Return to St. Lucent (Open)

[taenarius]

It was a foggy day, visibility not too bad, but the atmosphere opaque enough to cast the sky a light grey, and render distant buildings little more than flickering lights in the mist. Julius was sitting in the cockpit of his twin-engine jet, making a final approach to the runway. It had been a long flight, international, and now everyone just wanted to land and get home. The flight was experiencing some uncomfortable turbulence on it's approach, the city having something of a reputation for a difficult entry. The jet's spotlights, landing and strobe lights were all blinking away, her flaps and gears down, ready to meet the tarmac. Julius noted it wasn't a very busy day, and relaxed a little. He did so hate other air traffic getting in his way. He had clearance to the runway designated 35L, and the plane was now sailing over the low-lying housing that was built under the Terminal Control Area in which all jets flew in and out.

Cleared for landing, the jet dropped down, the runway lights glowing brightly through the fog. 3000 feet. 2000 feet. The airfield was notorious for being quite short, as steady urbanisation made space a bit of an issue within a walled city. The jet was coming in low and slow over the streets, when Julian received an unexpected alarm. It sounded from the plane's T-CAS, the Traffic Collision Avoidance System. A red blip had appeared to the plane's left, as the flying machine had dropped slowly below 1000 feet. It was travelling towards his aircraft at about 160 kilometres an hour, and had intruded on the TCA of the airport. It bore a transponder signal that indicated its altitude, and it was a private craft. That only meant one thing: Some rich fool with his new, expensive Skyboard, and little clue on how to fly it.

The computer gave out a loud alarm, and then a mechanical voice came overhead and started repeating to itself urgently "Conflict. Conflict. Conflict. Climb. Climb. Climb." It was telling Julius to ascend to avoid a collision. Angrily, the pilot deftly jammed the thrust levers to full power, and pulled back on the control column. The nose of the plane rose sharply, the engine suddenly roaring. The passengers sensed there was a problem as they were preseed unexpectantly into their seats. Julius knew, with annoyed shrewdness what his T-CAS warning was. Some idiot Skimmer that thought he was a pro, bought a powerful board and gone on a test run next to an airfield. A real genius move, that, considering the old radar the ground control used was even worse at picking up targets in the fog.

The jet pulled up fast, engines whining. The computer was still urgently ordering Julius to "Climb. Climb. Climb". The rogue skyboarder passed underneath close enough to have reached up and touched the landing gear, had he not been so surprised. Julius' voice came over the radio quite testily. "Abort, abort abort. KA 667 heavy, is taking off, going around, encountered traffic at 950 feet, 500 metres from runway, over." Control responded their acknowledgement, when a dull voice came over the airwaves. "Whoa, sorry man. I ain't got much radar on this thing, over." The message prompted Julius into a near hissy-fit, and he retorted sharply, "Sir, you just had a jet pass you at 950. We run jets through this airway daily, exactly where you just intruded. In future, I suggest you look at your TCA chart, and inform Control before blundering in here, over."
There was silence on the radio, then a few seconds later, the skyboarder responded. "What's a TCA chart?"

It took 15 minutes for Julius to go around again, negotiating the poor weather, and a steep climb to avoid the tall city-centre buildings. This time, the jet smoothly passed over the last rows of houses, over the grass and smoothly alighted upon the runway, the spoilers deploying to bring the aircraft to a swift halt. It took about an hour after taxiing to the gate to finally leave the terminal. The wolf took a few minutes as a breather, changing back to his normal clothes of blue peaked cap, black jacket, blacks shirt, trousers and boots, before queuing for the taxi. The company wasn't even nice enough to provide a company car. He stopped the hovering vehicle outside a cafe near his apartment, and slumped heavily into one of the seats. What a flight, he thought. It was back to St. Lucent now, and with any luck, a decent sleep. In his spat with the skyboarder, he had been distracted in his train of thoughts. He had recently been contemplating finding out more about the Foundry, a group in St. Lucent, but he had no idea where to start, and knew very little about it. The wolf had ordered a hot chocolate, and so drank deeply, still wondering.

[Rook]

It seemed when the fog was thick, the idiots pulled their head out of the sand and came out to walk among the living.

Rook made this observation in one of his top ten least favorite places, in one of his top ten least favorite times of the day. It was an icky mid-day on the Western street-corners, which possibly even worse than on the Eastern street-corners 'cause the imbeciles here actually had money, which tended to complicate things.

Rook was working up a chilly sweat as he struggled to keep up with an ornery drunk who had just damaged hundreds of dollars worth of furniture, cheap booze and fine assets (noting the considerable bruise he had left on a pretty blond waitress).

The fog was not that bad, except when you got down town and it came together with the considerable pollution of all the hovercar exhaust, the storm clouds and the traffic which was buzzing back and forth like a giant swarm of bees. It came to form a giant cesspool of Things That Keep Rook from Doing His Frecking Job.

It was a wonder he was able to collect a paycheck with all these forces opposing him, but hey, he was a wonderful guy...and fortunately, even in a cesspool drunks were not hard to outsmart.

Rook played the child hood card, he started chasing the guy down North Crotalus Avenue. He made a big show of it, his long overcoat billowing, even yelling the classic cliche "Stop in the name of the law"!or something to that affect, albeit in a hoarse voice, and with a slightly flushed face.

Rook had no problem being the energizer wolverine when he got...into it...but at the moment he was completely alone, his claws weren't even giving off their faint glow. That's how comparably insignificant this was. The desire to tear strands of that ragged black hair twisted the pit of his stomach.

You'd think one of the top Middle Angels had better things to do. Well he did, he just wasn't assigned to them. This was his 'day off'. Except for the tiny snag that if he saw something going on, he had to stop it. No matter what it was. Even if it was like, a speeding hovercar. Shit.

Anywho, of course he diddn't chase the inebriated fool the whole way, he turned down Squamata, which ran into the end of Crotalus, and practically jogged right into the silly bastard.

Rook had lived in this city his entire life, and prowled it's streets like an old alley cat for the past thirty years or so, he diddn't need radar (though he did have it in his claws) to point out even the most obscure hot dog stand anymore. Experience was a big damn weapon when you knew how to use it.

However all anyone saw as he nudged his way through some glass double doors was a tired older hybrid, a bit winded, a bit chilly, but no worse for wear. Rook ordered something much stronger than a hot chocolate, and growled curmudgeonly as the teenager began to short him "Don't be stingy on that shot, boy".

The teen blinked at him, more confused than intimidated, which irritated Rook. Stupidity was more annoying than any form of resistance.

"Yes sah" he muttered,and did not disappoint.

Rook took his 'coffee on steroids' sniffing it, apparently in an indulgent way (however in reality he was checking for poison,and action which by now was as natural as breathing).

He paused and then took a sip as he sat down. The way the little tables were positioned, it was actually relatively close to Julian, almost as if they were seated together (this little cafe was far too crowded). However Rook took no notice of him at first.

Much like the wolf, the hybrid was thinking about things bigger than what he had experienced today.

[taenarius]

((OOC: I forgot to mention, Julius has a British accent, such as one you might expect from a WWII pilot.))

As Rook was making his order, Julius' headpiece began to vibrate. It was a small machine that hooked around his ear, providing a microphone to his mouth, and a small earpiece to his left ear. He had stuffed it in his jacket pocket, intent on having a bit of piece on it, but evidently it was back on, and someone was ringing. Julius fished the silver-grey device out of his pocket, hooked it around his left ear, and adjusted the microphone a bit before touching the button. Suddenly, his left ear was full of the static of someone breathing loudly into the line from the other end. The volume adjusted accordinly to avoid harming the listener, Julius himself wincing, before speaking aloud to the cafe in general. "Hello?" he asked.

"Skjoldebrand?" his caller asked. "About time you got back in contact. Where the dickens have you been? I've filled up your answer machine, by the way."
Julius sighed. It was Barry, a strange travel agent that often hired out the wolf as a pilot for chartered flights. The canine knew a little about Barry. He was some kind of ferret that lived in East Lucent, and apparently made all the transport arrangements for his suburb. In fact, Julius suspected that Barry organised transport for downright criminals at times, as sometimes his passengers could be somewhat suspicious. Julius was always interested in Barry's work. It was through him the pilot had first caught wind of the Foundry.

"I''ve been on the international circuit, Barry. You know I just find absolute delight in the long hours, the traffic and moron controllers." Julius replied sarcastically.
"Oh yeah, what's it this time? Let me guess, you got redirected. You're always bitchy after a redirect." Barry guessed. He knew his pilot friend well, especially what the wolf hated.
"Hah. Worse. Some little prick Skimmer nearly redecorated the gears an interesting new colour of Rich Idiot. You have no idea how much paperwork I just avoided this morning. It seems that once again, you are talking to the most competent flier on the jet scene. Which is lucky for you, because you don't call unless you have work. So, what's my newest job? Or am I fired?"

Barry chuckled. "You ain't fired yet. Some folks ordered a charter. A fourteen hour flight, and get this. They're paying double rates, and they aren't even going anywhere. Their flight plan goes in a wide loop around St. Lucent at 35, 000 feet, from 1800 hours to 800 hours, landing back at the same airfield. Can you believe it? You spend fourteen hours on autopilot circling St. Lucent, you can probably go to sleep in all of that, whilst your passengers just sit up the back. My guess is it's a little affair a rich couple want kept private. What do you say?"
Julius was stunned. Perhaps it just was a desire for the ultimate privacy for a rich couple, but he doubted it. A much more exciting explanation sprang to mind. The Foundry! No doubt it was some sort of plan to deliver information to members in the utmost secrecy. And how to be more secret than airborne? The cabin wasn't recorded for sound like the cockpit, which tapes over itself every half an hour anyway. It was secluded from the land of the living completely, it was perfect. Julius near physically leapt at the chance. "Yes! Of course I'll take it!"

Barry was silent for a bit, then said, "OK, that was quick. You don't know why they'd do that, do you?"
Julius hesitated, before replying, "No, I've no idea. Who cares, sounds easy as hell. Hold at 35 thousand for the night, let 'em have their personal space, and in the morning we've earned enough for two charters. As if I could pass it up. I'm not averse to earning money, Barry. When's this on?"
"Three days. I'll write you in the logbook. Talk to you later, if i can weasel out any more info on this lot. I'll keep you posted. Bye" Barry hung up. Julius was now sat upright in his seat. This was more excitement than he was used to. It had seemed such a daunting task to find evidence of the group just amoment before, now he had a chance to spend fourteen hours in thier company. He knew it was them, because he had heard this charter before. Last time he had met what he suspected was a Foundry member, they had been on a seven hour cruise to a small overseas airfield, then seven hours back. Whatever they were doing, it was private, and it took time. And this time, Julius intended to find out. He began to try and gulp down the rest of his drink, eager to finish, and leave.

[Rook]

[It's pretty obvious that Rook talks with a growly Texas twang. It's unintentional but I've come to accept it as a grim fact. xD]

The hand around the paper canteen squeezed slightly, Rook's eyes flickered for half a second to see his knuckles flash white. His long coat hid veins that had grown somewhat swollen in tension, though his face remained pensive, even idle as he gazed solidly out the window, like an old dog on a rainy day.

His claws, which were not actually claws at all were pulsating. He could feel every fiber of manufactured card board that made up the coffee he grasped, dimly aware that his thick paw pad was slightly damp with sweat. It took a lot of effort to tune up to the point where his claws could pick up such minute rustlings through his ears, which were not even pricked.

The words that drifted towards his ears were implied, he supposed it would have been difficult to pick up on it if he wasn't so paranoid.

circling around...you could circle around to pass on messeges...or pass on explosives. Or diseases. Rook felt dim anger twist in his stomach when he remembered that night in the cave. Adeline, the leader of the Foundry running off with secrets she never should have known. He had let that happen.

Paranoid is right. Whose to say it isn't exactly what it's supposed to be? Aren't there enough rich assholes in this town?

Are you really going to lose your head over pilot talk?

Pilots are worse than sailors wives. Tch!


Rook looked down at his spiked coffee, remembering the face of that drunken lout he had clobbered over the head and apprehended earlier this morning.

I'm so god damned bored. He admitted to himself, with grudging acceptance.

He curled his lip, observing the wolf through the corner of his eye for half a second. Was it worth his time? Was it really?

The first step to recovery is admitting that you have a problem.

He looked out the window for another solid minute, and then turned. The tables were so close that it seemed as though he was sitting right in front of the other, only a small window of space and a chair inbetween them.

Rook's rigid facial expressions bespoke nothing, no hostility and no inclination that he had heard anything or wanted perhaps more than can I have a pack of sugar, my table is out or how about this weather?

But he diddn't think this man was a fool, you diddn't come out of a conversation about businuess with a scheez with a clear and free head.

He simply looked, a long look, wondering if this pilot was sharp as a sailor's wife, or whether he'd actually have to say something.

[taenarius]

Finishing the drink, Julius was about to spring out of his seat, looking up, when he noticed the large hybrid watching him. It near stopped him in his tracks, but Julius did not want to appear rude by staring back, and so cast his eyes down, and got out of the seat. The look had unnerved him a little, but never mind. This wasn't exactly a dangerous place in St. Lucent to be, unless things had changed dramatically since his last visit. The wolf ripped a serviette from the tables dispenser, wiped his muzzle, and looked about for a bin.

There was one against the far wall, which he had managed to spy without actually having to look back at the hybrid again. The fellow looked somehow forboding, most likely due to the scars. The wolf was not accustomed to seeing such things, and so quickly made his way to the bin, feeling more and more awkward. He had had to pass by the unknown's table, and had for a brief moment sped up, as if his instincts told him to get out of the way. Though the hybrid was now behind him, he still had the odd feeling he was being watched.

The canine had not liked the stare, and he began to think that the wolverine, or whatever it was, had been listening to him from the very start. Had he known what the conversation was about? Julius usually did not have any discrepancy with talking out loud over the airwaves, it wa susually necessary in his line of work, but now he began to worry a little about that particular practice. Julius decided that it was enough to avoid prolonging his stay in the cafe. Adjusting his gloves to fit onto his paws, he swung open the door, shivering at the cold inrush of air.

As he walked out, he found he had been barely breathing inside, in order to avoid making too much noise in his fellow patron's presence. He sighed, the air turning to mist about his mouth. The pilot moved off, paws in his trouser pockets, in search of some public transport. Taxis tended to be easier to spot at airports than on random streets, so he began to walk towards his apartment, vaguely waiting for a taxi to come into view and thus shorten the journey.

His mind was on Barry, and the agent's offer again. It was exciting, but Julius knew he couldn't assume he was right. It was probably not them. No need to get hopes high. The canine still hoped though, even as his mind told him not too. In a few seconds, his mind was already wandering off the thought of the strange personage that had stared at him so. Just nerves, he had told himself. Who cared if he'd been talking out loud. It wasn't as if he'd said anything wrong. The memory of his fears now dulled, the wolf began to put it from his mind.

[Rook]

[I'm sorry this took me so unbearably long x.x]

Rook paid quickly, waiting a full five minuites before rising from his seat and braving the cold weather again. He raised his hand to the air as if in greeting, but in reality he was scoping from a chemical scent trail. His claws scanned the perimeter of the area, beaming off windows and across the street, but he picked up nothing and he slowly let his and slip down, restless and unhappy, but not over confident that people would still believe he was waving if he did it too long.

Wait...He looked over on the corner and his claws glew dimly amidst his fast sleeves, Rook got the gumption back in him, breathe puffing out like a small ring of smoke as he trailed the pilot, staying lost amidst a crowd and trying his best as an Arc Angel to remain undetected.