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arch_calzenA short retrospective interlude, Because Exams
(Edit: turns out to be not as short as intended (AGAIN. DAMN IT. WHY.), so I split it in two parts)
* * *
Douglas switched off the ignition and leant back in his leather seat, lazily glancing around the visible part of the airfield. He arrived unusually early, after a bout of insomnia roused him sometime around four-thirty in the morning, and the man deemed himself too noble to nudge his wife awake as well and make her share his misery, so he had an unhurried breakfast, read a chapter of his book and just as unhurriedly drove to the airfield – it wasn’t like Douglas ever made haste to get to work, even when he was already outragingly late, but today he took extra time to drive and park, each movement a bit more prolonged and considered than usually.
It was 7 a.m. on what promised to be a cloudless Wednesday in September, and the mornings have already started to get chilly, so Douglas wasn’t especially keen on getting out of his car and crossing the distance to the portakabin, readily procrastinating for the time being.
The sun was rising slowly, hanging low above the distant treetops, and Douglas squinted at it grumpily, not bothering to lift a hand and shield his eyes.
A multiple cry rang out, loud enough to reach Douglas in his car, and his eyes tracked automatically as a mixed flock of birds – presumably rooks and jackdaws, as far as he could tell from the distance and the cacophony – rose in a swarm of alarm. The birds dashed around the place disorientedly, then darted to the trees in an attempt to hide there instead of the airfield’s large open space. Douglas glanced to a side and spotted a familiar figure of the local ornithologist, because who else but Andrew would be out at this hour, shooing away the birds? The guess was confirmed as the man extended a gloved arm in an invitation, and a large bird of prey landed on it. That was indeed Andrew then, with Hank, his goshawk.
Douglas sighed and pursed his lips. The minor entertainment was over as soon as the birds flew away, and now there weren’t any pretexts left not to go to the portakabin. So he unbuckled the seatbelt, grabbed his bag from the passenger seat and heaved himself out of the car.
Predictably, the portakabin was devoid of the CEO and her son, and Doulgas flicked the kettle on and leant back against the edge of his desk, content that he still had some time to himself before the day started.
They had a cargo flight to Kaunas today, and Douglas couldn’t be more bored about the prospect. Thankfully, it would take only three hours to get to Lithuania, so they wouldn’t stay overnight, flying back right after lunch.
Douglas watched the steam starting to rise from the kettle’s mouth. It’s been about four months now that he was flying solo, and with one pilot they couldn’t possibly accept offers that required longer flights.
Four months since the last First Officer of MJN had resigned, and it was starting to get boring, with no one to tease or bully or boss around, as his habit dictated. Douglas’ cast of mind and constitution easily let him get his suggestible co-pilots under, and once he broke them in, they rarely caused any problems.
It was elementary. Douglas had already outlived two Captains and two First Officers (after he had been promoted, naturally – if such thing as ‘promotion’ was applicable to something that wasn’t even a proper airline), not to mention numerous co-pilots at Air England, where you actually did get to fly with a different crew every time. So Douglas was quite confident in his abilities and just wanted Carolyn to finally find some new First Officer, for it was becoming really tedious to do all those checks – or that part of the checks that Douglas deigned to do, anyway.
He fished a mug out of the cupboard, threw in a teabag and poured the hot water, doing quick calculations in his head. Around seven-fifteen now, they were planning to go at nine hundred, so it was safely another hour before the other two members of the crew arrived, maybe even more. So Douglas took his book and reading glasses from the bag and settled down at his desk to read and have his second cup of tea that morning. Such mornings didn’t occur often, but when they did, Douglas usually indulged in some cold snacks Arthur generously stored in their fridge, but the appliance had been out of order since last Thursday, so obviously Arthur couldn’t store anything there until it was fixed. Douglas shifted to find a comfortable position and opened the book.
Several minutes later, the man placed the book down on the desk and rubbed his nosebridge in mild irritation, sliding the glasses up his forehead. It wasn’t like the book was boring, or he was sleepy, or anything else, really. Probably just one of those moments when you just couldn’t go on and had to pause for a moment and stare into nothingness.
A slight movement in the corner of his eye drew Douglas’ attention, and he looked out of the window. The movement turned out to be something vaguely resembling a van slowing down at the parking lot. It disappeared from his field of view in a second, and Douglas silently wondered if that was the electrician that was supposed to finally come over and look at the fridge.
Douglas checked the time. Almost seven-thirty. Tea has almost grown cold, the blasted book didn’t manage to catch his attention, the blasted fridge didn’t work… In short, everything seemed determined to turn Douglas’ already not quite cheerful mood into one of utter disgust. The man rolled his eyes, now almost wishing to go fly the damn plane just for the sake of doing something rather than sitting in there.
A tentative knock at the door snapped him out of his thoughts and aggravated him at the same time. For a second Douglas thought he hallucinated: who, apart from the crew, would come to their portakabin at this hour? There was no client to fly, Carolyn and Arthur certainly wouldn’t knock, and the ground crew would be much bolder, perhaps knocking just as a bow to formality, opening the door with the other hand at the same time. Douglas felt reluctantly baffled.
“In!” he shouted loud enough for whomever that was outside to hear, and supplemented the yell with a roll of his eyes, leaning back in his chair.
The door opened outwards, and Douglas was greeted with the sight of a ridiculous mop of ginger hair, as its owner tentatively poked his upper body inside the room and looked to his left initially, while Douglas was seated on his right.
Douglas cleared his throat, and the man’s head turned to face him so quickly he was suddenly afraid it might fall off. Distant memories from his medical past vaguely reminded Douglas you just weren’t supposed to turn your head so quickly. Something about ligaments between neck and head, but anyway, he couldn’t care less.
Douglas took off his glasses and placed them on the desk as well, putting his hands behind his head and squinting at the stranger evaluatingly.
The man was… well, as absurd as his hair. He was short, had a pale face with a dust of freckles – and if the bags under the eyes on his boyish face were of any indication, Douglas would say the man either wasn’t overly healthy, or didn’t get enough sleep last night. Probably both, though. He was wearing ill-fitting uniform which distantly looked like a pilot’s, but seemed to have undergone a truly horrific amount of washes; to finish the impression, he distinctly smelt of machine oil, the kind of scent Douglas usually associated with an instrument kit, a waistcoat and greasy hair. As the man took one uncertain step farther into the portakabin, Douglas looked over him, half-expecting to see said kit.
The man straightened up near the door, peering at Douglas with wide eyes. He was clearly very nervous, but all Douglas could feel and express now most likely wouldn’t help the young man with his anxiety. Rather the opposite.
“Um,” The ginger-haired creature bit at air and even swallowed afterwards. Douglas raised an eyebrow. The man paled even further, though it hadn’t seemed possible just a second ago.
“I’m,” the man attempted again and closed his eyes briefly, as if willing himself to speak. “I’m Martin Crieff I have an appointment today here well not right now because it’s too early but later I do have an appointment with… with…” his face scrunched up in panic and misery as he seemingly forgot the name of the person he was supposed to meet. If Douglas had had more sleep earlier, he would find this amusing. Now, he suppressed an irritated yawn.
“I guess you are not the electrician, then,” he sneered boredly and jerked his chin up. Of course, despite the suffocating smell of machine oil, this… person was certainly something like a pilot, but right now Douglas dearly wished he were an electrician, so he could fix the damn fridge and go be elsewhere. Why on earth should he put up with stuttering under-ages getting lost at the airfield and wandering into people’s portakabins?
Douglas looked at the man just in time to see his eyes widen enormously; he even swayed back a bit, as if he had just received a severe blow. The colour quickly reappeared on his face, then deepened almost to the point of matching the hair’s saturation. The man made a vague motion with his lips, as if trying to say something, then turned around and escaped, slamming the door closed behind himself.
Douglas stared at the door, then shook himself and shifted. Whichever reasons this boy had to react so strongly, he didn’t care. What was good, though, is that he was finally left in peace. Though, granted, the final scene did add a bit of curiosity to the whole impression about the man, which earlier consisted of irritation only.
Douglas gulped down his cold tea and picked up the book again, quickly forgetting about the weird guy.
(Edit: turns out to be not as short as intended (AGAIN. DAMN IT. WHY.), so I split it in two parts)
* * *
Douglas switched off the ignition and leant back in his leather seat, lazily glancing around the visible part of the airfield. He arrived unusually early, after a bout of insomnia roused him sometime around four-thirty in the morning, and the man deemed himself too noble to nudge his wife awake as well and make her share his misery, so he had an unhurried breakfast, read a chapter of his book and just as unhurriedly drove to the airfield – it wasn’t like Douglas ever made haste to get to work, even when he was already outragingly late, but today he took extra time to drive and park, each movement a bit more prolonged and considered than usually.
It was 7 a.m. on what promised to be a cloudless Wednesday in September, and the mornings have already started to get chilly, so Douglas wasn’t especially keen on getting out of his car and crossing the distance to the portakabin, readily procrastinating for the time being.
The sun was rising slowly, hanging low above the distant treetops, and Douglas squinted at it grumpily, not bothering to lift a hand and shield his eyes.
A multiple cry rang out, loud enough to reach Douglas in his car, and his eyes tracked automatically as a mixed flock of birds – presumably rooks and jackdaws, as far as he could tell from the distance and the cacophony – rose in a swarm of alarm. The birds dashed around the place disorientedly, then darted to the trees in an attempt to hide there instead of the airfield’s large open space. Douglas glanced to a side and spotted a familiar figure of the local ornithologist, because who else but Andrew would be out at this hour, shooing away the birds? The guess was confirmed as the man extended a gloved arm in an invitation, and a large bird of prey landed on it. That was indeed Andrew then, with Hank, his goshawk.
Douglas sighed and pursed his lips. The minor entertainment was over as soon as the birds flew away, and now there weren’t any pretexts left not to go to the portakabin. So he unbuckled the seatbelt, grabbed his bag from the passenger seat and heaved himself out of the car.
Predictably, the portakabin was devoid of the CEO and her son, and Doulgas flicked the kettle on and leant back against the edge of his desk, content that he still had some time to himself before the day started.
They had a cargo flight to Kaunas today, and Douglas couldn’t be more bored about the prospect. Thankfully, it would take only three hours to get to Lithuania, so they wouldn’t stay overnight, flying back right after lunch.
Douglas watched the steam starting to rise from the kettle’s mouth. It’s been about four months now that he was flying solo, and with one pilot they couldn’t possibly accept offers that required longer flights.
Four months since the last First Officer of MJN had resigned, and it was starting to get boring, with no one to tease or bully or boss around, as his habit dictated. Douglas’ cast of mind and constitution easily let him get his suggestible co-pilots under, and once he broke them in, they rarely caused any problems.
It was elementary. Douglas had already outlived two Captains and two First Officers (after he had been promoted, naturally – if such thing as ‘promotion’ was applicable to something that wasn’t even a proper airline), not to mention numerous co-pilots at Air England, where you actually did get to fly with a different crew every time. So Douglas was quite confident in his abilities and just wanted Carolyn to finally find some new First Officer, for it was becoming really tedious to do all those checks – or that part of the checks that Douglas deigned to do, anyway.
He fished a mug out of the cupboard, threw in a teabag and poured the hot water, doing quick calculations in his head. Around seven-fifteen now, they were planning to go at nine hundred, so it was safely another hour before the other two members of the crew arrived, maybe even more. So Douglas took his book and reading glasses from the bag and settled down at his desk to read and have his second cup of tea that morning. Such mornings didn’t occur often, but when they did, Douglas usually indulged in some cold snacks Arthur generously stored in their fridge, but the appliance had been out of order since last Thursday, so obviously Arthur couldn’t store anything there until it was fixed. Douglas shifted to find a comfortable position and opened the book.
Several minutes later, the man placed the book down on the desk and rubbed his nosebridge in mild irritation, sliding the glasses up his forehead. It wasn’t like the book was boring, or he was sleepy, or anything else, really. Probably just one of those moments when you just couldn’t go on and had to pause for a moment and stare into nothingness.
A slight movement in the corner of his eye drew Douglas’ attention, and he looked out of the window. The movement turned out to be something vaguely resembling a van slowing down at the parking lot. It disappeared from his field of view in a second, and Douglas silently wondered if that was the electrician that was supposed to finally come over and look at the fridge.
Douglas checked the time. Almost seven-thirty. Tea has almost grown cold, the blasted book didn’t manage to catch his attention, the blasted fridge didn’t work… In short, everything seemed determined to turn Douglas’ already not quite cheerful mood into one of utter disgust. The man rolled his eyes, now almost wishing to go fly the damn plane just for the sake of doing something rather than sitting in there.
A tentative knock at the door snapped him out of his thoughts and aggravated him at the same time. For a second Douglas thought he hallucinated: who, apart from the crew, would come to their portakabin at this hour? There was no client to fly, Carolyn and Arthur certainly wouldn’t knock, and the ground crew would be much bolder, perhaps knocking just as a bow to formality, opening the door with the other hand at the same time. Douglas felt reluctantly baffled.
“In!” he shouted loud enough for whomever that was outside to hear, and supplemented the yell with a roll of his eyes, leaning back in his chair.
The door opened outwards, and Douglas was greeted with the sight of a ridiculous mop of ginger hair, as its owner tentatively poked his upper body inside the room and looked to his left initially, while Douglas was seated on his right.
Douglas cleared his throat, and the man’s head turned to face him so quickly he was suddenly afraid it might fall off. Distant memories from his medical past vaguely reminded Douglas you just weren’t supposed to turn your head so quickly. Something about ligaments between neck and head, but anyway, he couldn’t care less.
Douglas took off his glasses and placed them on the desk as well, putting his hands behind his head and squinting at the stranger evaluatingly.
The man was… well, as absurd as his hair. He was short, had a pale face with a dust of freckles – and if the bags under the eyes on his boyish face were of any indication, Douglas would say the man either wasn’t overly healthy, or didn’t get enough sleep last night. Probably both, though. He was wearing ill-fitting uniform which distantly looked like a pilot’s, but seemed to have undergone a truly horrific amount of washes; to finish the impression, he distinctly smelt of machine oil, the kind of scent Douglas usually associated with an instrument kit, a waistcoat and greasy hair. As the man took one uncertain step farther into the portakabin, Douglas looked over him, half-expecting to see said kit.
The man straightened up near the door, peering at Douglas with wide eyes. He was clearly very nervous, but all Douglas could feel and express now most likely wouldn’t help the young man with his anxiety. Rather the opposite.
“Um,” The ginger-haired creature bit at air and even swallowed afterwards. Douglas raised an eyebrow. The man paled even further, though it hadn’t seemed possible just a second ago.
“I’m,” the man attempted again and closed his eyes briefly, as if willing himself to speak. “I’m Martin Crieff I have an appointment today here well not right now because it’s too early but later I do have an appointment with… with…” his face scrunched up in panic and misery as he seemingly forgot the name of the person he was supposed to meet. If Douglas had had more sleep earlier, he would find this amusing. Now, he suppressed an irritated yawn.
“I guess you are not the electrician, then,” he sneered boredly and jerked his chin up. Of course, despite the suffocating smell of machine oil, this… person was certainly something like a pilot, but right now Douglas dearly wished he were an electrician, so he could fix the damn fridge and go be elsewhere. Why on earth should he put up with stuttering under-ages getting lost at the airfield and wandering into people’s portakabins?
Douglas looked at the man just in time to see his eyes widen enormously; he even swayed back a bit, as if he had just received a severe blow. The colour quickly reappeared on his face, then deepened almost to the point of matching the hair’s saturation. The man made a vague motion with his lips, as if trying to say something, then turned around and escaped, slamming the door closed behind himself.
Douglas stared at the door, then shook himself and shifted. Whichever reasons this boy had to react so strongly, he didn’t care. What was good, though, is that he was finally left in peace. Though, granted, the final scene did add a bit of curiosity to the whole impression about the man, which earlier consisted of irritation only.
Douglas gulped down his cold tea and picked up the book again, quickly forgetting about the weird guy.
