12-26-2016, 05:28 AM
A lone young woman, reasonably attractive and in her mid-20s, sat on the steps leading up to an old porch, some steam drifting up and around her face from a cup of hot chocolate as the nighttime breeze of Planet Manhattan blew past her. Not that it particularly bothered her, since she'd decided to dress warmly, sweater, scarf, earmuffs and all.
Holding her white mug full of gourmet cocoa tightly with both hands, she brought the cup up to her mouth and took a quick sip, careful not to burn her tongue on the treat. To her annoyance, steam drifting up from the cup fogged up her glasses, blocking her view of the light drizzle of snow that fell around her. Sighing, she reached up with her oversized sleeve and wiped the fog off both lenses, looking back out at Manhattan's cityscape with the warm cup snuggled tightly against her upper chest.
A knock from behind stole her attention from the sky, and she turned to find the silhouette of her aging mother in the doorway.
“It’s getting late and colder out,” the hoarse-yet-strangely soft voice cooed, “You should really come inside.”
Without a word, the woman stood up, quickly shuffling up the half-stairs and stepping past her mother into the rickety old abode. Despite its evident age, there was still no place like it for her, an enterprising young woman who’d stayed in five-star hotels all over Sirius and normally lived in a penthouse suite in one of Manhattan’s richest communities.
After having been greeted by a rush of warmth from the house’s heating unit, she kicked her elegant designer boots off, slipping her scarf off and hanging it up on a nearby, rustic wooden coat hanger. With her other hand, she set the cup of cocoa down on the counter, silently pledging to return and warm it up again in the morning.
Once Christmas good nights were said to her single mother, she trotted up the staircase quickly, opening the first door on the right to reveal the same room that she grew up in. A smile crept across her face, and she reached up to take off her earmuffs, tossing the pair gently onto her desk before climbing into bed, bringing the fluffy sheets up to her shoulders before taking one last peek out of her window. Through it, she could see a hole in the cloud cover, the crisp, clear, starry night sky visible if only for a brief moment. Smiling to herself, she took a deep breath.
“Good night, Tal, wherever you are…”
Holding her white mug full of gourmet cocoa tightly with both hands, she brought the cup up to her mouth and took a quick sip, careful not to burn her tongue on the treat. To her annoyance, steam drifting up from the cup fogged up her glasses, blocking her view of the light drizzle of snow that fell around her. Sighing, she reached up with her oversized sleeve and wiped the fog off both lenses, looking back out at Manhattan's cityscape with the warm cup snuggled tightly against her upper chest.
A knock from behind stole her attention from the sky, and she turned to find the silhouette of her aging mother in the doorway.
“It’s getting late and colder out,” the hoarse-yet-strangely soft voice cooed, “You should really come inside.”
Without a word, the woman stood up, quickly shuffling up the half-stairs and stepping past her mother into the rickety old abode. Despite its evident age, there was still no place like it for her, an enterprising young woman who’d stayed in five-star hotels all over Sirius and normally lived in a penthouse suite in one of Manhattan’s richest communities.
After having been greeted by a rush of warmth from the house’s heating unit, she kicked her elegant designer boots off, slipping her scarf off and hanging it up on a nearby, rustic wooden coat hanger. With her other hand, she set the cup of cocoa down on the counter, silently pledging to return and warm it up again in the morning.
Once Christmas good nights were said to her single mother, she trotted up the staircase quickly, opening the first door on the right to reveal the same room that she grew up in. A smile crept across her face, and she reached up to take off her earmuffs, tossing the pair gently onto her desk before climbing into bed, bringing the fluffy sheets up to her shoulders before taking one last peek out of her window. Through it, she could see a hole in the cloud cover, the crisp, clear, starry night sky visible if only for a brief moment. Smiling to herself, she took a deep breath.
“Good night, Tal, wherever you are…”
49...50...51...
A certain Mister Ravis stared intently at the wall clock in Iejima Station's interceptor ready room, anxiously counting down the number of seconds that were ticking away in anticipation of the imminent end of the hour. Since most of his squadron had gone back to their homes for the holidays to visit their families, he was very much the only pilot able to be put on standby, and as such he'd been volunteered for an extended 24-hour rotation.
52...53...54...
As cruel as it was to force someone to be on standby for all of what was considered to be "Inter-Sector Christmas Day", he honestly didn't mind it too much. He didn't have anywhere to go, or anywhere in particular that he wanted to go, so he figured he'd spare himself the travel expenses and just stay on Iejima for a few extra days.
It wasn't like he was going to do anything productive while on leave, anyways. If anything, if his past Christmas experiences were an indicator, he'd just stare down the interior walls of his customized Scimitar light fighter for a few days and then come back to work to dig up the same shit with a different shovel.
55...56...57...
So far, his Iejima Christmas had actually been pretty alright, minus the lingering feelings of homesickness, loneliness, and depression. Luckily for poor Mister Ravis, his acting commander didn't really care about what he did while on rotation, and so he'd been blasting some of his favorite music on repeat, nonstop, for longer than he'd like to admit. Had Namura been around, he'd undoubtedly would've crucified the former Marine several times by now.
58...59...60!
One hour down, only twenty-three left to go.
Tal sighed, leaning backwards in seat far enough so that he could comfortably and reliably kick his feet up on the table. At his right side, sitting on a cheap, plastic folding table, was a can of some kind of strange Kusarian energy drink. He reached over, picked it up, and shook it around a bit, listening to the swishing of the purple liquid inside in order to gauge the amount of go-juice he had left. Judging by the delay in the sloshing, he was about halfway through the can, and he let out a short sigh before taking a quick sip.
Honestly, he didn't even know why he was drinking it, since it was of dubious quality and didn't even invigorate him like the flamboyantly-orange label said it would. All it did was make his chest feel funny and fill his mind with the thought that he was slowly but surely killing himself.
After finishing what actually turned out to be a long swig, he swirled the can around, putting it up close to his ear in an attempt to discern any kind of swooshy-swashy sounds. Hearing none, he drew his pistol and pointed it at the top of the can, depressing the pressure switch on the grip to activate a bright tactical light, allowing him to look into the drinking hole. Seeing only a little bit of drank left, he let out a loud sigh and holstered his weapon, setting the empty can down on the table and staring at the clock.
To his surprise, a whole minute had passed since he decided to down the rest of his drink, although he didn't consider it to be a fair trade. It was his only can of the substance after all, and there were twenty-two hours and fifty-nine minutes left to burn.
5...6...7...
His gaze switched rapidly from the clock to the can, as he desperately searched for something to entertain himself with.
"Ah, screw it," thought Tal, who grabbed the can and drew his handy survival knife from his flight vest.
It was gonna be a long rotation.
A certain Mister Ravis stared intently at the wall clock in Iejima Station's interceptor ready room, anxiously counting down the number of seconds that were ticking away in anticipation of the imminent end of the hour. Since most of his squadron had gone back to their homes for the holidays to visit their families, he was very much the only pilot able to be put on standby, and as such he'd been volunteered for an extended 24-hour rotation.
52...53...54...
As cruel as it was to force someone to be on standby for all of what was considered to be "Inter-Sector Christmas Day", he honestly didn't mind it too much. He didn't have anywhere to go, or anywhere in particular that he wanted to go, so he figured he'd spare himself the travel expenses and just stay on Iejima for a few extra days.
It wasn't like he was going to do anything productive while on leave, anyways. If anything, if his past Christmas experiences were an indicator, he'd just stare down the interior walls of his customized Scimitar light fighter for a few days and then come back to work to dig up the same shit with a different shovel.
55...56...57...
So far, his Iejima Christmas had actually been pretty alright, minus the lingering feelings of homesickness, loneliness, and depression. Luckily for poor Mister Ravis, his acting commander didn't really care about what he did while on rotation, and so he'd been blasting some of his favorite music on repeat, nonstop, for longer than he'd like to admit. Had Namura been around, he'd undoubtedly would've crucified the former Marine several times by now.
58...59...60!
One hour down, only twenty-three left to go.
Tal sighed, leaning backwards in seat far enough so that he could comfortably and reliably kick his feet up on the table. At his right side, sitting on a cheap, plastic folding table, was a can of some kind of strange Kusarian energy drink. He reached over, picked it up, and shook it around a bit, listening to the swishing of the purple liquid inside in order to gauge the amount of go-juice he had left. Judging by the delay in the sloshing, he was about halfway through the can, and he let out a short sigh before taking a quick sip.
Honestly, he didn't even know why he was drinking it, since it was of dubious quality and didn't even invigorate him like the flamboyantly-orange label said it would. All it did was make his chest feel funny and fill his mind with the thought that he was slowly but surely killing himself.
After finishing what actually turned out to be a long swig, he swirled the can around, putting it up close to his ear in an attempt to discern any kind of swooshy-swashy sounds. Hearing none, he drew his pistol and pointed it at the top of the can, depressing the pressure switch on the grip to activate a bright tactical light, allowing him to look into the drinking hole. Seeing only a little bit of drank left, he let out a loud sigh and holstered his weapon, setting the empty can down on the table and staring at the clock.
To his surprise, a whole minute had passed since he decided to down the rest of his drink, although he didn't consider it to be a fair trade. It was his only can of the substance after all, and there were twenty-two hours and fifty-nine minutes left to burn.
5...6...7...
His gaze switched rapidly from the clock to the can, as he desperately searched for something to entertain himself with.
"Ah, screw it," thought Tal, who grabbed the can and drew his handy survival knife from his flight vest.
It was gonna be a long rotation.