NationStates Jolt Archive

Kevin shrugged as he picked up his cellphone. “No, Dad. I said NO. I am not coming. What? Screw you AND your company, too, Dad.” He gulped back tears as he threw the cellphone at the wall. Then he run our of the house. The house was belonged to Kirill Nivensky, CEO of Allanean Arms, Inc. It was dark. It rained. But it was still flightworthry. And so he ran for one of the more expensive family toys – an Anne Coulter Mark III fighter bomber – to get away from his father, his company, everything. At the speed of sound.

As Kevin Nivensky revved up the engine of the craft, he did notice the family mechaic run out towards the plane. He slipped on his pilot’s helmet, and turned on the music – the helmet would tune out the engine nearly perfectly, so he wanted music. So he didn’t hear the family mechanic run out towards the plane, yelling.

“Master Nivensky! Master Nivensky!”

The canopy slammed shut.

“Master Nivensky! The plane is not safe to fly!”

The engines blared to life, cutting off the hapless mechanic

* * * *

(A few hours later)

Kevin stared at the controls. He planned to turn back to the shore by now, but it was impossible. On the screens, the phrase all pilots fear over deep see stood out.

“MULTIPLE ENGINE FAILURE.”

Kevin slammed the ejection…

Maya Kell was on vacation. So to speak. She'd been waiting for six months for a good time to take a trip out by herself by sail, and now she was a week out and many miles away from anybody else in the world.

Today had been a good day; favorable winds, no stormclouds in sight, and it was warm enough to nap on deck rather than be stuck in the stuff hold.

As the early predawn light grew, bringing her towards consciousness, a sonic boom awakened her very rudely.

What the blazes was that?

Off to the southeast, a dim shape blurred, trailing smoke as it plunged into the ocean. She blinked.

What was that?

Grabbing twenty year old military surplus binoculars from a box under the deck, she zoomed in where she thought she'd seen a splash. A few bobbing pieces of debris greeted her gaze, but nothing that enlightened her as to what it was.

I wonder what sort of plane that was... She lowered the binoculars, staring into the sea for a minute, then shook her head and scanned the sky on the off-chance that another plane would be coming into view. A small growing patch overhead caught her eye.

Say... She blinked, and raised the binoculars back up to her eyes. Well, well, what have we here... She watched as the man in the parachute drifted down from the sky, splashing down not too far from her.

Blazes. I suppose I'm going to have to pick the poor fella up and bring him in to the coast guard. So much for a relaxing vacation. She sighed to herself, and set the craft to sailing slowly towards the floating pile of parachute.

Kevin swore as the pilot's seat hit the water. He was still strapped to hit and was momentarily submerged with it, then erupted to the surface as the internal safety flotation device (ISFD) deployed four large bags full of compressed air to the sides of the seat.

"Woah." – said Kevin.

He was sitting on a semblance of a king's throne, besieged on all sides with sea – with no shore in sight. The parachute had already auto-detached itself from the "throne" and drowned.

"Oh well," muttered the boy, "time to take a look around."

And then he saw the yacht. The question was, would the people aboard see him?

There was one solution. Implanted somewhere in the large seat was a single-shot 40mm flare/grenade launcher – mainly for situations like this – and several rounds. At least one of them, Kevin remembered, was an actual flare.

Kevin struggled to get at the device, pointed it skywards – "at 60 degrees angle", as he could vaguely remember from the user manual – and fired. The small launcher braced him with recoil which sent the seat into a sickening rocking motion and nearly broke his collarbone. The round went up like a small star, seen even in the daylight.

Now he had to wait. Kevin hated waiting. It was, however, the only thing he could do.

OOC: Sorry, been a bit busy this week. Yay for magic sleep guns! (http://www.schlockmercenary.com/d/20000903.html)

Maya started, her attention caught by the flare. Oooh, guess the pilot survived.

She peered all around with her binoculars. Dang. Nobody else in sight. I guess that means I have to go pick him up. Hm. I wonder if it's a good idea... might be dangerous. She sighed. Wise or not, I pretty much have to. Oh well. Tacking into the wind, the slender triple hulls of her boat cut through the water. Lil' magic sleep gun, you better work today if that pilot is trouble...

"Ahoy there. You want some help?" Not bothering to wait for an answer, she threw a rope attached to a bouyant ring out at the floating chair. Perhaps a bit too hard, but a loud clunk assured her she hadn't overshot the fellow as she pulled the sails and braked hard.

Kevin grabs onto the rope and begins to pull himself onto the ship.

Once aboard, he looks at Maya. As he does, she can note he is wearing black BDU pants, combat boots, a handgun and a knife. He is also wearing a leather jacket and a T-shirt stitched with the words "Velox Mortis."

He takes off his glasses and begins cleaning the seawater from them. Then he looks at Maya.

"Wow.... I mean, hi. Thanks, that is."

OOC: The image:

http://www.lifelibertyetc.com/images/products/Reaper02.jpg

That's a hella ugly t-shirt... oh crap he's wearing combat boots and he has a gun! Trouble, Maya, trouble. Probably a soldier of some sort. This is going to just wreck my vacation.

She eyed the teenager in the dripping leather jacket and BDUs suspiciously, keeping a hand over the tiny stunner. A rather practical short-brimmed hat sat over what resembled nothing so much as a silk bathrobe, rather incongruously.

"You're welcome. I didn't know if anybody else would've come around to pick you up before you died." Of exposure and dehydration, likely. "What were you doing around here when you crashed?" I should probably call for the Coast Guard soon. If I just drop him off with them, I can stay out here and sail for a while longer.

"Well..." Kevin blushes, he doesn't really know where is "here". "fooling around with Dad's Annie, really. Apparently there was some malfunction."

The kid smiles: "My name is Kevin Nivensky. And what's yours?

As he looks at Maya's outfit, he is stricken with a certain sense of realisation. "You are not Allanean.... right?"

"Well..." Kevin blushes, he doesn't really know where is "here". "fooling around with Dad's Annie, really. Apparently there was some malfunction."

The kid smiles: "My name is Kevin Nivensky. And what's yours?

As he looks at Maya's outfit, he is stricken with a certain sense of realisation. "You are not Allanean.... right?"
What an idiot. From Allanea? Hm. Oh, he's a mighty long way from home.
"You don't know where you are, do you?" She rolled her eyes. "I'm Maya Kell and you are about the stupidest pilot I've met yet. You are qualified, right?"
She stared at him pointedly.
"Anyway, welcome aboard. It's going to take a little while to sail you to anywhere where they can figure out what to do with you."

"Yes. Graduate with excellence, Front Sight Pilot's course. On the other hand, I have not the faintest where I am. I just went north from Port-Allanea at the biggest speed Annie could gather, well," he blushed, "And turned a bit of aerial manoevers on the way, too."

He looks at Maya.

"Now, Mrs. Kell... can we continue this conversation below-deck? I'm kind of cold." he point to his clothing, which is, of course, soaking wet.

"Yes. Graduate with excellence, Front Sight Pilot's course. On the other hand, I have not the faintest where I am. I just went north from Port-Allanea at the biggest speed Annie could gather, well," he blushed, "And turned a bit of aerial manoevers on the way, too."

He looks at Maya.

"Now, Mrs. Kell... can we continue this conversation below-deck? I'm kind of cold." he point to his clothing, which is, of course, soaking wet.
She gave him a blank look. I wonder if he hit his head on something on the way down. "Mrs." indeed.

She waved at the deck of the catamaran. "Not much room below, I'm afraid. Barely enough for one when the weather's bad with gear loaded, let alone two. Just strip and hang it on the rail. I'll see if I have anything that might fit you and warm up some soup."

Having certified him to be bumbling and probably harmless, she began to wonder to herself. Why are the cute ones so often deranged?

"So where in Allanea are you from, flyboy, and how is it that you ended up so long on engines and so short on sensibility?" She preoccupied herself with pulling out canned soup and getting the deck stove working.

Kevin shrugs as he strips down, leaving only a pair of black underpants, attaching his clothes to the rail in question. He is not particularly well-built, but he is healthy - not a completely frail big, but no Arnie - if somewhat pale, giving note to that whatever sports he does, he does mostly indoors, or with his clothes on. He remains standing on deck, holding his gunbelt and knife sheath in one hand. "Port-Allanea. The capital. I had... well, sufficient is to say I was very upset and didn't really care where I was going. Maya..." - he blushes, as he is taught to greet foreigners politely - you never know what their sensitivies are, -
Can I help you with the cooking? I'd hate to be a burden, and you already saved my life once today."

Kevin shrugs as he strips down, leaving only a pair of black underpants, attaching his clothes to the rail in question. He is not particularly well-built, but he is healthy - not a completely frail big, but no Arnie - if somewhat pale, giving note to that whatever sports he does, he does mostly indoors, or with his clothes on. He remains standing on deck, holding his gunbelt and knife sheath in one hand. "Port-Allanea. The capital. I had... well, sufficient is to say I was very upset and didn't really care where I was going. Maya..." - he blushes, as he is taught to greet foreigners politely - you never know what their sensitivies are, -
Can I help you with the cooking? I'd hate to be a burden, and you already saved my life once today.""Sure," she said. "Make sure that doesn't tip over." She pointed at the large can of soup, now warming over a gas flame. It sloshed threateningly on cue as the wind picked up. "It'll be a mess if it does. I'll go check and see what might fit you that's dry." She cautiously palmed a small object and squeezed down into one hatch headfirst. She didn't go all the way down, either - there would be barely enough room for her to do so in the other hull, and this one was packed with supplies.

Her bare feet and calves stuck upward through the robe as it dropped to her thighs, and she curled her toes indecisively as she wiggled around. After a moment, she stopped wiggling; ten seconds later, she reversed the process, squirming out of the hatch backwards (and halfway out of her robe) before standing back up and self-consciously smoothing her robe down with one hand while holding out a shapeless purple bodysuit.

"Think this should fit," she said. It'll be a tight fit, but it's warm and there shouldn't be anything wrong with a tight fit here...

Kevin sighed as he slipped into the strange bodysuit. “You know,’ he said, while trying to keep an inspecting eye on the pans, “I would be eternally grateful if you can forget ever seeing me wearing this thing. If anybody back home hears about this, I’ll be fighting in duels till the rest ofmy life.” For a second, he observed Maya’s beautiful form, trying to avoid thinking of anything like that. Then, he asked:

“Umm, Maya? Tell me, where are you from? I can’t really pin down your accent, and you don’t look or sound Goobergunchian to me.” Privately, he thought Goobergunchians would be too inept and useless to do something as cool as boating, but he didn’t mentioned it.