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Diplomacy and Events / Re: The Lost Cradle
« on: December 07, 2017, 03:38:07 PM »
Morning saw the rain replaced by a thick white haze, courtesy of the lingering humidity. Harald had woken early enough to witness the sunrise, and, with a rather halted knot of paranoia in his chest, owing to the lingering thought of his family having discovered his actions, he rode out slowly to the closest clearing the map indicated; in this case, it was a rather circular clearing situated on a small hill overlooking the now rapidly flowing river down below, which he had earlier only caught a glimpse of from the highway.
An hour passed; and still no signs of anything, or anyone. The knot in his stomach welled up again; They know. They know. An unfamiliar feeling for years; he'd kept his extra-familial involvements so far removed from the actualities in his life, that, for almost a decade, he had no clue who they were, and they had no clue who he was. Now he knew, and the fact unsettled him, more than it should have, ideally. He'd gotten some of the best moments of his life out of the revelation, but also some of the greatest anxiety. The fate of his quest for the cradle would determine that particular final outcome, and for that reason, he began to feel a more personal pull towards finishing it. He could exit nicely if it came to it.
He finally heard it, as he was sure that a considerable portion of the valley had; the familiar and ubiquitous whine of the Klimov engines mounted atop the typical Mi-8. A Rodinan design, and one that around half of world nations used. Surely, the dump yard in Weremark wouldn't have noticed one absent scrap piece? They hadn't, and as the whine approached closer, he reached into his bag and pulled out a red smoke signal. Setting it off in the middle of the clearing, he saw the helicopter list in his direction. He recognized that livery anywhere. Painted over the typical Werman aircraft gray; roundels gone. Now, painted in a dull brown, and Re-registered in Wahland, and disarmed. Sometimes, the utter lack of regulation in that place worked in their favor.
A plume of dust hit his face as the helicopter hovered above the clearing and slowly began it's descent, the round and well-used wheels touching down just in front of him. He waved it down some of the way, waiting for the dust to settle and the whine to stop. When it did, he clambered over, waiting for the back ramp to open and the pilot to exit. Out she came, a notably short woman dressed in fairly casual clothes, but with a large HGU-56 pilot helmet, and a utility vest loaded with six twenty-round magazines. Violet Waldeburg grinned readily at Harald, and not a moment later the two found themselves embroiled in a rather passionate kiss. When they broke it they both smirked wordlessly. Harald looked past his short lover's head to see the full stock of the helicopter; two Quadbikes, six assault rifles, and a whole box of canned food, should they need it, as well as full change of clothes. Harald turned the GPS tracker on his plane off; if anyone looking for them at the airport had garnered a signal, they'd lost it now.
The tarp over the helicopter was thrown and camp established - yet they both couldn't help but think that their rendezvous may have been less than discreet.
An hour passed; and still no signs of anything, or anyone. The knot in his stomach welled up again; They know. They know. An unfamiliar feeling for years; he'd kept his extra-familial involvements so far removed from the actualities in his life, that, for almost a decade, he had no clue who they were, and they had no clue who he was. Now he knew, and the fact unsettled him, more than it should have, ideally. He'd gotten some of the best moments of his life out of the revelation, but also some of the greatest anxiety. The fate of his quest for the cradle would determine that particular final outcome, and for that reason, he began to feel a more personal pull towards finishing it. He could exit nicely if it came to it.
He finally heard it, as he was sure that a considerable portion of the valley had; the familiar and ubiquitous whine of the Klimov engines mounted atop the typical Mi-8. A Rodinan design, and one that around half of world nations used. Surely, the dump yard in Weremark wouldn't have noticed one absent scrap piece? They hadn't, and as the whine approached closer, he reached into his bag and pulled out a red smoke signal. Setting it off in the middle of the clearing, he saw the helicopter list in his direction. He recognized that livery anywhere. Painted over the typical Werman aircraft gray; roundels gone. Now, painted in a dull brown, and Re-registered in Wahland, and disarmed. Sometimes, the utter lack of regulation in that place worked in their favor.
A plume of dust hit his face as the helicopter hovered above the clearing and slowly began it's descent, the round and well-used wheels touching down just in front of him. He waved it down some of the way, waiting for the dust to settle and the whine to stop. When it did, he clambered over, waiting for the back ramp to open and the pilot to exit. Out she came, a notably short woman dressed in fairly casual clothes, but with a large HGU-56 pilot helmet, and a utility vest loaded with six twenty-round magazines. Violet Waldeburg grinned readily at Harald, and not a moment later the two found themselves embroiled in a rather passionate kiss. When they broke it they both smirked wordlessly. Harald looked past his short lover's head to see the full stock of the helicopter; two Quadbikes, six assault rifles, and a whole box of canned food, should they need it, as well as full change of clothes. Harald turned the GPS tracker on his plane off; if anyone looking for them at the airport had garnered a signal, they'd lost it now.
The tarp over the helicopter was thrown and camp established - yet they both couldn't help but think that their rendezvous may have been less than discreet.