Scandigrad
TNPer
OOC Thread: Dope OOC Thread
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.
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.
