#riffrafpilot

(  @riffrafpilot | ☻ = my muse wakes up in your muse’s closet the night after a party. )

lucille wakes to a cruel headache and a kind smile - the former a tender reminder of her ever-worsening alcohol tolerance, the latter enough to almost distract her from her strange surroundings. there shouldn’t be a comfort to this - had anyone else caught her, she’s not certain she could stand the humiliation. but she’s entangled in the fabric of something familiar, and once she has languidly freed herself from her makeshift blanket, she hands the shirt back to its owner. a welcome face in any moment of course, though she has concluded that she is happiest when her days end and begin with him. she would say it out loud, although they both know she’s not that kind of woman. between them, a lazy smile is enough.

WE SHALL NEVER SURRENDER

his hand is extended outwards and towards the sky as he greets the other man.  “hauptmann collins? obergruppenführer smith told me to report to you.” he hasn’t worked for the ss for long, it was only weeks after he’d been plucked from the construction yard with a claim that he was meant for more then helping to build the reich. 

“i’ve never been upstate before. brooklyn is all i really know. ” joe muses, arm now searching through his brown leather jacket for a cigarette and a lighter. he places one between his lips and flicks the back of the lighter with the pad of his thumb. he’d been assigned a mission. word had it that the resistance had a small faction to the north, one that they were told to gather intel on. “i’ve heard you’re one hell of a pilot, sir.” it eased his nerves to have been informed of collins’ successes amongst the air and of his frequent trips to berlin. 

     small diner in LONDON, a lot more busier than it had been since the war. not that she would KNOW, but it was all the owner ever talked about. his excitement. a lonely face took a seat by himself, ellanor carefully trailing behind with his menu. a lot of these younger men suffered from PTSD, so she just so happened to be one of the diners FAVOURITES for her calm demeanor. 

Knowing what it was that was planned for them was half of the battle. As the enemy forces seemingly geared up for an attack, Britain had to prepare to retaliate by what means they could. The spitfire was a prized and proud invention and the King, as a former pilot himself, always looked forward to seeing the machines and meeting the pilots.

the smell of metal and rain was just as familiar to farrier as the smell of shepherd’s pie baking in the kitchen. rain had been falling over r.a.f. cattewater for three days now, soaking the tarmac and flooding the barracks. farrier was eager to get above the low cloud line and rid himself of mould and incessant patter of rain. god’s wounds, he hated it. missed the sands of cairo. 

he was perched on the loft of hangar c - 2526 near the open garage, legs dangling off of the edge, unlaced boots dripping water onto the concrete floor. he slouched over a notebook, the pages cool and curling in the humidity; the pencil barely wrote because of it. his lips worked at a waning cigarette in his mouth, only taking it out to replace it with the pencil and back again. 

a supermarine rested in the hangar, narrowed gaze cast up to the cloudy skies. its teeth were bared, bloodthirsty and grinning. 

the sound of boots tracking mud on the hangar floor roused farrier from his work and he glanced towards the open door. farrier had seen him before and heard of him more often. flying together would be a first, though. the group captain overseeing farrier’s division had given him his orders printed on thick paper detailing a mission escorting an american flown c - 108 flying fortress across the channel. he wondered if the other pilot had received his. 

         “Wha’ tae fuck do ye mean ahve go’ a temperature?” Flushed and grumpy, the young pilot rises from his chair once more, only to have the door blocked once more by Katherine. “Tha’s no’ funneh, Kat; ah gotta make th’ trip o’er to Berlin tonig’.”

Brushes the lock of hair that has fallen down the front of his face back with some gusto, but that only reveals puffy eyes and a paler complexion. “Group o’ th’ Resistance is meetin’ wif me to exchange the paperwork. If ah don’ get tae them tonight, then it’s a complete bust - we’ve been plannin’ this out for months.” His voice is low and hoarse, and he looks like he could keel over at any moment, but still, he tries to walk forward.

         “S’only an eight hour flight. Ah could do et in m’sleep. Move, Kat, Please.”

❝  I  CAN’T  LET  YOU.  ❞    Her  hands  raised  to  gently  push  him  by  his  shoulders  back  down  to  his  seat,  voice  low  and  calm  but  with  steel  underneath.    Lord  knew  what  could  happen  if  he  flew  in  this  condition  and,  as  selfish  as  it  might  be,  she  refused  to  lose  him  because  he  was  a  stubborn  idiot.

YES,  IT  WAS  AN  important  flight,  she  knew.    Well,  now  she  knew...    Already,  he’d  forgotten  something  vital,  as  trustworthy  as  she  was,  by  telling  her  his  mission.    He  wasn’t  supposed  to  but  she  wouldn’t  point  it  out  unless  she  had  to.    That  was  one  diminished  faculty  he’d  be  pissed  about  the  most  if  she  had  to  guess.