Tales of the Legendary: On a Wing and a Prayer

[Acyl]

One of our planes was missing

Two hours overdue

One of our planes was missing

With all its gallant crew

The radio sets were humming

We waited for a word

Then a noise broke

Through the humming and this is what we heard

Comin' in on a wing and a prayer

Comin' in on a wing and a prayer

Though there's one motor gone

We can still carry on

Comin' in on a wing and a prayer

-- Coming in on a Wing
and a Prayer (1943), by Harold Adamson and Jimmie McHugh

Tales of the Legendary:


On a Wing and a Prayer


"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"

She didn't hear him, at first. She heard the spoken syllables...but it took a moment for them to form a coherent sentence in her brain, and another
moment for her to make sense of it.

Belatedly, Elizabeth looked up, her face somewhere between bewildered and apologetic. Fumbling, she lifted her duffle bag from the chair next to her.
"Sorry," she murmured, instinctively, the early stages of a blush coming to her cheeks. She was tired, very tired, but that didn't excuse the
social faux-pas.

The man standing beside the bank of seats smiled faintly. "Quite alright," he replied. He didn't raise his voice, but he did enunciate the
words carefully, speaking over the background murmur of the crowded lounge. "Hope I'm not bothering you."

Elizabeth blinked. "Uh, no, sorry," she mumbled, "just didn't hear you at first...sorry, I'm tired."

Settling down in the now vacated chair, the man placed his suitcase by his feet. Then he made a show of checking his watch. "Hm, yes," he said,
sympathetically, "it's an ungodly hour, isn't it? I swear, they schedule these flights just to torment people. Sadists, the lot of 'em."

Lifting a hand to rub her eyes, Elizabeth managed a weak laugh. Except it came out as more of a gurgle. "It's not that early," she said.

"It's too early to be getting on a damn airplane. Honestly," he insisted, with an illustrative wave of the hand, "I'm sure this
entire airport is built on some...I don't know, ancient pagan burial ground. Or something. Part of a nefarious mystic plot to channel the suffering of
passengers."

Elizabeth shook her head. Rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from her blurred vision, she turned to give the guy a proper look. He lay slouched in the
chair beside her, his lanky frame stretched over the awkwardly-shaped institutional seating...amazingly without any trace of discomfort. He wore black slacks
and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a partially undone red necktie looped round his collar. He peered at her through the tinted lenses of a pair of
similarly red sunglasses. Even the slim briefcase resting on the floor by his seat was all red leather and black trim.

Along with his dark hair and pale skin, he was such a dramatically coloured figure...she wasn't sure whether to be impressed or bemused. Especially
when he continued to speak, sounding absolutely and utterly serious.

"They tire us out by forcing us to be here two bloody hours before the flight," he intoned, a dire edge creeping into his voice, "then make
us sit here due to 'delays' until our muscles have atrophied and the flesh has rotted from our bones. At this rate, we'll be ready for boarding
when the Archangel Gabriel toots his f'ing horn."

Elizabeth couldn't help it. She snickered, her shoulders shaking. "You really hate flying," she asked, "don't you?"

"Loathe it," he answered, instantly, almost before she finished the question, "I'm the sort who likes his feet on God's solid
ground."

"And you're not shy about sharing, I see," Elizabeth retorted.

He smirked in response. "Looked like you needed cheering up, hm? Don't think you're the jet-setting type either, if you don't mind me
saying."

"Good guess," Elizabeth said, dryly. She brought a hand to her hair, running her fingers through the tangled locks. "No offence, this is a
great country and all...but I'm glad to be heading home."

Eyebrows rose, as the guy next to her drew back in his seat, giving her an odd look. "Great? Come, now, yes, I know, it's in the name, but it
rains too much here to be more than mildly satisfactory."

"Clearly," Elizabeth shot back, "you've never been to Seattle. Britain isn't nearly as soggy."

"It's been an unseasonably dry spring season," he said, piously, placing a hand flat over his heart, "trust me, there is nothing more
fickle and vagarious than British weather."

"Riiiiiight," Elizabeth drew the word out, rolling her eyes.

"Fine, fine," he said, conceding defeat. "I take it you're American, then?"

"Elizabeth," she said, by way of introduction, pointing to herself, poking the tip of her index finger into her sweater-clad collarbone,
"dumb tourist."

"Well, not a tourist for much longer, unless the plane decides to give up entirely and strand you." He glanced over at the closed gate, round the
other end of the boarding lounge. Elizabeth followed his gaze, and sighed. Aside from a pair of lethargic-looking airline attendants, there was no sign of
life.

"Call me Walker," he said, finally, "from...somewhere around here."

"Walker," Elizabeth mused, "like the..."

"Yes, yes," he said, with a theatrical air of faux irritation, "like the crisps."

Elizabeth snorted. "I was going to say 'Texas Ranger', actually."

"If I was Chuck Norris," Walker stated, flatly, "I wouldn't be in bloody Heathrow waiting for a plane. I'd roundhouse kick a few
times and helicopter across the Atlantic."

She winced. "Touché."

Walker, nodded solemnly. "Quite. I'm sure he can actually do that, you know. With all the stories on the Internet, it's obvious he's more
powerful than Statesman."



"Pfft," Elizabeth made a dismissive gesture, "please, everyone in Paragon knows the ultimate hero is Blue Steel."

He looked confused. "Don't think I've heard of him," Walker admitted, sounding vaguely apologetic, "is he..."

"No, no. Well, I mean, he's a real costumed hero, but...sorry," Elizabeth tried to explain, before shrugging her shoulders and giving up,
"it's a joke. Paragon City local thing."

"Right," Walker said, nodding, "one of those things. Say no more. Now, I'm thinking..."

But he didn't finish the thought. Instead, he trailed off in mid-sentence, turning his head. Leaning forward, he peered towards the boarding gate
across the room. Elizabeth couldn't see his eyes, but she was sure he was squinting hard through his sunglasses. She looked over herself, staring past the
milling crowd of impatient passengers packed into the airport lounge, but couldn't see what had caught his attention.

"Uh," Elizabeth began, "what are you doing?"

Walker held up a hand, one finger raised. "Hush," he said, "any moment now."

A second ticked by, then two, then three. Elizabeth was just about to break the strange silence, before a crackle of static sounded over the lounge's
public address system - and a harried-sounding voice announced:

"Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the delay. Flight BA-238 to Boston will be boarding shortly. We'd like to invite all passengers from First
and Business Class, and all Economy class passengers seated from rows sixty-five to sixty-eight to approach the gate for boarding. Please have your boarding
passes ready for inspection. All passengers from First and Business Class, and all..."

"That's it," Walker snapped his fingers, an expression of glee on his face. He stood in one fluid motion, sweeping to his feet. He lifted his
briefcase with one hand. With the other, he indicated the line already forming at the gate. "After you, madam."

"Wait, wait," Elizabeth protested, hurriedly fishing around in her pocket for her boarding pass. She pulled out the slightly crumpled strip of
paper, searching for her seat number. Which was, she realised, just within the range of the Economy Class seats the flight attendants had called. She stood up
quickly, pausing only to retrieve her own carry-on luggage, looping the straps round her shoulder.

Then she blinked.

"Hey," Elizabeth said, "how did you---"

"Trade secret," Walker answered, with a conspiratorial grin.

"That's...vaguely creepy," Elizabeth muttered, as they walked to join the passengers shuffling into the plane.

"I know," Walker said, sagely, "I try."

---

The sudden plethora of new and wonderful character stories from Sofaspud, Sweno, and Matrix Dragon/MatrixDragon has awakened in me a desire to join the Zerg rush.
Kekekekeke.

Er, seriously, I've had the bones of this story in my head for a long while. So here's the first bit. Sadly, Bloodwalker probably isn't that
familiar a character to most folks - he's one of my lower-key alts, and I've only brought him out for a few Legendary TF nights and random teams here
and there. But I'm trying to flesh out the character more.

More tomorrow, probably. And before anyone asks, I haven't abandoned the other Legendary story I had in the works, the Superball one. It's just that
this piece here is what has my muse right now. It wants to be finished.
-- Acyl

[Acyl]

As it turned out, Elizabeth found herself sitting next to the strange guy on the plane, as well. Right next to him, in one of the rearmost window seats
that was a set of two instead of three. The coincidence struck her as odd, even in her sleep-deprived and travel-fatigued state, but she brushed it off as an
odd quirk of fate. She had a laugh about it, as did the man called Walker, while he helped her fit her carry-on bag into the overhead compartment.

"Seriously," he grunted, as he gave the bag another shove, "what do you have in here? A dismembered corpse?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. She was glad for the assistance, seeing as how the storage space was a bit too high up for her to reach without drastic
acrobatics. Her one attempt at reaching it alone had resulted in a near-collision with the poor old lady across the aisle. But she could do without the
commentary.

"No," she responded, not giving in to the barb, "I left it back in my hotel room. That's just the murder weapon."

"Good girl," Walker said, in an intentionally patronizing fashion, "sticking it to the air security fascists. Always travel with a bladed
implement. Me, I've got a nice little magic sword in my own carry-on."

"Really," Elizabeth retorted, sceptically. The old lady in the next seat gave them an exceedingly odd look, which Elizabeth studiously ignored.

"Oh, yes," Walker nodded, as he finally manoeuvred the duffle in next to his own briefcase, "never know when you'll need a good melee
weapon. Very useful thing to have."

"Really," Elizabeth repeated. She exhaled, audibly. "I'll just stick to my boring old bag filled with cameras, toiletries, and
things."

"Suit yourself," replied Walker, as he shut and latched the compartment, "now...you want to swap seats, by any chance?"

"Uh, no," Elizabeth said, as she slid in and settled down, searching for the ends of the seatbelt, "I kinda like to look out the
window."

"Certainly," Walker nodded, agreeably, as he took his own place, "thought you might, just wanted to make sure. Be a gentleman and all
that."

Elizabeth smacked her forehead with the back of her hand. "Are you for real?"

"It's actually a cunningly constructed act designed to lure you into a false sense of confidence," Walker answered blandly, with a perfectly
straight face.

She stared at him, incredulously.

He turned his head just enough to return her look, arching his eyebrows and giving a small little smile. "Kidding."

"Yeah...right," Elizabeth grumbled, sinking deeper into her seat. She didn't know whether to laugh...or be completely and utterly freaked
out. A bit of both, perhaps, but tending increasingly to the latter. She was starting to realise that she had many hours of transcontinental non-stop air
travel to look forward to, all next to this guy.

Figuring silence to be the best option, she closed her eyes, trying to get some sleep.

She'd just managed to tune out the noise of footsteps and other passengers making their way aboard the plane, when the rustle of magazine pages sounded
beside her ear.

"Oh, look," said Walker, "they've got 'Van Helsing' on this flight. The Hugh Jackman film. I love that one."

"Oh God," Elizabeth moaned.

---

-- Acyl

[Sofaspud]

I like this. I'm not at all familiar with, um, either of the characters involved -- or if I am, it's not clicking who's who -- but it's a nice
piece. I'm sitting here trying to puzzle out where it's going, that's always a good sign.

One part that puzzles me is... what exactly did Walker do regarding the boarding call? I can tell that Elizabeth figured *something* out, but it's too
subtle for me.

Other than that... y'all make me feel like an amateur, y'know? Well, I am, but you get what I mean. Sheesh.

--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs

[Rev Dark]

Well done Acyl.

Very nice feel to the character.

Cheers,

Shayne

[Acyl]

The fact that the character identities are ambigious is...actually the point, really. You'll note that 'Walker isn't even identified by name until
most of the first bit's through. I'm slightly concerned it isn't the best way to start, however, which is why I'll be posting...well, what I
plan to post shortly. Hopefully that'd start to shed some light on who (and what) these people are, before I move to crisis and denoument.

To clear it at least half of it up, though...'Walker' is Bloodwalker, my Broadsword/Willpower scrapper. And Elizabeth is an original for this story.

EDIT: And come ON, Sofaspud, I was inspired to write this after YOU posted the FINISHED Emerald Blast bit. I'm deliberately taking that idea of third
person interior monologue from one character's perspective, and the fact that what they perceive isn't necessarily the whole story. So nyah, sir, nyah.
I salute you.
-- Acyl

[Acyl]

Mercifully, he was actually enough of a gentleman to let her sleep, taking pains not to bother her once the plane actually got off the ground. So it was a
better rested and considerably more patient Elizabeth that resumed the conversation some time later, after she found the in-flight entertainment not to her
liking.

She started by critiquing the movie.

"Typical Hollywood," she huffed, "vampires don't work like that. Werewolves don't work like that. Got it all wrong! And...that
portrayal of Van Helsing! C'mon, they've butchered the man!"

"But it's fun," Walker argued, looking slightly miffed, "and I thought it was quite accurate."

He pulled off his headphones as the credits rolled up the screen, giving Elizabeth the evil eye. Or at least she thought that was what it was. For
whatever reason, he still hadn't taken off his sunglasses, even aboard the aircraft.

She stared right back at him. "Accurate? Please."

Walker held a hand up, in a placating gesture. "Alright, alright. Fine, I'll grant you that. But I don't see why you're so upset.
Don't tell me you're an expert on gothic horror."

Elizabeth affected a knowing smile. "I'm doing a Bachelor's in Arcane Lore at Paragon U, thank you very much."

He tilted his head. "Really? The Occult Studies campus up in Salamanca, or one of the city programmes?"

"The Salamanca one," Elizabeth countered, "so I know what I'm talking about, okay?"

"Mmm," Walker mused, "I'll give you that. Paragon University's got a decent reputation. You do realise, though...their standing is
mostly research-based? Old Boys' Club with the Midnight Squad and all that. But they're not too good with undergraduate teaching, I don't
think."

Elizabeth goggled. Surprised at the informed response, she forgot to find a barbed riposte, and instead just asked: "Uh, you're in the
field...too?"

"Masters of Thaumatology," Walker said, with just the faintest trace of smugness, "University College London, class of..."

He stopped, then, a frown replacing the grin on his face.

"...actually, no, forget it," he sighed, glossing over the year, "makes me feel old next to you."

Elizabeth eyed him. Without being too obvious about it, she leaned slightly on her armrest, studying his face. She'd taken him for a twenty-something
earlier, but upon closer inspection, he could be anything up to his thirties, even a youthful forty. His features had that sort of ageless quality about them,
and those sunglasses obscured what might be telling details.

"Okay," she said, "then I really don't understand why you like that movie."

Walker shrugged his shoulders. "It's an interesting interpretation. Always need to keep an open mind when it comes to magic. Besides, it's
harmless. Cheap entertainment, hm? Back when I was in school, we used to watch films like that all the time..."

He gave her a significant look, making a less-than-subtle jibe. "...rather than go jetting across the ocean for a lark, or whatever you kids do
nowadays."

"Hey," Elizabeth growled, "I...you...this wasn't just a vacation for me, okay?"

The sudden vehemence seemed to catch Walker by surprise.

"Ah," he said, puzzled, "I'm sorry?"

Elizabeth stopped, her mouth closing with a click. She tensed, avoiding eye contact, staring out the window instead. The shade was partially lowered, but
she could still look through the thin sliver of exposed view-port, out to the sky beyond.

"I'm sorry," Walker said again, choosing his words with care. "It was a joke. I didn't mean to touch on something personal."

"No," Elizabeth cut him off, "well, I mean, yes, it's personal. But it's silly, really, and...I don't know. It's
just..."

She stopped, leaving the sentence incomplete. For a long moment, neither of them said a word. The only sounds were the background hum of the plane's
engines, the noise of the other passengers, and the distant clink of kitchenware from the nearby galley, as the flight stewards prepared for meal service.

Elizabeth was uncomfortably aware of the silence. Even her own breathing seemed louder. Her muscles were tense, and her pulse was racing. The fact that the
man seating next to her was being so dammed polite about it somehow made it even worse. She was about to say something, anything.

But he beat her to it.

Bringing a hand to his face, Walker his glasses lower down the bridge of his nose, just enough to let him peer over the frames. No longer hidden by the
tinted lenses, his eyes were a striking shade of pale brown, so light they were nearly crimson. His expression softened as he spoke.

"I apologise," he said, softly, "it really isn't my place to pry. Would it help, though, to talk about it? I'd be glad to listen, if
you'd like. If not, I won't press. I'm just concerned."

Elizabeth laughed, with brittle humour. "From movies, to education, to my angst, huh? Some conversation."

Walker didn't reply. He just inclined his head.

For some reason she couldn't adequately explain, Elizabeth found that reassuring.

---

-- Acyl

[Sweno]

well you've got me interested.

I'm digging the dry wit.
-Terry
-----
"so listen up boy, or pornography starring your mother will be the second worst thing to happen to you today"
TF2: Spy

[Acyl]

It took some time for her to gather her thoughts. It wasn't exactly a tale she'd planned on telling, especially not to some random stranger. But
now, flying back across the Atlantic, with the fruitless search still fresh on her mind, and the wounds reopened...

...he was right, Elizabeth decided. Maybe it was time she shared the story. She needed to tell someone, anyone. And maybe the anonymity made it better.

She released a breath she didn't even know she was holding. It let loose in a hiss, her shoulders slumping.

"It's funny," she began, finally.

Though maybe that was the wrong word. She didn't find it funny at all, except in the blackest sense. Her hands curled, fingers digging into her palms.
Elizabeth started to tremble...before she grabbed the dark thought and roughly shoved it back down, burying it at the back of her mind. She kept talking,
keeping the words coming. She was afraid to stop, for if she did, she was certain she wouldn't be able to start again. again.

"It really all comes back to school and stuff," she said, "my mother...she was an exchange student. This was before I was born, you
understand? She went to England for a semester."

Seated beside her, Walker nodded, once.

Elizabeth closed her eyes. "But a few months later..."

"...she had you," Walker guessed, after it became clear Elizabeth wasn't going to.

"Yes," Elizabeth confirmed, glad she hadn't needed to say it.

Walker winced. "And your father?"

She grimaced. "I don't know. Mom...she doesn't like to talk about it."

"He was someone she met in Britain, I assume," Walker asked.

"Yeah," Elizabeth acknowledged, "I know that much. But that's about it. I don't even know his full name. 'Al', Mom said,
that's all. 'Al' what? Just 'Al'? Short for 'Albert'? 'Alfred'? I..."

Her hands balled into fists. Elizabeth forced them to unclench.

"And your mother," said Walker, "she won't tell you more?"

Elizabeth gave a hiss of frustration. "No."

"Hm, maybe she doesn't want to remember," Walker suggested, "it might be painful for her."

"I guess...no," Elizabeth corrected herself, "I know it is. But what about me?"

Her voice started to climb, before her cheeks flushed. Conscious that they were surrounded by an entire cabin full of other passengers, Elizabeth forced
her volume back down. There was, though, still an insistent edge to her tone.

"Don't I," she demanded, "have a right to know?"

"Yes," Walker murmured, "you do. But if you're angry with your mother, I don't---"

"Damn right I'm angry," Elizabeth interrupted, slamming the ball of her hand into her chair's armrest, "I...I..."

She faltered.

"...I...I had a fight with mom...I...when I told mom I was going to England, she just freaked out, I..."

Walker frowned slightly. "You were looking for your father?"

Elizabeth raised a hand, covering her face. "It's not like I got anywhere. Or like I had any chance," she grumbled, in a mix of frustration
and resignation, "needle in a goddamn haystack."

Walker made a face, his expression growing more intense. "Hm, do you even know if he's British?"

Taken off-guard, Elizabeth gaped. "What?"

"If your father was...is...British, I mean," Walker elaborated, "the UK gets a lot of students from overseas. Like your mother, in fact. And
expatriate workers from Europe and elsewhere. Your parents met in Britain, but do you know if /he/ was British?"

Elizabeth stared at him in dawning horror. "I...I don't...mom said he wasn't American, but..."

"But she never actually specified," concluded Walker.

"Oh God," Elizabeth groaned, "I never thought of that. I'm so stupid."

"Ah, I didn't mean that," Walker said quickly, "chances are he is British, or at least European. Otherwise your mother wouldn't have
been so upset when you announced your intentions."

"I suppose," Elizabeth answered, slowly, "but still...I spent all that time in London, and I didn't get anywhere."

"Mm," Walker made a small, thoughtful sound. He opened his mouth to continue, and then paused, turning his head.

A shadow fell over their seats. Elizabeth looked up, just as one of the uniformed flight attendants leaned over, carrying a basket of snacks and
sandwiches. Elizabeth blanched. She really didn't have an appetite, not with her stomach feeling like she'd been kicked in the gut.

"Thank you," Walker told the woman, "but no, we're fine."

Elizabeth settled back in her seat. The interruption, unwelcome as it was, gave her a second to regain her composure.

As the stewardess shuffled away, moving down the cabin, Walker looked back at Elizabeth. "So, what did you do," he asked, "visit your
mother's old school and see if anyone remembered her?"

"Yeah," Elizabeth admitted, "more or less. Stupid, right?"

"No," Walker disagreed, "not a bad idea. If you keep at it, you'll find someone who can help. I'm sure of that."

"Really," Elizabeth said, sceptically, "you psychic or something?"

"I'm afraid," Walker replied, self-depreciatingly, "that my divination isn't all that good. But it's not a terribly reliable
discipline, anyway. Magic doesn't have all the answers, I fear."

Despite her tension, Elizabeth couldn't keep from smiling. He was clearly trying to cheer her up. She could appreciate that.

"Still," Walker continued, "I'm sure. In fact..."

He stopped, clasping his chin.

"...hm," Walker said, "I guess there's no harm. Myself...I'm hoping to catch up with an old friend over in America. Haven't
spoken to him in years. We just...totally lost touch, you see. I'm not even sure when he moved across the pond. I hear he's married, too, and...well,
that's not the point."

"You managed to track your friend down," Elizabeth ventured, "that's what you're saying."

"Oh yes, quite. The Internet's a wonderful thing. Though," Walker coughed, "it wasn't simple. I didn't get in touch with him,
exactly. The man's not precisely in the phone book. But I found someone who pointed me to someone else, and so on, so forth."

"And," Elizabeth said, "you found him."

"Yes. Just in time too, I think," Walker grinned, "he's pretty sick, or so I'm told. Not in any danger of conking off just yet, but
certainly unwell. His wife's taking care of him these days. I hope she doesn't mind me dropping by."

"I'm sure they'll be...glad," Elizabeth said, wanly. Then she shook her head. "I'm happy for you, really, I am. But I don't
think it'll be so easy for me."

"Maybe, maybe not," Walker responded, "I think you're due for some luck. Who knows? You could run into someone who knew your
parents."

"Yeah, right," Elizabeth laughed, "I wish."

Walker smiled. "Could happen. God has a sense of humour, don't you know?"

---

-- Acyl

[Bob Schroeck]

God has a sense of humour, don't you know?

And I think I see his latest punchline coming...
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

[Wiregeek]

the other shoe has hobnails and steel toes, I know it *cringes*
"No can brain today. Want cheezeburger."
From NGE: Nobody Dies, by Gregg Landsman
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5579457/1/NGE_Nobody_Dies

[His Lovely Wife]

Oooo.

Next page! Write faster Acyl.

[Logan Darklighter]

Readies whip to crack...

[Sofaspud]

I'm really liking this piece, Acyl. But for the love of everything you hold dear... STOP TEASING US!

More! More! More! Banzai!

--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs

[Acyl]

What I'm posting is actually a bit or two behind what I've got written, for obvious logistical and editing reasons...which is to say I'll probably kick out a short bridging bit by tonight, start to explain things. Hopefully in an unexpected way, but I'll see what you folks think of it. O_o

I will say that 'walker is supposed to be a hero and an incredibly moral person. But you can be a good guy and still be a patronising sonofabitch.
-- Acyl

[Acyl]

She felt better.

Oh, she wasn't going to be dancing over rooftops and singing Disney songs anytime soon. Still, after that unexpected emotional exchange, it felt like
this great invisible pressure was just...

...gone.

Elizabeth leaned over the toilet sink, careful to steady herself against the slight rocking motion of turbulence. She splashed water on her face, and then
eyed herself in the mirror as cool rivulets ran down her cheeks.

"Should thank that guy," Elizabeth muttered to her reflection. Predictably, there was no response, but she knew what the answer was. Yeah, she
should. He'd helped, a little. He'd listened, if nothing else.

She dried herself with a facial tissue, before draining the tiny basin. She watched as the water vanished down the plug hole with that weird suction unique
to airline bathrooms. Elizabeth gave her mirror image a final once-over, adjusting the scrunchie keeping her hair in check.

That was when something - someone - slammed against the door, hard enough to make her jump.

"Jeez," Elizabeth swore, "I'm almost done!"

There was a fair bit of noise outside, and then a very shrill scream.

That...couldn't be right, Elizabeth thought. Surely nobody on earth needed to pee THAT badly.

But the commotion was only increasing in volume, filtering through the thin lavatory cubicle's door. Quickly, Elizabeth unlocked it and looked out.

Her eyes widened.

The plane was in chaos...and it didn't take an investigative genius to see why. At the centre of the tableau were a man and one of the flight
attendants. The man's swarthy features were contorted in a mask of rage, and he was yelling in a language Elizabeth couldn't make out. It took her a
second to recognise it as English, distorted by a thick accent. He had an arm wrapped around the stewardess and something pressed to her neck.

Something sharp, from the look of terror in the woman's eyes.

That expression was echoed by most passengers in the cabin.

Elizabeth stared. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not again. Not with all the security checks at airports, all the precautions, all the passenger
screening...it was impossible. Unthinkable. It couldn't be happening.

But it was.

It was.

People were screaming, now. There were a few passengers out of their seats, but the fact the hijacker had a hostage kept them cowed. He had an angry sneer
pasted on his face, just daring them. He wasn't all that big - in fact the woman he had locked in a deadly embrace was taller than him - but no judge would
dock points for that. He was intimidating enough, not merely with the promise of direct and immediate violence, but also with what his very presence meant.
Everyone knew what he was.

Elizabeth watched this with a strange sense of disconnection. For the first few seconds, she couldn't process what she was seeing. The chaos in the
cabin seemed far away, like it wasn't real. Then it all caught up with her, all at once, and she became very glad she had just emptied her bladder.

This was insane. She had to do something. Someone had to do. She couldn't just stand here and...

Elizabeth froze.

The hijacker was halfway down the aisle, closer to the bank of toilets and her own position than the front of the cabin. Past the man and his captive, she
could see her own unoccupied seat...and the chair next to it, where Walker still was. As she watched, he rose silently from the chair.

With his back turned, the hijacker couldn't see this. In fact, Elizabeth felt sure she was the only one on board who noticed the sudden movement.

Especially when Walker lowered his glasses, just enough to look her in the eye...and winked.

---

...

Yes, it's a cliffhanger. Yes, I'm a bastard. But come on, you have some idea what's going to happen. Can we say fight scene? Yes we can. The
prospect of dealing with something as...emotionally loaded as a plane hijacking, with all its brutal real-world connotations, is kinda daunting to me, but
I've had this choreographed in my head for some time. It's brief, but I hope it works. And things aren't always what they seem. I will say - this
is not precisely the 'crisis' of the story as such. I'm not introducing a new 'lol hijack' thread here; this is by way of answering the
questions about the two characters...
-- Acyl

[Sofaspud]

Acyl. Dude. Buddy. Pal.

I'm doing the mental equivalent of a Pomeranian bouncing at the door because Mommy is home, she's just on the other side of that door, the DOOR
isn't OPENING, WHY IS THE DOOR NOT OPENING, AAAAAH!! *pantpantpant*

*whimper*

--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs