Visit from a Spainard

[Tulon Winters]

Eastern Command was a quiet, almost desolate place. It was nestled into the side of the grey cliff of the largest mountain nearest the coast, it's runway protruding out like a diving board above the crashing sea. Only one jet, large, black, and commanding took the center of the runway. It had a very strange swept forward wing design and what looked to be a large raven, wings outstretched and beak gaping at some unseen prey. It was pointed towards the sea, but stayed idle, for the sole reason that its pilot was hanging his feet off the edge of the runway, singing some drinking song in Drachman while swinging a bottle of Virvech Vodka in his right hand, smiling like a delirious idiot. Times like this were nice, to watch the sunrise almost throuroughly plastered, but the haziness would recede in no more than an hour or so, since the man's body was as fit as could be and his tolerance was at its peak. His locks of ebony hair, straight and smooth flailed around as his head bobbed in time to the tune, his muscled arms glinting the the first few rays of sunlight through grease and sweat from maintenance work. His tools were strewn about the underside of the jet, a break was definitely in order.

Besides his singing and the distant crash of waves, the headquarters was completely silent. Nevski's force of pilots was very slim which is the much kinder thing to say rather than he had none. They had all been taken to go expand the borders while he stayed behind to train recruits that never came and to make sure the base wasn't taken, which wasn't a problem for Nevski. With the system he had here, it wasn't ever to big an issue to take down the occasional squad with his fighter and AA cannons. But, in all the wreckage, all the excitement, it felt...lonely. There was no one on the other end of the comms, or anyone watching his tail. He was alone here, isolated by crags and water. It reminded him of his concrete confinement back in Volgograd, but at least Nikita was there at his side, always the beacon of happiness, his own little spitfire. Nevski's hand went under his cobalt jacket to his shoulder holster, grasping the Makarov secured within. At least she was here in spirit, he thought, as he ran his thumb over the carved name in the grip.

Nevski sighed and swung his legs over the threshold of concrete and boosted himself onto his feet, throwing his now empty bottle over the ledge, his black combat boots grinding against the pavement as he walked and stumbled towards the hanger. It was barren besides a few worksites, some still with tools out, no doubt with a thin coat of dust in accompanyment. He looked over them as he headed towards the door, placing a gloved hand onto the knob. But he stood there, just staring at the top of his hand. He knew what lied underneath the leather, the burnt skin and the scars from shrapnel. He didn't remember the last time they flared up like this, but it often indicated either a storm, or company, be it good or bad. He looked out towards the sky past the ceiling. Not a cloud in the sky. This could be interesting, he thought as he turned the knob, swung open the door and went off into the hallways, taking swigs from the silver flask from the inside of his jacket.

[Emmelin]

Val sighed. Where was her brother? After the mission, he'd vanished; as if he'd never existed to begin with. Was that a possibility? Did he never even exist? Her eyes batted a bit and she heaved a heavy breath. It wasn't fair. She'd had a chance to make amends and yet- things were left unspoken. She'd had-regrets. That was odd and just unlike herself. Maybe she was losing her mind? MAYBE. She wasn't exactly sure anymore. Oh well, she supposed it was the last inkling of humanity she had left. It existed.. as amazing as that was. Oh how shocking it was that she actually WAS human. Her lips seemed amused more than her mind, as she had a natural grin on her face before she laughed darkly and turned her head.

Left, right, it didn't matter. She checked the halls and yet- nothing. He wasn't here. UGH. What waste of a trip! Her violet eyes seemed distraught and crestfallen, while she swept her glances over the masses of nothing in the damn facility. Barely anyone was around. Where were the people? Not a soul? No one. Well, way to take a trip to an abandoned building it seemed. Staring out and about accomplished nothing. Yet, she stood there, zoned out in her long coat that served as a dress for the time. Her high boots still felt heavy from tracking around by herself. By herself.. that was something Val wasn't used to in the least bit.

[Shula Brighton]

{BUMP}

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