infinitepryde

Rokk Krinn says "I want a story with airplanes in it."
Rokk Krinn says "Airplanes and a ferret pooka."

Fortunately for my sanity, Rokk did not request a long or good story.

"My grandmother," Chivaree announced out of nowhere, "was Sredni Vashtar."

Keisha made her best attempt at staring at Chivaree through scornfully lowered lashes. Someday her eyelashes would actually be long enough to pull it off. "Don't be an idiot. Sredni Vashtar was a *boy*."

Chivaree hopped down to a sitting position and sniffed. "That's what you think. Who was going to look?"

"*And*," Keisha continued, determined not to be outdone, "he was *English*."

The younger girl clapped both hands over her ferret-nose in dismay.

"Both of you shut up," Splits growled, giving a quick glance down the maintenance corridor behind him. "If somebody hears us, I swear I'll shave you both for --"

Torc took his life in his hands by elbowing the young redcap in the side. Hate-black eyes focused on Torc -- but Splits went silent, and just in time, too. Heels clattered as a party of stewardesses went by. (Flight attendants. Keisha would kick him if he called them stewardesses again.)

They tried to move quietly, but Keisha's hooves clattered as badly as the heels. Still, under cover of the glamour, the foursome managed to make their way to where a long window showed them a view of the tarmac.

"One of those," Splits said determinedly.

Torc grimaced. "That's a *jet*. We're never going to be able to get that."

"Why not?" Keisha sniffed. "What are they going to chase us in? Those carts? *I* can run faster than those things."

"So can I!" Chivaree crowed. "And -- and -- faster than the jets, too! Faster than a *speeding bullet!*"

Splits glowered at Chivaree and flicked his divided tongue out like a snake. "If you don't shut up, one of these days I'm gonna *test* that."

Torc gritted his teeth out of habit, then hissed through them when the pressure on the sharp points threatened to pierce the inside of his cheek. And people wondered why nockers were cranky, he thought to himself. "Look, we might be able to get *to* it, but we can't *pilot* it."

"They make flight simulators," Keisha pointed out haughtily.

"Great," Torc spat. "You got a computer?"

"Well --" The satyr pursed her lips. She hated to admit any weakness. "No."

Torc smirked at her. "Me neither. And you know why? Computers are evil. They teach you how to fly something like a jet, maybe. But it *ain't* a jet. It ain't even a plane. It's a *screen*. That's like saying you know how to keep Chiv in line because you cleaned her litter box once."

"Hey!" yelped the ferret-girl, and pounced for Torc's knee, howling "HER THOUGHTS WERE RED THOUGHTS AND HER TEETH WERE WHITE!"

The resultant brawl lasted long enough to catch the attention of security; and thus was 1988 Seattle spared a pre-teen gang of Unseelie jet plane smugglers.

The jet *pack* experiments didn't go much better. But at least they were more isolated disasters.