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Post by ebonyviper on Nov 28, 2006 1:48:31 GMT -5
Once she was in the taxiway, Petra looked around. She glanced up when she heard someone call her name. It was Jenna. Petra taxied over.
"Hi, Jenna," said Petra, "Hi, Malcolm. Looks like you're both here too."
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Post by Evangeline on Nov 28, 2006 2:15:50 GMT -5
"Yeah," Jenna nodded, "I'm competing tomorrow afternoon, open unlimited class. Looks like we have a few new guys in for that." She indicated the fellow in red, white and blue.
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Post by ebonyviper on Nov 28, 2006 2:20:02 GMT -5
"Awesome. I'm in the barnstorming event," said Petra.
Then she glanced over at the red, white, and blue plane. He must be the one named Ari.
"He looks patriotic," commented Petra.
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Post by Evangeline on Nov 28, 2006 2:45:35 GMT -5
"No foolin'" Malcolm grinned. "He couldn't be more so if he wore the flag itself."
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Post by elizar on Nov 28, 2006 4:20:26 GMT -5
Thompson gave a short laugh and saw that he was out of the line of fire. Either the two planes didn't care, or they hadn't noticed him.
He stopped by the fuel station and said something about not being picky to the truck running the station. He looked around and saw compeditors and specators alike, and the one who had tried to buzz him and the other Cessna. He didn't say anything as he knew few enlisted who were quite not agreeing with such showoff, and he didn't know how political in which direction the Falcon was.
"Don't worry so much." Thompson said. "Just relax, and have some fun while you are here."
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Post by Orca on Nov 28, 2006 6:28:08 GMT -5
In spite of his outward appearance, for the moment, Ari was all business. He stopped only to give the nearest site-map a terse once-over. Here he found another similarity: western airshows seemed to be organized in much the same way as their eastern counterparts.
The Mustang saw fuel stations, repair/check-up hangers, registration centers, soundproofed "bunkers" that were set aside for those aircraft wishing for some shuteye. All of this was gathered in a bundle up to the northwest. To the immediate southeast were the main three biggest runways, all branching from a certain point, like the toes on the foot of a bird.
Ari had never been enlisted (in respect of his mother's wishes), but being from such a military-biased family, he knew how to scan a bunch of information and memorize it quickly for later. All those evenings with Uncle Brant and Stewart, pouring over past battle reports and other outdated information, had paid off.
He completed his observation, decisively sniffed the breeze to assess his surroundings, then continued on his way. The nearest registration center was down this road, then right turn, go down about two dozen feet...
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Post by ebonyviper on Nov 28, 2006 13:02:36 GMT -5
Petra was telling Jenna and Malcolm how she was almost buzzed by Ari, which was interrupted by Michael Thompson the photographer arriving and taking her picture. She was excited that she was going to be on the front cover of tomorrow's newspaper.
"I don't think he's going to pull that prank on me again," Petra was saying, "because he knows that I know who he is now. I'd be expecting him."
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Post by Evangeline on Nov 28, 2006 15:39:52 GMT -5
"Sounds like we got a show-off here." Jenna snorted. "Well, I know how to handle that type, if he finds himself in the same class as me." And to Malcolm, who was already grinning, she shot a warning glance. "No. NO SIDE BETS!"
"Awww? Not even for drinks?"
"Not even those. Any other race is fine. Just not the ones I'm in."
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Post by Orca on Nov 28, 2006 16:26:25 GMT -5
The similarities didn't end with the map. Ari had just happened to run into (or trip over, would be more accurate) one of the "grounded" type - AKA one of the several cars that made up the WRF-I ground crews/official staff. She had, rather distractedly, directed him to the nearest registration center before moving on. Just like the staff of the eastern airshows, busy as bees these people were.
It took only about ten minutes for Ari to give the basic information to the receptionist. This included his full name, race alias, place of origin, birthdate, flying license registration number, and a bunch of other relevant data. Always, no matter what the place, this was the easy part.
Next came getting a look at things from the ground, the Mustang's least favorite part of taxiing about and trying not to accidently run over or get his wingtips snagged on any nearby structures.
*
To the northeast, Josiah continued his prowl of the airfield perimeter, determined not to be swayed from his task. True, this kind of work was stale compared to his time in the Guard, but it had been the only open job offer he had located in the last two weeks. Someone had to feed nine-year-old Jack, and that sorry excuse for his ex-wife certainly wasn't going to do it.
Josiah was only hoping his boy was staying out of trouble, and following his directions to not leave the security personnel hanger to the letter.
Considering Jack's behavior, that was a lot to ask for.
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Post by Evangeline on Nov 28, 2006 16:50:37 GMT -5
Leslie Sikorsky found herself stuck in the security hangar again, watching that nine-year-old kid because Nobody Else Wanted to Do It. That kid had some wandering blades! Her father, Buck, was off attending some kind of sponsor function in the northeast section. So while Treece was acting as a general gofer, and at least got to get around a bit, Leslie was pinned down with a pouting boy who was either acting out or on the verge of it. What kind of mother did he have? At least Leslie's own mother had the excuse of being deceased...
"Looks like he's coming over here." Jenna told Petra.
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Post by ebonyviper on Nov 28, 2006 16:57:38 GMT -5
Petra turned and saw the patriotic-painted Mustang taxiing about the grounds, just taking a look around. It did look as if he were coming over to where she, Jenna, and Malcolm were.
"Yep, looks like he is," commented Petra.
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Post by Orca on Nov 28, 2006 17:08:49 GMT -5
((Ooh, now I'm tempted to see what kinda mischief I can get Jack into... Where's the smiling-devil smiley?))
Ari was careful to evaluate everything that looked interesting enough in every sense: sight, sound, smell, the whole shebang. He kept a casual look about it, though. Roaming around with your nose to the ground like someone's dog was a little out-of-place.
He stopped short after rounding a corner at seeing, even from this distance, a familiar figure. Inwardly, he was only annoyed. Great.
It was the same Cessna he had tried to buzz for kicks on the way in here. She, and two others (another 'Stang and a Spitfire) he did not recognize, were standing apart from the crowds.
Well, go on and apologize. He could almost HEAR his mother chiding him.
With an almost-dramatic sigh, the Mustang taxiied over to greet the three other fixed-wings.
"Hola, peeps," he said calmly, with his customary use of Spanish in greeting or otherwise. He looked from one to the next, pretending to be interested in all three equally. "I don't believe we've met." Then, while glancing at Petra: "At least, not appropriately."
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Post by Razor Azura on Nov 28, 2006 17:09:13 GMT -5
"Thanks alot for your help though." Ray said to Thompson, "And I think I will!"
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Post by ebonyviper on Nov 28, 2006 17:38:45 GMT -5
"Petra Bellanca," replied Petra, introducing herself, "and I don't think we did. And you are?"
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Post by Orca on Nov 28, 2006 17:44:02 GMT -5
"Ari Wright," the Mustang replied, with no shortage of confidence in proclaiming himself, "I apologize for that little would-be stunt I tried to execute on you. The trip was getting to me, having nothing to do and no one to talk to."
*
((I could not resist.))
This was no fun. Dad had already been gone most of the day. He had promised to show him around. There were no other kids to hang out with, either, and the Sikorsky lady he had been told to stay by wasn't letting him wander too far from the security hanger.
There was nothing to do! Jack Day sighed to himself for the millienth time, taxiing impaitently from one place to the next, trying to stay out from underwheel of the big adults - all painted with the typical black/white security scheme - coming and going.
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