ARCHIVED: airSCANDIGRAD flight 433

OOC Thread: Dope OOC Thread

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Paradise Motel
Commungs International Airport
Commungs, Plembobria

*veeerp* *veeeerp* *veeerp*

CPT Frank Casper could barely make out the red dials on the clock that had abruptly interrupted his sleep. Or at least what he thought was sleep. It was impossible to tell anymore. It had been another rough night. He slammed the abomination that was the clock by his bed, and was finally able to make out the numbers. 4:30. Why the fuck am I still doing this?

Casper stood tall at 6"1', a monster compared to his colleagues. He was a redhead, but had shed his freckles after college. Unlike the rest of his colleagues, he had yet to see a grey hair, but even at 47 his face was much further along in the aging process. He had battled the war between his career and his family ever since he became a newlywed F-16 pilot at the meager age of 23. Now it appeared his career had won, but with casualties across all fronts. He still maintained his fighter pilot physique though. It was the only thing he could hold onto.

Casper rolled out of his bed and with a creak of the joints and a crack of the back, he scooped his black trousers off the motel floor. It was only just now that he realized that he fell asleep with the television on all night, playing some infomercial about some product that was sure to improve his life. Would it bring my daughter back? he scoffed as he turned it off, grabbing his shirt off the nightstand in the process.

With a quick washup, Casper threw the last of the things into his layover bag, and locked the room before departing. The motel was on the airport, and there was a bus waiting to take him, along with a few other flight crews to the terminal.

There was but a sliver of light on the horizon. Wheels up was still three hours off, but daybreak was not far away. Another day...

0500, 2 hours, 21 minutes prior to departure.

Small Pub Outside Airport
Commungs, Plembobria

There were three of them, James counted. James Burke was not an Eknorve man but still worked for the Rebel forces under the belief that their religions and motives were more civil and truer than the rest of the sub-regions. He white skin with a short-ish black haircut with a fringe which was swiped to the side and slightly stuck up, (Yep, mildly based off somebody I know), he also had deep green eyes which people claimed look like emeralds when they shined in the sunlight which glared through the pub windows. James was also a large, beefy man of 6"3 who people were rather afraid of in some cases. Despite his barbaric appearance, James was the brains of the operation. He knew every nook and cranny of the plane model with extensive blueprint research black in Cronaal.
"If Guslantis won't give him to us, we'll force the region to..." He quietly whispered to himself as he sat alone in the back corner of the rather derelict pub which had damp walls and roof holes. A man walked over, he looked like a younger troublemaker compared to James who was sensible and in his 30s,
"Da' fuck you looking at you fat fuckin' cunt." The man said in a violent tone, slightly laugh when looking over to his friends. James got up. He towered over the man as he grabbed the man and forced his side into a wall as he scraped it down and then threw the man onto the ground with such force it vibrated the table. The man began to bleed alot on his side as the wall was quite splintered. The man's friends left the building quickly fearing that James would hurt them for being connected to the man.
"Nothing" James replied in a polite voice.

He then grabbed a folder from his bag and opened it up.

Somewhere in the Airport
Cummings International Airport
Cummings, Flithendale, Plembobria

Claire yawned. Her feet ached. Everything ached. She'd been up all night packing. She felt as if she was going to faint from exhaustion right in the middle of the airport. “Catch up, Claire,” her father ordered, “ You can sleep on the plane. I don't want you do get lost in this airport.” She rolled her eyes. “Wouldn't that be nice,” she muttered under her breath. Of course he didn't hear. He was on the phone. Her father, Darryl Steiber, was dragging her along on one of his business trips to Eumenor. ”He wants to showcase me, so he can look some kind of 'family man' to his associates. He spends a majority of the year away, and he has the audacity to even call himself a father,” she thought angrily to herself.

They approached the ticket counter. “Where are you headed?” asked the woman seated behind the counter.

“I've purchased two e-tickets to Eumenor. They should be on file.”

“Last name please.”

“Steiber. That's S-T-E-I-B-E-R.”

“Alright, Sir. You're on flight 433. Here are your boarding passes. Proceed to terminal four. Have a great flight!”

"Thank you ma'am. We will."

"You will," Claire thought.

5:30am

Communications Tower
Minas Ersul International
Ersulia, Eumenor

"Hello, this is Minas Ersul Central air-traffic control."
"This is Commungs. Calling for clearance for flight 433 to Ersulia - departing 7:21 TNP time."
"Granted, landing slot already assigned. Please detail flight plan."
"Planned flightpath 5.12, arriving 9:17."
"... That checks out. You are landing on arrivals runway 3, Terminal 2."
"Thank you very much, Eumenor."