(no subject)
Title: Tasting Defeat.
Fandom: Flightplan
Prompt: .058 "Dinner"
Characters: The Pilots (Who I name for the sake of story purposes-Alan Rich and Paul Wimmer)
Rating: PG for Language
Summary: After the "Revelation" about Julia, Rich and his Co-pilot enjoy a rather melancholy Dinner Onboard flight 1805.
A/N: Pan Am had a habit of naming their airplanes after clipperships. So you'd be flying on an airplane with a name painted under the windscreen (that's the windglass where the pilots sit) it'd usually be something like "clipper unity" or "clipper mercy" hence Rich's allusion to "Clipper Titanic."
He'd never been so glad to see the Left Seat.
Taking the plane off Autopilot he dropped into the brand-new seat and squirmed for a moment before getting comfortable, the sky stretched before him like a vast blue blanket.
No, not blue. Dark gray. And black off in some places. He could see a stormbank off to the far right-the direction they were headed. How very, very apt.
The Toliet in the Pilot's quarters sounded with a Flush and Paul appeared, grinning, "You find the gi-"
Alan cast a look back in Paul's direction before shaking his head no.. His grip on the yoke unconciously tightened as Paul sat, frowning, "You want to talk about it?"
"She was dead." a muscle worked in Rich's cheek, "The Mother-"
No Mrs. Pratt, I'm sorry I didn't find her.
He was talking, mouth moving on his own, but his mind was trying to digest what he'd just had to deliver. She was dead-her father had thrown her off the roof before he'd jumped (bastard) and there was nothing else to be said. So why did he feel so bad?
New Plastic. The Yoke hadn't been broken in yet-the flightdeck still bright, still-clean. The E-474 was the biggest airplane ever built and put into active service (he'd never been much of a historian so he wasn't one to quote "spruce goose" at people)
"We have a brand new shiny plane to fly across the sky." the Executives at Alto murmured, "Technically we have eight of them but this one'll be commissioned first. Now, who do we give the controls to? Let's pass it off to our very own Captain Smith-the pilot all the passengers like-the most dependable and capable."
Clipper Titanic.
Oh Christ.
The mental comparison he'd made with the Ocean Liner's Captain threw him for a moment but Rich recovered-still aware of his discourse with Paul who's eyes had gone as big as the moon winking through the clouds outside their windscreen. Thinking about big man-made disasters wasn't healthy.
"Dinner Gentleman?"
Paul seemed eager for a break in the conversation that Rich wasn't participating in.
They had an onboard chef (That had been a real argument-"There's no way in hell I'm flying anything with propane onboard!") and he'd prepared something that looked like Chiliean SeaBass.
Which in true fashion got Rich thinking about Jurassic Park. Easy to associate things with manmade disasters (fictional or nonfictional) when his own disaster was unfolding right in front of him.
Paul tried a little bit of the food but soon pushed the tray away-setting it aside. Rich's own tray lay untouched-mercifully.
He was sure that if he ate he was going to be sick.
Kyle Pratt had awoken not only his anger but his need to protect and serve, to do his job. He was the most capable pilot that Alto Airlines had for a reason, and to-to have this happen felt like admitting defeat.
what are you complaining about? A voice in the back of his head whispered, She's dead. The mother was crazy. You've done all you can.
So why didn't he feel right?
"You know-it's not that bad." Paul said gently, "It could be alot worse."
"Spare me the sanctimonious bullshit." Rich was a man who never swore but the occasion called for it somehow, "I'm not in the mood alright?"
"....I was talking about the fish."
Fish. Images of Airplane came to mind and Alan rubbed his eyes, "-stop associating things with movies or actual events about manmade disasters."
"What do you mean?"
Alan shook his head, "nothing."
"But as to this situation." Paul murmured, "You can't let it get to you."
"What am I supposed to do?" Alan muttered, "You have kids Paul, can you imagine if-well-if you'd lost one of yours?"
Paul's mouth opened as if to speak then shut quickly.
"Loosing someone you love is the worst thing that could happen." He could still call to mind his wife's face every time an important date came up, "Take my word for it."
Paul said nothing.
The Sky stretched out ahead of them still, Dark blue and black and gray. The black had torn big patches of blue away-building clouds of of the air around them. The plane rattled, light turbulance.
"....you should eat something."
"I'm not hungry." Rich eased up on the yoke an instant as he doublechecked the nav computer. fish on an airplane, the thought of dinosaurs rampaging about the area, and the very notion of what could happen should these two things occur at the same time. He could not afford to be incompacitated. Not now.
Besides, he was already tasting defeat.
Fandom: Flightplan
Prompt: .058 "Dinner"
Characters: The Pilots (Who I name for the sake of story purposes-Alan Rich and Paul Wimmer)
Rating: PG for Language
Summary: After the "Revelation" about Julia, Rich and his Co-pilot enjoy a rather melancholy Dinner Onboard flight 1805.
A/N: Pan Am had a habit of naming their airplanes after clipperships. So you'd be flying on an airplane with a name painted under the windscreen (that's the windglass where the pilots sit) it'd usually be something like "clipper unity" or "clipper mercy" hence Rich's allusion to "Clipper Titanic."
He'd never been so glad to see the Left Seat.
Taking the plane off Autopilot he dropped into the brand-new seat and squirmed for a moment before getting comfortable, the sky stretched before him like a vast blue blanket.
No, not blue. Dark gray. And black off in some places. He could see a stormbank off to the far right-the direction they were headed. How very, very apt.
The Toliet in the Pilot's quarters sounded with a Flush and Paul appeared, grinning, "You find the gi-"
Alan cast a look back in Paul's direction before shaking his head no.. His grip on the yoke unconciously tightened as Paul sat, frowning, "You want to talk about it?"
"She was dead." a muscle worked in Rich's cheek, "The Mother-"
No Mrs. Pratt, I'm sorry I didn't find her.
He was talking, mouth moving on his own, but his mind was trying to digest what he'd just had to deliver. She was dead-her father had thrown her off the roof before he'd jumped (bastard) and there was nothing else to be said. So why did he feel so bad?
New Plastic. The Yoke hadn't been broken in yet-the flightdeck still bright, still-clean. The E-474 was the biggest airplane ever built and put into active service (he'd never been much of a historian so he wasn't one to quote "spruce goose" at people)
"We have a brand new shiny plane to fly across the sky." the Executives at Alto murmured, "Technically we have eight of them but this one'll be commissioned first. Now, who do we give the controls to? Let's pass it off to our very own Captain Smith-the pilot all the passengers like-the most dependable and capable."
Clipper Titanic.
Oh Christ.
The mental comparison he'd made with the Ocean Liner's Captain threw him for a moment but Rich recovered-still aware of his discourse with Paul who's eyes had gone as big as the moon winking through the clouds outside their windscreen. Thinking about big man-made disasters wasn't healthy.
"Dinner Gentleman?"
Paul seemed eager for a break in the conversation that Rich wasn't participating in.
They had an onboard chef (That had been a real argument-"There's no way in hell I'm flying anything with propane onboard!") and he'd prepared something that looked like Chiliean SeaBass.
Which in true fashion got Rich thinking about Jurassic Park. Easy to associate things with manmade disasters (fictional or nonfictional) when his own disaster was unfolding right in front of him.
Paul tried a little bit of the food but soon pushed the tray away-setting it aside. Rich's own tray lay untouched-mercifully.
He was sure that if he ate he was going to be sick.
Kyle Pratt had awoken not only his anger but his need to protect and serve, to do his job. He was the most capable pilot that Alto Airlines had for a reason, and to-to have this happen felt like admitting defeat.
what are you complaining about? A voice in the back of his head whispered, She's dead. The mother was crazy. You've done all you can.
So why didn't he feel right?
"You know-it's not that bad." Paul said gently, "It could be alot worse."
"Spare me the sanctimonious bullshit." Rich was a man who never swore but the occasion called for it somehow, "I'm not in the mood alright?"
"....I was talking about the fish."
Fish. Images of Airplane came to mind and Alan rubbed his eyes, "-stop associating things with movies or actual events about manmade disasters."
"What do you mean?"
Alan shook his head, "nothing."
"But as to this situation." Paul murmured, "You can't let it get to you."
"What am I supposed to do?" Alan muttered, "You have kids Paul, can you imagine if-well-if you'd lost one of yours?"
Paul's mouth opened as if to speak then shut quickly.
"Loosing someone you love is the worst thing that could happen." He could still call to mind his wife's face every time an important date came up, "Take my word for it."
Paul said nothing.
The Sky stretched out ahead of them still, Dark blue and black and gray. The black had torn big patches of blue away-building clouds of of the air around them. The plane rattled, light turbulance.
"....you should eat something."
"I'm not hungry." Rich eased up on the yoke an instant as he doublechecked the nav computer. fish on an airplane, the thought of dinosaurs rampaging about the area, and the very notion of what could happen should these two things occur at the same time. He could not afford to be incompacitated. Not now.
Besides, he was already tasting defeat.