Epi .5 - Montana - The Midnight Train - Closed
Apr 14, 2012 18:38:18 GMT -5
Post by jefferson on Apr 14, 2012 18:38:18 GMT -5
The stars were out, bright twinkly little things sparkling especially beautifully with the minimal lighting the crescent moon supplied. The sky was cloudless, and at this altitude the wind blew steadily at a cool sixty degrees. And on top of that, the view down below was beautiful. As far as his optics could see, the ground was covered in an expanse of green, patches of flat open land surrounded by the thick evergreen trees characteristic of this region. Every once in a while the dark forest was punctuated by the lights of human civilization, but he hadn't seen a city or a large town for about an hour now. Any flier would judge this route perfect for patrol, and indeed this route had been fought over by Vehicons since it was mapped and put up on the claims board.
Jeff wasn't enjoying it. There was a time not too long ago when he would have, but since the Utah Incident he hadn't even felt comfortable in his own body. He was twitchy, paranoid, and red optics were causing his lubricant lines to weaken - and the Nemesis was full of red optics. His wings and his pedes were still itchy where that blasted femme's weaponized Rust had gotten him even though McCoy, an unofficial Vehicon medic, had given him a bath and an inspection. On his rest shifts, his mind filled with terrors, his rather active imagination given free reign with his conscious offline. He barely got any recharge for two weeks and he'd been too much of a nervous wreck to refuel properly.
He was a complete wreck.
His near death experience had scared him to his very core, and the event had tripled his fear of the dark, given him an aversion to anything scarlet, and invaded his normally restful sleep with nightmares that only made all his other symptoms worse. He'd been told he should go see a real medic, specifically Knock Out, but thus far he'd refused, making due with McCoy's repairs.
Leonard had won this route tonight like he usually did (just by being the ass he was sometimes), and by some amazing stroke of kindness, had given it to Jeff so maybe he could enjoy a peaceful flight. But Jeff was alone, flying over a remote region of Montana in the dead of night surrounded by umbrage. There was also another problem.
He was spiraling toward the ground at an uncontrollable speed.
"Pull UP! Pull UP!" he yelled at himself, doing his best to follow his own directions, but he only ended up going into a backward spin.
He soon hit the treeline, smashing through a tree trunk hard enough to put splinters into his side as he transformed. He rolled with the impact as he hit the ground.
"Oof!" he exclaimed, his wings making friends with a boulder before he flipped over the thing and landed on his aft. Finally stopped, he remained dead to the world for a few kliks before he found his bearings and stood.
He promptly kicked the offending rock in frustration, then howled and grabbed his foot. This always happened, or at least it felt like always. Time and time again, since he'd been built mid-war times, he'd found himself grounded, sometimes seemingly by magic. Freak accidents, being clothes-lined, getting himself shot, getting a wing clipped - the many ways he'd ended up walking back to base were countless. This time it had been self-neglect. Just before he'd suddenly entered free fall, his system had detected an error in his fuel tank alignment and then something broke, causing his wings to snap out of proper alignment.
"Should have gone to see the real doctor," he whined, setting his foot down and pacing the dense woods for an exit. His wings were injured now, throbbing like two giant sore thumbs on his back and his side was dented, full of splinters. There was no way he wanted to walk through a forest as tightly packed as this with his wounds so openly prone to further injury.
He found a clearing in no time, the space one long narrow road stretching to his left and right. At the center, highlighted by moonlight, was a railway track.
He sighed, and commed base.
He got no response.
So... his comm system was down too... Of course it was. Of course it was!
"Fraggin'PERFECT!" he shouted into the wilderness in exasperation. No animals scattered - they'd already left when he'd landed as loudly as he did.
Seeing no way back to the Nemesis except to allow his comm system time to heal, he began to walk West, the wane light of the moon on his back.
Jeff wasn't enjoying it. There was a time not too long ago when he would have, but since the Utah Incident he hadn't even felt comfortable in his own body. He was twitchy, paranoid, and red optics were causing his lubricant lines to weaken - and the Nemesis was full of red optics. His wings and his pedes were still itchy where that blasted femme's weaponized Rust had gotten him even though McCoy, an unofficial Vehicon medic, had given him a bath and an inspection. On his rest shifts, his mind filled with terrors, his rather active imagination given free reign with his conscious offline. He barely got any recharge for two weeks and he'd been too much of a nervous wreck to refuel properly.
He was a complete wreck.
His near death experience had scared him to his very core, and the event had tripled his fear of the dark, given him an aversion to anything scarlet, and invaded his normally restful sleep with nightmares that only made all his other symptoms worse. He'd been told he should go see a real medic, specifically Knock Out, but thus far he'd refused, making due with McCoy's repairs.
Leonard had won this route tonight like he usually did (just by being the ass he was sometimes), and by some amazing stroke of kindness, had given it to Jeff so maybe he could enjoy a peaceful flight. But Jeff was alone, flying over a remote region of Montana in the dead of night surrounded by umbrage. There was also another problem.
He was spiraling toward the ground at an uncontrollable speed.
"Pull UP! Pull UP!" he yelled at himself, doing his best to follow his own directions, but he only ended up going into a backward spin.
He soon hit the treeline, smashing through a tree trunk hard enough to put splinters into his side as he transformed. He rolled with the impact as he hit the ground.
"Oof!" he exclaimed, his wings making friends with a boulder before he flipped over the thing and landed on his aft. Finally stopped, he remained dead to the world for a few kliks before he found his bearings and stood.
He promptly kicked the offending rock in frustration, then howled and grabbed his foot. This always happened, or at least it felt like always. Time and time again, since he'd been built mid-war times, he'd found himself grounded, sometimes seemingly by magic. Freak accidents, being clothes-lined, getting himself shot, getting a wing clipped - the many ways he'd ended up walking back to base were countless. This time it had been self-neglect. Just before he'd suddenly entered free fall, his system had detected an error in his fuel tank alignment and then something broke, causing his wings to snap out of proper alignment.
"Should have gone to see the real doctor," he whined, setting his foot down and pacing the dense woods for an exit. His wings were injured now, throbbing like two giant sore thumbs on his back and his side was dented, full of splinters. There was no way he wanted to walk through a forest as tightly packed as this with his wounds so openly prone to further injury.
He found a clearing in no time, the space one long narrow road stretching to his left and right. At the center, highlighted by moonlight, was a railway track.
He sighed, and commed base.
He got no response.
So... his comm system was down too... Of course it was. Of course it was!
"Fraggin'PERFECT!" he shouted into the wilderness in exasperation. No animals scattered - they'd already left when he'd landed as loudly as he did.
Seeing no way back to the Nemesis except to allow his comm system time to heal, he began to walk West, the wane light of the moon on his back.