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Post by Razor Azura on Jan 22, 2007 22:22:26 GMT -5
Jennifer chuckled, "No, but that would be interesting......he prefers writing music and is quite the ladies man."
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Post by Orca on Apr 29, 2007 8:07:16 GMT -5
((Jumping to tomorrow, as suggested by Elizar. We can always stick a few summaries in to go over what happened between where the RP stalled and now. Remember if you forgot who or what anyone is, there is a list in the head post that you will find helpful.))
Ari Wright woke earlier than most the next morning, by a combination of things. He winced, squinting against the sunlight streaming into the hanger. The Mustang was careful to yawn and stretch discreetly; he'd been put up for the night with a number of other prop-planes. Unlike certain other racers, he didn't have qualms about sharing space with the public.
But then, he wasn't being mobbed by fans like, say, Jenna. Ah, the advantages of being a variable stranger to a region.
His and Petra's pranking had been cut short. A security helo had swooped down out of nowhere, offering a very harsh reprimand for the stunt they tried to pull back at the hanger. Ashamed, the Mustang had assured the patroler it would not happen again.
Ari yawned a second time, shrugging off any early-morning shivers, before heading outside. That time he had spent horsing around yesterday should have been spent studying the pylon course and becoming acquainted with the prep area. With an impending race this afternoon, he couldn't afford that sort of play today.
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Post by Evangeline on Apr 29, 2007 12:08:33 GMT -5
"Wake up, Unca B*st*rd!" Robyn's small body jumped on Malcolm's and he came back into the world with an "OooooOoof!"
"Not so hard!" he gritted his teeth as he struggled off his pallet to a standing position, whereupon he yawned and shook himself. His little niece stood before him with a gap-toothed grin as he looked down upon her and told her "You are surely my brother's revenge."
"Th' races 're starting at eight!" Robyn bounced excitedly to the tent entrance. The black Spitfire blinked the sleep out of his eyes and straggled out in the little girl's wake. Jenna would already have been up for several hours in the prep area while her support crew went over her like a fine-toothed comb. He went up to the cordon, as close as security would allow, and managed to spy the top of her tail amidst the other competitors.
"Is she there? Is she there?" Robyn whirled about excitedly like a hyperactive kitten.
"Yeah yeah, she's there." Malcolm shrugged. "But we can't go over right now. Why don't we go and grab some brekky, hmmm?"
Yvonne and Elspet had spent the night with Blanche Woodman at the Air Vets tent. Mainly, the evening's festivities had consisted of Elspet stifling yawns and looking politely bored while her mother and the F-111 caught up on twenty years of whatever. As dawn came up, she poked her nose outside, glared at the journalists hanging about, and went off in search of something to eat.
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Post by Orca on Apr 29, 2007 12:20:43 GMT -5
Lance Vaughn was quite busy himself. Already airborne, he was testing the course out for himself, making sure it was as he had left it the previous evening. After that call of possible tampering yesterday, he wasn't taking chances.
It gave what people were there something to watch, seeing the blue/gold plane circle by overhead. While just a pace jet, Lance was always enduring comments that he was as fine a racer, too. He only made a few laps before coming back down to Earth. He needed to conserve his avgas for the upcoming event.
The row of support areas, "pits", lined the airstrip just off the pylon course. The P-40 took a cruise down the line, watching the racers and their crews bustle about. He wasn't expecting to see Ari. The Mustang had had to sign up for the race at one, having missed the qualifiers for this run. If he showed up, it would be simply to scope out the competition.
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Post by Evangeline on Apr 29, 2007 14:33:58 GMT -5
On the competitors' flight line, Jenna was listening to last-minute instructions from her crew chief, Tom Weston. The forklift had an extensive background in ground support, starting with a stint in the Air Force, and was one of the best in the business. He had headed up the crew for the Summit Financial Group racing team for the past five years, but this was Jenna's first year with him.
"This course is a bit more involved than the the usual," he told Jenna as he made the final adjustments to her engine. "The north pylon is further out, and a bit more northeast, at a somewhat higher elevation then the rest, so you'll have to watch it while going into the chute (approach path to the course). You'll really have to pull those G's on the way back."
"I see that." Jenna resisted the impulse to nod while Tom was working on her.
"You'll have to watch for Bessemer, though." Garth "The Mutt" Bessemer was a Hellcat/Sea Fury mix, also a newcomer, but one who had already garnered himself quite a "reputation". "He's gonna try to crowd you or force you below the pylons. The last place you want him is above you or on your flank." Jenna slid an eye towards the midnight-blue male at the south end of the flight line. Bessemer glanced back to his fellow competitors, not looking at them as much as he looked through them. He seemed to have few friends on the flight line, but enjoyed a certain following with the "junkyard dog" crowd.
"He's gonna have to catch me first." Jenna snorted as Tom closed her up and signalled for the crew to roll his platform away. "Thanks."
"Good luck." Tom called as Jenna prepared to power up.
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Post by elizar on Apr 29, 2007 18:00:06 GMT -5
Thompson enjoyed seeing the front page of the newspaper he worked on. He had managed to take a photograph of Arrows, and they had made front page. On the four page article about the airshow - it was a slow week - one photograph of Petra was there, but with little explanation other than she was competing in barnstorming event. There was also another of Malcom, and a small blurb about what he and Petra had done, but there was nothing much else remarkable in it.
Thompson made his way out, with his pass and camera ready. He had to take few pictures of the takeoff, and some of the airplanes flying on the course. And he knew just the location for the second matter.
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Post by Razor Azura on Apr 29, 2007 23:33:59 GMT -5
Jenny wandered the grounds waiting for the show to begin, she was actually pretty excited to watch Ray fly as she'd never seen him actually do his air performance before.
Looking for something to do as her brother had left her to wander alone, she meandered through the crowds, smiling at other planes who in turn gaped at the B2 bomber.
---
Ray sat with his crew going about making sure he was ready before the show started. His routine wasn't until the very end, as was with many airshows.
He watched the other four F-16's he would be flying with, they looked so calm and collected, why did he feel like he was chained to a train track staring at the train just inches from his nose...waiting to be destroyed.
Security was tight for the F-16's as far as he could tell, not a single reporter was able to wrigg his way passed the gaurds and so Ray and his partners were completely undisturbed.
Which was probably for the best because Ray was so petrified he didn't think he could tell them anything the wanted to know.
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Post by Orca on Apr 30, 2007 5:36:11 GMT -5
Lance let his long-range vision kick in, assessing the nearest mission clock he could find. 0750. As he had done more than once already, he reviewed the schedule in his mind.
The race began at eight, after a brief opening statement. Depending on how long it lasted, the first formation flying demo would take place immediately afterwards to cap it off. Then the race at one, for those who didn't qualify on the same level as Jaegar and Bessemer.
T-Minus ten minutes, the P-40 mused to himself, watching the crews tidy up with the finalist of final preparations.
*
Josiah Day had been awake for a while. He and a number of other helos had been elected to fly as guardsmen, enforcing a strict NO-FLY perimeter around the course to anyone who wasn't racing. They flew a counterclockwise pattern, a fair distance from the course, but close enough that their binocular vison could still see what was going on.
Protecting the racers from pranksters and reporters - his least favorite lot. Fortunately, the former had yet to crash this party, and so far most of the "vultures" had been of the grounded type.
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Post by Evangeline on Apr 30, 2007 14:25:26 GMT -5
Finally, the competitors in the first Unlimited race were taking to the air. Jenna was third in line, already hearing the distinct drone of Bessemer's engine over her own. Illonda Glass, the other woman in this race, was already airborne. The third-generation Corsair was far removed from the skies of the Pacific where her grandfather had chased Zeros, but this acorn hadn't fallen far from the tree power-wise. She already had a few wins to her credit and didn't take any garbage off of Bessemer. The others - Bearcats, Sea Furies, other Mustangs and at least one third-gen Messerschmidt 109, waited their turn on the taxiway. Finally, Jenna received her clearance for takeoff and left the ground like a winged bullet. In time, ten of the world's fastest piston-driven aircraft zipped into the "chute" and jockeyed their way into starting formation, waiting for the pace jet's word to go.
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Post by Orca on Apr 30, 2007 14:44:59 GMT -5
The P-40 had seen and supervised plenty of races. This one was no different. From his position to the formation's rear-left, he gave each individual plane a moment of undivided attention, making sure they looked spic-and-span and they were giving each other respectable starting space.
Being experienced, the whole inspection took less than five minutes. Lance was satisfied with what he saw. For a moment, he absentmindedly glanced down at the crowds of spectators, knowing they too would hear his next announcement over the P.A. In his case, he had a little opening phrase of his own, just to rile the crowd up a bit.
He keyed his radio mike. "You're good to go, ladies and gents. Now give these folks the show they paid to see!"
A fresh cheer erupted from the crowds below as the pace jet climbed up, to the airspace well above the course.
*
After a quick stop at the fueling station, Ari had managed to work his way in among the spectators; he wanted to see the competition's skills in person, and not in a televised format. He found himself smirking in amusement at Lance's announcement. Well. He hasn't changed all that much.
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Post by Evangeline on Apr 30, 2007 16:27:43 GMT -5
Jenna began to open up, working to get as much distance as possible between her and Bessemer. The Sea Fury mix was already hectoring Estevan Klimt, the Messerschmidt from Argentina. She wouldn't be surprised if Bessemer was making derogatory comments about his grandfather and Estevan's "meeting" at some point, though they probably exchanged bullets rather than words. The competitors flew just above the tips of the pylons at 500 feet, with spectators confined to an area several hundred feet beyond. The Mustang girl throttled up as she neared the north pylon, careful not to go below the level of its tip, as the elevation was, as Weston had said, deceptive. Flying too low would incur a penalty. Ahead of her were Illonda Glass, Zach Mercer and Kyle Sallinger. The Corsair, the Bearcat and the Spitfire/Airhawk mix fought for lead position while Jenna fell in behind and waited for the time to make her move. She didn't have long; Unlimited air races were about seven to ten minutes in duration and she'd have to make this heat count.
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Post by Orca on May 2, 2007 5:35:33 GMT -5
Although he had made a pact with himself to try to observe all the racers, Ari found his eyes gravitating toward Jenna in particular. One who didn't know better would simply think she had fallen behind the leaders. One who did knew that the first portion of any race was critical in establishing a strategy.
The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like Jenna was his Western counterpart in these events. True, it was a little soon to be making that call, but Ari had long ago learned to trust those innate, little feelings.
*
Once more, Jack was stuck in the security hanger. It was too early in the day to summon anyone for babysitting duty, and it wasn't needed anyway. The way the young helo yawned every 30 to 50 seconds was a testament to how he had woken a few hours earlier when his father had been called out to perimeter guard duty.
He had retreated to a corner away from all the typical commotion, and was presently half asleep. Someone had offered to set a spot up for him to watch a broadcast of the first Unlimited race. He had declined.
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Post by Evangeline on May 2, 2007 12:55:38 GMT -5
About the fifth lap, Jenna saw an opening present itself, and slipped into position behind Sallinger. The Spitfire mix was fast enough, but had gotten into racing rather recently and as yet lacked much of the tactical schooling. She waited until both of them were past the "deadlines" that established limits on how far out from the pylons one could go, and passed him as they headed north. She noted that Bessemer was starting to make headway, bullying his way through the middle of the pack.
In the meantime, Malcolm watched from the ground, with his niece providing a running commentary, welcome or not. Her current ambition was towards racing.
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Post by Razor Azura on May 2, 2007 21:59:27 GMT -5
Jennifer watched the race in excitement, she wondered where Skye was and hoped he was watching too, she caught sight of Ray (even behind his security) caught his eye and smiled, but knew she could never get through to chat.
She returned her attention to the race.
----
Ray watched the planes speeding by and was glad he didn't have to race...it wasn't his cup of tea, that was for sure, but he wasn't really the competative type...formation flying and war efforts were what he did.
He looked over at this partners again, he only hoped his practice would pay off and the performance would please the crowds.
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Post by Tracker89 on May 12, 2007 7:44:22 GMT -5
((This RP seems like it died again...but I'm still going to introduce my characters just incase it picks up again.))
Watching the race from a nearby hangar-tent were two Eastern Bloc jet fighters. An unthinkable sight less than two decades earlier, US airports and aircraft cities have now grown increasingly used to the presence of planes and helicopters from that area of the world, although some of the older -especially ex-military- aircraft whom had lived through the worst years of the Cold War, still gave them looks of hostility.
The two fighters were a young male Su-27 Flanker, and an older female MiG-29 Fulcrum, dressed in colorful stunt plane livery. They were completely unarmed, and small flags painted onto their fuselages indicated that they were Ukrainian.
"<Look at those propeller planes racing...they're so sluggish. They should let me have a go at them.>" said Ivan Chernov, the Su-27.
"<Let's give you the same body and engine as them, and see if you make it past the runway.>" Replied Tanya Gurevich, the MiG, who had an air of seniority around her. Ivan groaned at the put-down, but he was used to it and quickly recovered.
"<Well, I don't care how skilled they are, this race is boring me. Let's head over to the fuel station and see who's around...we were lucky that the ATC was awake when we arrived last night.>"
Despite her earlier comment, the Tanya nodded, and the two jets rolled out of their tent and towards the fueling station.
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