On the Flight Line- for heart_me and myself.

[CollegeGuy19]

**OOC**

This is a redux of a thread that I was doing many moons ago that more or less petered out. It's about flight, sex, freedom, and the beauty of both people and flying machines- not necessarily in that order. Just to get things started, I'm going to repost the opener of the old thread, and let Heart take it from there.

**IC**

Rick Callahan

I stepped out of the old hangar and onto the cracked concrete of the old airports' flight line, squinting my eyes for a second before slipping on a pair of sunglasses. The California sunshine beat down on the asphalt of the landing strip, turning it to sticky tar and warming the sand of the surrounding desert until waves of shimmering heat appeared on the horizon. Not a cloud in the sky, ceiling and visibility unlimited...perfect day to strap on an airplane and move the sky around a little.

It's hot in the blue cotton flight suit I have on, but it seems like it would be an insult to the bird I'm about to fly to take off in khaki shorts and a t-shirt, the way I might if I was just taking a Cessna up for a checkride or charter flight. She's waiting there in the hangar of the old airport I bought with my part of the inheritance- my Eastern lady, an L-39 Albatros jet trainer, a barely subsonic two-seat silver bullet that I fly whenever I get the chance. Today's the first time in a while I've been able to take her up after being grounded for most of the previous month waiting for a compressor part, and I'm almost trembling with eagerness.

Just as I'm about to turn and head back into the hangar, I see a blue vintage convertible with the ragtop down pull up off the dirt road and onto the concrete of the flight line. The driver is a woman with long brown hair, looking around the place with a mix of surprise and annoyance. Looks like she's lost- although you'd have to be beyond lost and well into the category of aimless wandering to arrive here. I start walking towards the car- the Albatros is calling, but I should probably see what's going on here before I let myself take off.

 

[heart_me]

Natalie Cohen

Natalie should have known better than to trust her brother about this car. 'It's fine, Nat. It'll make it from Seattle to LA, no problems!' The bastard. He didn't know anything about cars, but what other choice did she have? Buy a car- with her measley paycheck and thousands of dollars worth of student loans to pay off?

The car was fine, until, that is, the hood started smoking. She figured she'd make it a couple more miles and see if she could find a rest stop and a phone before the car conked out on her. But then, put, put, put, pppphffft, sssss. That was the sound the car had made as it puttered to a stop. Natalie had managed to swing the wheel violently to the left as it slowed, just to get it off the road.

The only thing she could see for miles was what looked like a deserted airport. "Dammit. This is the part where I go in there to use the phone and end up hacked to fucking pieces. Fan-fucking-tastic." Natalie walked around the car, inspecting it. As if she knew anything about cars, anyway. Her long linen skirt swung around her ankles and her brown sandals sent up small clouds of dust as she walked in the sand. In a sudden fit of anger, she kicked the tire. Big mistake. "GOD FUCKING DAMN IT ALL TO HELL!!" she screamed as pain shot up her foot. She sat down on the ground, fuming, waiting for her temper tantrum to go away. "Fucking bastard piece of shit." she muttered resentfully as she pulled the ponytail holder off of her wrist and pulled her long hair back off her neck.

She felt like crying, screaming, and taking a baseball bat to that stupid car all at the same time. So, instead of doing any of those things, she sat on the ground, her head resting on her knees, waiting for her mind to clear and the feeling to return to her bruised big toe.

 

[CollegeGuy19]

Rick Callahan

As I watched from the shade of one of the hangars, the hood of the old car suddenly pops up in a display that would do the Fourth of July proud. A cloud of steam rises up into the California sky like a new incarnation of Old Faithful, and the car swerves to a screeching halt. The driver gets out, her long, unkempt hair trailing behind her, and raises the hood. That doesn't seem to produce much of a benefit, since she immediately proceeds to kick the car's hubcap and sit down on the ground- rarely a smart maintainance strategy when you're wearing open-toed sandals.

As I watch her flop herself down on the ground, there's a kind of hot tightening in my stomach that's not something I usually associate with this place. A Las Vegas showgirl's room, on one of my increasingly infrequent trips there, maybe, or the even more infrequent moments at fly-ins or other aviation meets when a lady decides that there might be a one-night stand left in this specimen. The feeling comes then, and welcome- but I've never felt it here, not even when Nicole Kidman came out for a charter that one time. Here, the planes have always...drowned everything else, ever since Karen decided that this life wasn't for her those years back. So why now? Why this girl, who looks like she has a good few years the advantage of me, and who I don't know a bit?

Free. She looks free

I walk away from the Albatros and back towards the road. Must look a sight in the jumpsuit, but that can't be helped- not much on underneath it. At least I had my toolbox there. When I get to the road, I raise my hand and call.

"Hey...you allright down there?"

Edit: Fixed a typo.

 

[heart_me]

Natalie

"Hey, you alright down there?"

The voice seemed friendly enough, not like one that would belong to an axe murderer. I sighed, stood up, and brushed the sand off myself. The man walking toward me was wearing a pilot's jumpsuit and was carrying a toolbox. I decided he must own this place. I waved, squinting against the sunlight.

"Yeah, I'm fine, though I think my toe must be as broken as this bastard car." I smiled at the man, who seemed a few years my senior, but was extremely attractive overall. His blue eyes sparkled playfully, though his face seemed serious and genuinely worried about my well-being. "I don't know what the fuck's wrong with it." I said waving a hand in the general direction of the car. The smoke had gone down significantly, though every once in a while it would hiss to let me know that it was still broken. My toe, once numb, was also letting me know that it was broken, though I doubted it was. It was throbbing, but I could put light pressure on it without falling on my face.

I sighed deeply. "God, sorry. I'm so rude. My name's Natalie Cohen. D'you think I could possibly get some ice for my foot and a phone? Unless, there's something you can do about that pile of junk." I said, motioning towards his tool box. I tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear and smiled.

 

[CollegeGuy19]

Rick Callahan

She smiled up at me, and I found myself smiling back. The way the desert sun played off her hair and spilled onto her skin probably had something to do with it, but she was also one heck of a woman if she could still manage a smile for anybody at a time like this. Me, I'd have still been cursing at the thing, somebody there or not, and seeing if I could get the energy and stupidity together for another good kick. You never know when percussive maintainance will suddenly start working. Hasn't happened to me yet, but that doesn't mean I've given up.

"Sure thing...Natalie, is it? I'm Rick Callahan." I reached out a hand to shake. "I imagine we can find something to wrap your toe up, and give triple-A a call. Might take them a while this far out, though. Let's get you up, and we'll see what we can find for you as soon as I get my plane switched off." Well, this was probably it for the day's flying- I wasn't going to leave a guest alone at the airport while I was up there playing Tom Cruise. Manners didn't usually count for much out here, but it was the principle of the thing.

She reached up and took my hand, and I helped her haul to her feet.