A Bad Day [open]

[the_enemy_ace]

WHO: Hans von Hammer and OPEN
WHERE: One of the city's major roads
WHEN: Right now
WARNINGS: None unless you or your vehicle is in the way
SUMMARY: There is a bad equipment breakdown. Naturally, it happens in mid-air.
FORMAT: Para, or whatever.

Comments

[shotyoudeadbang]

Floyd Lawton happens to be driving his motorcycle on the road at that time, and a plane crashing in his face fit his general amount of shit luck.

Thus, his shiny new bike gets its first nasty body damage, as he has to spin out and slide beneath one of the wings as it whips over his head, sending Floyd rolling off the road into the shoulder.

Ow.

[the_enemy_ace]

He makes his way over, offering a hand up.

"Terribly sorry about that, mein herr, but the verdamnt kite decided to fall clean out of the sky today."

He is wearing his flight uniform, which is that of an Imperial German pilot from 1918, including the Pour Le Merite at his throat, and an Iron Cross - next to a police badge.

[shotyoudeadbang]

Slowly, Floyd opens his eyes as he clutches his head, and being greeted by this particular sight, instantly assumes he's had a concussion.

"Holy shit, I'm seeing kaisers."

He's definitely not taking that hand, either. No... no... staying put... he ain't the Red Baron...

[the_enemy_ace]

"No, no, merely colonels," he responded calmly. He looked over where the bike was.

"Impressive motorbike," he remarked, casually. "I am sorry that it suffered damage."

And no, not the Red Baron. The Hammer of Hell himself, a face and name the man just might recognize.

[inhisrighthand]

Hellboy had just left a local coffee shop with a cup in hand, preparing to go home after a long day's work, when he heard the sound of the plane coming in for a crash landing. "Oh crap," he muttered, quickly snatching a pedestrian preparing to cross the street out of harm's way with his giant hand, and then bracing for impact. The plane roared by, coming to a stop half a block away.

He jogged over to the wreckage, scanning the scene quickly for any casualties. It seemed like the pilot had made a pretty good decision, and the street had been clear enough for his plane to avoid a collision. And speaking of the plane, it wasn't very often that you saw someone flying a vintage bucket of bolts like that. A rather German one, at that. He'd been too young to see any in action during the war, but given his history with certain unsavory aspects of Germany's history, he'd familiarized himself with their engineering.

"Hey pal, you okay?" he called out as he approached the crash.

[the_enemy_ace]

And, perhaps, in his examination, he noted that there was no swastika on the tail. He never had allowed that symbol on anything he had flown.

What Hellboy would make of the Pour Le Merite at the man's throat, as well as the Iron Cross next to the police badge, that remained to be seen.

He shook his head, looking up.

"I believe so, I have had worse." Then he looked properly at the man...at least, he was fairly sure it was a man.

"I may have hit my head harder than I imagined."

[inhisrighthand]

Hellboy's body tensed at the sight of the German symbols. He'd seen plenty of those in his day. And he'd never met a German that wore them that didn't want to shoot him. Much to his dismay, he had discovered that there were genuine Nazis in the City, so one couldn't be too careful. He kept his distance, remaining several yards away.

"You in a... reenactment or something?" he muttered warily, pointing a large finger toward the plane, and then the Iron Cross.

[the_enemy_ace]

He shook his head, using a handkerchief to staunch the cut on his head.

"No, I am afraid not. City police, air patrol." Then he noticed the gesture.

"Ah," he said, nodding slowly. He tapped the Iron Cross. "Great War, though I did fly for the Luftwaffe. I was always...well, a bit of an enemy to the party."

He found he frequently had to say that, and he didn't mind anymore.