descent with Isla Ramilo right on the horizon, but he had a better idea.

When control came up he acknowledged casually and began trimming out the secondary controls. Those right in front of Iris that moved before her with all of his inputs. Once he had maxed out all the tabs, making her controls soft enough that he could counter anything she did, he jumped back on the mic before she could continue. “Alright, you ready to fly us the rest of the way?” He said with a feigned tone of sincerity and a smirk, nodding towards the yoke right in front of her.

@Fading Memory