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Sep. 16th, 2009 05:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sermocinare(x-posted to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
runaway_tales, which btw is awesome)
Author: Fireez
Challenge: Blueberry Yoghurt #22 (making repairs), Molasses #3 (graveyard shift), Fudge Ripple #9 (distraction)
Rating: PG (cursing)
Wordcount: 659
Summary: Dee does some late-night, and rather futile, airplane tinkering. Irene thinks they should rather be boozing.
“Dee? You still in here?”
Irene stepped out of the semi-darkness of the airfield and into the hangar, blowing warm air into her hands. The early autumn night was chilly, and there was no heating in the hangars. She could hear clanks coming from the far right corner of the large structure, and what sounded like a soft curse, almost drowned out by the buzzing of the overhead lights. Yes, he was still there. She made a beeline for where the noises were coming from, occasionally ducking underneath the wings of a plane or sidestepping a rudder. When she was standing almost directly behind him, she raised her voice once again:
“Dee? We’re waiting for you over in the Devil’s Wing.”
“Huh?”
Dee turned around, an almost bewildered look on his face. There were a few dark smudges on his face, and the hair on the left side of his head stood up like porcupine spikes, blonde smeared with dark grease. He must have been so engrossed in his work that he had forgotten to wipe his hands before running them through his hair, she thought, an amused smile lighting up her face. Under the flickering, soft light, he looked about ten years younger.
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry.” He sighed, shook his head: “I still haven’t found out what the hell is wrong with this thing. I should be able to squeeze a few more mph out of it, but it just won’t…” He gave the offending motor, parts of which were strewn out around his feet, a nasty look: “Goddamn lazy machine. I mean, really, Heinkel is working on the third generation of his jet engine already, and Einstein and von Braun are said to be developing rockets, honest-to-god rockets, Irene, and I’m still stuck in here with this fucking sloth propeller shit…” He threw the rag on which he had been cleaning his hands down, jaws clenching, his expression somewhere between anger and defeat.
Still smiling softly, Irene reached out for him, taking his chin in her hand and turning his head so that he faced her: “I know you’re pissed, Speedy. You’ve been working on this for how long now? But anyway, it’s not going to solve itself by you taking the machine apart for the twentieth time.” She gave him a light kiss on the forehead: “You’re a brilliant engineer. But even you are only as good as the material you’re working with. Everything has its limits, and from how I understand it, this machine has reached it.”
Dee frowned, then shook his head, sighing: “I guess you’re right. Still.”
“Come on. Let’s hit the Devil for a few drinks. Also, Jensen has had his fiftieth flight today, and everybody is already halfway drunk with celebrating. Mostly because the drinks are on him.” Irene grinned and winked at Dee.
“You know,” the corners of his mouth were beginning to inch upwards, “getting wasted does sound like a good idea. Speaking of, you don’t seem to have participated in the boozing all that much yet?”
“That, babe, is because I have been waiting for you.” She ran a finger over his cheek, treating him to a velvety smile. “Also, I touched down just after the lights went on. So, haven’t had that much time to get wasted yet.”
“All right,” he was grinning now, eyes coming alive with a renewed sparkle, “then let’s get wasted, Queen of the Air.” He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her against his side while they walked towards the doors. “By the way, how’s the new set of wings holding up?”
“Oh, marvellous. But seriously, Dee,” she laughed, reaching up to tousle his hair, “we should stop at the washroom on our way there. You have grease in your hair. And on your nose. It’s kind of cute, but,” she stopped, turned, and gave him a quick kiss on the mouth, “not everybody’s into grease monkeys like I am.”
runaway_tales, which btw is awesome)Author: Fireez
Challenge: Blueberry Yoghurt #22 (making repairs), Molasses #3 (graveyard shift), Fudge Ripple #9 (distraction)
Rating: PG (cursing)
Wordcount: 659
Summary: Dee does some late-night, and rather futile, airplane tinkering. Irene thinks they should rather be boozing.
“Dee? You still in here?”
Irene stepped out of the semi-darkness of the airfield and into the hangar, blowing warm air into her hands. The early autumn night was chilly, and there was no heating in the hangars. She could hear clanks coming from the far right corner of the large structure, and what sounded like a soft curse, almost drowned out by the buzzing of the overhead lights. Yes, he was still there. She made a beeline for where the noises were coming from, occasionally ducking underneath the wings of a plane or sidestepping a rudder. When she was standing almost directly behind him, she raised her voice once again:
“Dee? We’re waiting for you over in the Devil’s Wing.”
“Huh?”
Dee turned around, an almost bewildered look on his face. There were a few dark smudges on his face, and the hair on the left side of his head stood up like porcupine spikes, blonde smeared with dark grease. He must have been so engrossed in his work that he had forgotten to wipe his hands before running them through his hair, she thought, an amused smile lighting up her face. Under the flickering, soft light, he looked about ten years younger.
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry.” He sighed, shook his head: “I still haven’t found out what the hell is wrong with this thing. I should be able to squeeze a few more mph out of it, but it just won’t…” He gave the offending motor, parts of which were strewn out around his feet, a nasty look: “Goddamn lazy machine. I mean, really, Heinkel is working on the third generation of his jet engine already, and Einstein and von Braun are said to be developing rockets, honest-to-god rockets, Irene, and I’m still stuck in here with this fucking sloth propeller shit…” He threw the rag on which he had been cleaning his hands down, jaws clenching, his expression somewhere between anger and defeat.
Still smiling softly, Irene reached out for him, taking his chin in her hand and turning his head so that he faced her: “I know you’re pissed, Speedy. You’ve been working on this for how long now? But anyway, it’s not going to solve itself by you taking the machine apart for the twentieth time.” She gave him a light kiss on the forehead: “You’re a brilliant engineer. But even you are only as good as the material you’re working with. Everything has its limits, and from how I understand it, this machine has reached it.”
Dee frowned, then shook his head, sighing: “I guess you’re right. Still.”
“Come on. Let’s hit the Devil for a few drinks. Also, Jensen has had his fiftieth flight today, and everybody is already halfway drunk with celebrating. Mostly because the drinks are on him.” Irene grinned and winked at Dee.
“You know,” the corners of his mouth were beginning to inch upwards, “getting wasted does sound like a good idea. Speaking of, you don’t seem to have participated in the boozing all that much yet?”
“That, babe, is because I have been waiting for you.” She ran a finger over his cheek, treating him to a velvety smile. “Also, I touched down just after the lights went on. So, haven’t had that much time to get wasted yet.”
“All right,” he was grinning now, eyes coming alive with a renewed sparkle, “then let’s get wasted, Queen of the Air.” He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her against his side while they walked towards the doors. “By the way, how’s the new set of wings holding up?”
“Oh, marvellous. But seriously, Dee,” she laughed, reaching up to tousle his hair, “we should stop at the washroom on our way there. You have grease in your hair. And on your nose. It’s kind of cute, but,” she stopped, turned, and gave him a quick kiss on the mouth, “not everybody’s into grease monkeys like I am.”
