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Author Topic: ABS FIESTA REDUX  (Read 1542425 times)

The bracket text isn't in broken English because it's a perfect translation of what's being said, with equivalent grammarisms. Otherwise it'd be a big ol' mess of trying to establish actual conventions for the foreign-ass languages and neither Qwepir or I are linguists.

The bracket text isn't in broken English because it's a perfect translation of what's being said, with equivalent grammarisms. Otherwise it'd be a big ol' mess of trying to establish actual conventions for the foreign-ass languages and neither Qwepir or I are linguists.

yes, but again, this was different because my character was giving an outright example of what direct translation is like

im not saying i plan to use brackets like that constantly

Readjusted the MiG's load out



I find myself to have fallen asleep. The book lie on the floor, still partially open. I was still sitting in the light, and I took the time to enjoy the soft light. It was comfortable, peaceful. I find my bout of daydreaming shattered by technicians prying the hanger door open. It slides to the side gently, and a small aircraft tractor speeds into the hanger. They pull up to my MiG. I'm presented with a crew of technicians. About twenty. They are a group of Asethians. They look absolutely overworked. There is a Mercanan driving the tractor. He speaks extremely rough Asethian though. It takes a while for them to coordinate. They interact mostly through hand gestures.

I climb out. A technician approaches me.

"This thing yours?" he asks.

His disposition seems unpleasant. There are bags under his eyes.

"Yes," I say quietly. "How long until it's airworthy?"

"A while, eighteen to twenty-four, maybe more. This thing is slated for major repairs, everything needs to be tested," he replies wearily.

"Command working you to death?" I asked.

"It's a mess, too many aircraft, too little time. Every nation cares for their own aircraft. We've been here for a couple months now, but in the last two weeks we've had to step up our maintenance schedules so that we could take care of all the aircraft. It's a mess when new wings come in. When will your ground crews be here and ready?"

The man has bags under his eyes, the others work quietly, but efficiently.

"I don't know, perhaps a day or two. We only arrived this afternoon,"

The man nods. He turns to walk away.

"Oh, sir?" I say.

He turns his head.

"Thank you, and your men,"

He waves me off and gets to work.

I walk out of the hanger. There is no such thing as sleep or peace. Aircraft scoot about, trucks and tractors glide along. There is the ever present whine and rumble of jet engines, combined with the gently wavering bass sound of the distant aircraft. The lights come on and the sun sinks nearer to the horizon, bathing the clouds in fiery light. The farther up one looks the deeper the blue turns. Stars begin to emblazen themselves into the atmosphere. It's a beautiful sight to me, though there is no peace.

I get out of the roosterpit, glance at the progress of the technicians, applaud their work, and finally head to baggage. I had almost forgotten about my luggage!

Once I collect my baggage, I head for my room in the barracks.

Left with nothing else to do while I wait for the paperwork to process, I go out to have a smoke.

Wait, stuff. Where's my pack? Some passers-by look at me a little funny as I go over my pockets in a rush. Ah dammit, must've left it in the luggage.

I walk over to my room to fetch the pack. Wait, where's my luggage? forget!

I walk over to the baggage claim for the transport flight, find my suitcase, and bring it back to my room. A few moments later, I fish out my pack and favorite zippo lighter.

I walk outside onto the tarmac, flip the lid, and begin lighting. Flick. Flick. Huh? Flick. Flick. Flick. Out of fluid? God dammit.

I walk back inside and look for a supply store. I'm pointed over to the area mainly kept by the Mercanans, but thankfully one of the clerks speaks fluent Aesthian.

"Do you guys have any lighter fluid bottles?"

"Sorry sir, we don't keep any on hand."

"What about matchbooks?"

"We have a few left, they should be right over here."

I buy a matchbook, walk back out to the tarmac, and light a smoke. A rogue gust of wind blows out the cherry. Ah, forget it.

I get rid of the cigarette and sit down at a bench. At least I've got a pretty good view of the sunset. It's still plenty warm out, too.
« Last Edit: March 05, 2015, 12:47:00 AM by NoZoner »

"Shiiiit."
It's been a long day. I head to the barracks to unpack my stuff. Waitwaitwait. Did I even grab it from the cargo aircraft?
Just to be sure, I head in that direction, and sure enough, my stuff is gone. So I walk back to the barrack, and find my room.
What a surprise, there it is. What a waste of time.
I start unpacking my stuff, hanging clothes and uniforms up, After that's done, I plugmy smartphone into a wall charger, and start getting my bunk made.

how much space do we have, just to be sure?
« Last Edit: March 05, 2015, 10:50:23 AM by Gojira »

not going to post a big wall of text but Rye has been going around helping the overworked technicians for the majority of the day

I lay down on my bed and start trying to sleep.

Once I get to my room, I unpack my things, sit on on a chair and start reading the manual I found in the Jaguar.

Once I get to my room, I unpack my things, sit on on a chair and start reading the manual I found in the Jaguar.
It mostly contains basic information on how to operate the craft, a lot of things you already know.

how much space do we have, just to be sure?
In scientific terms, "not a lot".

I find the cafeteria after meandering about for ten or fifteen minutes. I walk in. It's about seven and dinner is wrapping up. It's not too full, and it has a nice view of the flight line. The florescent lights hum quietly amid low chatter. I step in line. There's a huge variety of food, even more so than our base in NAUC. I snag a beef sandwich and fries, along with  a desert of chocolate pudding.

After convincing a kitchen staffer that the 514th was indeed an on-base unit, I went and sat at a small table at the back of the cafeteria. It has a good view of the flight lines. I try the fries. Definitely not gourmet. They come in two varieties, soggy and crisp. It doesn't really matter either way.

I try the fries. Definitely not gourmet. They come in two varieties, soggy and crisp. It doesn't really matter either way.
Before you even get to try anything other than the fries, the PA announces that Mjolnir Flight is to immediately report to briefing room 2.

I wake up on a chair near in the hangar after someone begins to shake me.
I think I was helping people.

An Aesthian engineer is standing next to me, I recognize him as the person who I mainly helped work stuff out with my A-10.
"Get up. Mjolnir Flight needs to go to briefing room 2."

I take out my smartphone and use it as a mirror. I sigh heavily; oil and general dirt covers my face. I run to the showers to take a quick five minute shower; just to clean my hair and my face+arms. I get to the briefing room in around 8 minutes.
"New record." I mutter.

I curse my luck at the uneaten food, and begin to scarf down the cheeseburger. finishing what I can before leaving the cafeteria. I throw the rest out and look for a map. I ponder if my MiG is in pieces or what. My guess is I'll have to fly the Mirage one last time. I arrive in the briefing room some five minutes after the announcement.



Mission load out for Mirage soon.

I close the manual, leave it in my room, and head down to briefing.