!!0ZviLFh59My 01/24/12(Tue)22:03 No.17663945|
File1327460607.png-(133 KB, 300x300, reveal your secrets.png)
Flyers are a superstitious lot. Insane, unbelievable luck is not unheard of, not by a long shot.
But this shit is just getting too weird. And besides -
"Nobody say the M word. Not here. Of all fucking places, not here," you mutter. "With all the brass running around, I swear to God I will cut you."
"You don't have to worry about us," Ian says, and he sounds brooding, which constitutes an extreme emotive display for Ian. You wonder if he hasn't had any odd luck of his own recently.
"I noticed the quiet," Sean says. "I was listening to the waves hitting the beach - always nice to listen to, if you're sleeping near a coastline - and I realized, ALL I could hear was the waves. No crickets, no dick-ass nightingale plagiarizing all night, no HOOT HOOT or anything... island isn't that small. I just got a bad feel, you know? Last time I had that feel I was in the Kentucky bush and a cougar was sizing me up for lunch."
"So we're just good," Ian says thoughtfully. He's frowning now, another rarity for cool, collected Ian. "We're just that damn good..."
Both your friends make excuses and wander off. You don't stop them, since you've got some brooding of your own to do. You wander the halls of the castle alone, thinking. Trying to remember the last time an engine really got the better of you.
Plenty of stalls, forced starts, vapor-lock, backfires, you name it... but never a time you were well and truly defeated. Plenty of interesting battles, but you can't really remember the last time something you were familiar with got the upper hand on you. You just fiddle the controls without thinking and VROOM! up they go.
That's not... magic.
It isn't, god dammit.