[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/NYrpWli.png[/img] [@Plank Sinatra][@Write][@FlitterFaux][/center] [b][center]MISSION START[/center][/b] After our cultural exchange period, it had turned out that the redhead was surprisingly easy to chat about nothing much with. Well, "nothing much" here is in regards to more practical conversation, such as mission planning or tactical brainstorming, but even then— [b]"Yeah... What I don't get is that you only ever hear the orchestral swell of Old Snake in the Main Menu. Every other time it shows up in-game, it keeps itself to the guitar in the beginning for that 'old soldier' vibe."[/b] At least, as far as I could remember. It had been a good while since I'd played the game. Guns of the Patriots came out... Wow. More than ten years ago. I could feel my hair going gray, and my skin wrinkling, merely at the notion. The FOXDIE was gonna take me so much sooner than I'd thought! [b]"It's strange. Listening to it, it feels like there was supposed to be a scene where that tonal transition plays out, but it's pretty much as if the menu's going 'oh, don't worry, this is still Metal Gear'. We know, Kojima."[/b] [color=ed1c24]"If only Konami had the same concern."[/color] she mused through her hoodie-wrapped legs, pulled up to her chin and serving as a headrest. [b]"Eugh."[/b] I actually felt a bit of a chill from something that wasn't the altitude. [b]"Please, let's not talk about Survive. The happiest time of my life was that year between the reveal and release where I'd forgotten its existence."[/b] —We still had a good argument for the merits of establishing a rapport within the joint operation. So effectively, not conversing would be much more pointless than pointlessly conversing. It's much more comforting to be able to understand the person you're entrusting your well-being to. Our common ground here, even if it was something wholly unrelated like hoodies, or game music, was actually a worthwhile avenue to explore. If nothing else, it's a lot easier to cooperate with someone you can vibe with. If you have a good vibe with them, things smooth out. Ha, like Nujabes! As I was preening myself for managing to tie everything back to the original topic, the airlock doors opened again, blasting my face with wind, cold, and most of all, sound. The cabin roared for the second time this morning, as the speed of the aircraft all but punched us in our faces. Even if I hadn't been a longtime pro at staying awake, and even if I hadn't had someone to talk to through the trip, the howling, scraping air would have tossed the haze of sleep aside with ease the moment it touched my skin. And cutting above all that, loud and clear, was the Vivacious leader's voice. [color=39b54a]"Pressman team! We're up! Look alive!"[/color] Heedless of the elements' fury, Vivianne Laurent looked for all the world to belong within them, showing no sign of discomfort in the gaze she cast upon us. Cool, indomitable pressure, with just a touch of her earlier indignation. Expectation, no, [i]demand[/i] that everyone else fall in line. Like a warlord addressing his men before battle. It'd be a little intimidating if she wasn't flanked by Bianca, who was very clearly much more mischievous— Which had to have something to do with what our newfound leader, currently descending upon the gate, had been whispering in her ear since before we'd even taken a seat to begin with. I kind of worried that it involved the opposite effect to my own airship experience. Every now and again, I caught glimpses of the stabbing glares that she had sent Jer's way. If looks could kill... [b]"Well, I guess I'd be long dead."[/b] I muttered the words beneath the cacophony, rising to my feet. Now, the overall picture of Vivianne holding in some irritation and being all but prodded by Bianca made things less intimidating, true, but as standing to attention revealed— [i]That didn't the woman herself powerless to me.[/i] The motion must have caught her eye, but one look at me seemingly reaffirmed her appraisal that I was an afterthought. A cog in the machine she was driving. Not worth much more than a glance. It was a familiar, arctic coldness. I hated it. Even if she wasn't trying to bore a hole through my skull, Laurent could still kill me with a look, whether she knew it or not, whether she cared to or not. Actually, given the whole premise being that I had failed the interest check, I was completely sure she didn't care or know to. There was no doubt that my death had only come from reading too much into it. I'm no Emiya, I should stop projecting. ...I tightened my grip on [i]Crow's Beak[/i], just a little. In any case, I had better get serious. Casting away the defensiveness and driving the twisting thoughts back to the airtight corner of the mind I liked to keep them, I stepped up to the plate and looked down over the edge. Jericho had made a day out of jumping from however far up we were, even going so far as to pull Evangeline into a waltz as gravity took them. Remembering the overview that had been laid out by the team leader still present, he even had further to jump. Not by much, but still, it was bigger, this couldn't be all bad— The void below asked me if I believed that. I balked a bit. Sure, I knew I had everything going for me intellectually— I had my Aura, I could recover from horrible injury, our final approach would be onto a rooftop and at a safe distance for people with either of those factors. There were even two failsafes present: Bianca Nuit, my teammate whose wings I'd personally brought from the brink of uselessness and were constantly returning to their full strength, and Veronique Pressman, drawing up behind me, whose methods involved Dust constructs and the semblance necessary to shape and guide their catalysis and task. Wind Dust alone would have done it so long as you had the correct amount and mastery to create a well-timed and well-powered updraft, but I was assured that this would work just as well and be significantly simpler. The automatons would handle the specifics just as long as she told them what they were doing. I knew all that, but vertigo still struck me. I've never been too good with heights unless I was strapped into something, unfortunately, and it took me a second to recapture my hold on myself as I accepted that we were still indeed [i]a ways[/i] up. Beside me, equally teetering off the edge, Vivianne Laurent barked out a countdown. Still unflappable. It made sense. Not only had she been properly trained in a Combat Academy, she was also the leader of her team. A position that demanded decisive action and complete confidence in your judgement. [color=39b54a]Five.[/color] I guess she judged me ready enough. [color=39b54a]Four.[/color] Even though it felt like my knees were shaking. [color=39b54a]Three.[/color] She didn't seem to believe I would be a liability. [color=39b54a]Two.[/color] Okay. [color=39b54a]One.[/color] You've done stupider things plenty of times, Lucas. ... The space between words in that rhythm felt like it encapsulated eternity. I was waiting. I was waiting. I was waiting, so very hard. Hanging onto the call, hanging onto my footing, and hanging onto the last second of doubt that always torments the psyche when you took the position of humpty-dumpty. I could crack the old joke about breaking eggs to make an omelette, but I won't. I understood him when the reality laid itself before me. I'm sure he wanted to hang on too. [color=39b54a][i]"DROP!"[/i][/color] Vivianne was out. Bianca would follow. Maybe she already was. It was as simple as that to her. As simple as that to Jericho, as simple as that to Evangeline. It'd even be as simple as that to Iris and Skye, the final ones to pull this stunt. Remember, Luke. Go with the flow for this one. Holding on is being tense, and too much tension makes you snap. You just came to this conclusion little more than two hours ago. Time to put the words into practice. It shouldn't be any less simple for you. Trust what you can do, and trust others to expect that of you. Even Vivianne Laurent, who rightfully saw me as [s]worthless[/s] wholly unremarkable, figured I'd not run into any trouble. So I could relax, and simply act. A tap on my shoulder came from behind, not even a half-second after VIVE's leader cast herself into the void. I glanced back over my shoulder to find the redhead, [color=ed1c24]Pressman[/color] (weirdly familiar name), with her notebook and Dust-filled pen in hand. That's right, it was this simple for her too. The nudge could have meant any number of things; reassuring me, snapping me back to the moment and out of my head, impatiently pushing me forward, I couldn't really tell in that split second I took. But all the same, I read it as my cue to let go. Eyes front once more, I felt the passing urge to do this in style, as if to make up for my inability to keep my promises about my demeanor until now, [b]"Geronimooooo!"[/b] And leapt out into the open air below. As the stalwart serpent would say, It's Showtime.