for lala :>
Jul. 31st, 2013 04:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
heartsplintered posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
burning_smileHoly shit he was going to be sick.
Dirk Strider had never been a terribly anxious human being-- he was constantly calculating and scheming and thinking so that very little surprised him and very little had reason to make him sweat. But when things eluded that tireless calculation, he absolutely. Hated. It. Because it overwhelmed his senses in such an extreme way he just didn't even know how to cope.
So here he was, sitting in a vaguely uncomfortable leather seat on a private jet slowing to a stop on the tattered tarmac of Hellmurder Island, battling anxious nausea and sweating palms with a straight, if somewhat sharp, face. He grit his teeth carefully.
"Welcome to your destination in the middle of the ocean," the pilot proclaimed over the PA system. He was a friend of Dirk's brother's, so he hadn't been particularly formal for the flight. Dirk unbuckled his seatbelt and wobbled to his feet.
"Hellmurder," he explained. The co-pilot opened the door to the cockpit and peered out when they'd come to a complete stop. They each raised an eyebrow at each other. "...the island is called Hellmurder."
The pilot and co-pilot shared a chuckle before they got up and stretched the co-pilot opening the door of the plane and extending the little fold-away stairs beneath it. A rush of warm, tropical air filled the body of the plane and Dirk couldn't decide if it soothed his nerves or made him feel more sick. Holy shit, this was really happening. Somewhere out on that tarmac was his best friend of almost ten years and the boy that had made him realize he was pretty exclusively interested in men-- Jake English. Sure, he'd seen him before, but the differences between physical visits and tangible contact and video Skype calls were like comparing anime and Korean drama. Same concept on one level, completely different on another.
The co-pilot descended the stairs and hollered for Dirk, moving to the belly of the plane to extract the Strider's luggage. Dirk shouldered his small backpack and descended the stairs, firmly holding the railing.
Dirk Strider had never been a terribly anxious human being-- he was constantly calculating and scheming and thinking so that very little surprised him and very little had reason to make him sweat. But when things eluded that tireless calculation, he absolutely. Hated. It. Because it overwhelmed his senses in such an extreme way he just didn't even know how to cope.
So here he was, sitting in a vaguely uncomfortable leather seat on a private jet slowing to a stop on the tattered tarmac of Hellmurder Island, battling anxious nausea and sweating palms with a straight, if somewhat sharp, face. He grit his teeth carefully.
"Welcome to your destination in the middle of the ocean," the pilot proclaimed over the PA system. He was a friend of Dirk's brother's, so he hadn't been particularly formal for the flight. Dirk unbuckled his seatbelt and wobbled to his feet.
"Hellmurder," he explained. The co-pilot opened the door to the cockpit and peered out when they'd come to a complete stop. They each raised an eyebrow at each other. "...the island is called Hellmurder."
The pilot and co-pilot shared a chuckle before they got up and stretched the co-pilot opening the door of the plane and extending the little fold-away stairs beneath it. A rush of warm, tropical air filled the body of the plane and Dirk couldn't decide if it soothed his nerves or made him feel more sick. Holy shit, this was really happening. Somewhere out on that tarmac was his best friend of almost ten years and the boy that had made him realize he was pretty exclusively interested in men-- Jake English. Sure, he'd seen him before, but the differences between physical visits and tangible contact and video Skype calls were like comparing anime and Korean drama. Same concept on one level, completely different on another.
The co-pilot descended the stairs and hollered for Dirk, moving to the belly of the plane to extract the Strider's luggage. Dirk shouldered his small backpack and descended the stairs, firmly holding the railing.