Post by Jakob on Feb 12, 2010 2:01:47 GMT -4
The rocket slowed to a still hover five hundred meters above the designated landing station. Assorted passengers were strapped into their seats in the small corridors that lined the ship. A few crewmen bounded down the rumbling corridors between the passengers to get the landing preparations completed. Eventually the rocket lurched downwards. A minute later, the ship sharply stopped, and the engined cut off a few seconds after that.
"Flight over. Thank you for using Skyway Airlines. You may leave the ship through any of the designated exits. Your luggage will be sorted out at the drop-off hallway.
Wilko had been awake for five minutes so far, having fallen asleep on the trip. When the straps unbuckled themselves and freed the Dutch man from his seat, he checked his brass wrisgirl toolch.
12:32. It had been four hours and fifty-one minutes since he fell asleep, which was before the rocket launched from the station back in Amsterdam. Wilko had not realised how fast space-faring craft could get. Technology had improved vastly.
His train of thought was broken by the screeching of a kid whom was awaken by the sudden unbuckling of the straps. The mother and father on either side quickly hushed the infant, but it was already too late. Wilko was already in a bad mood. He didn't want trouble, so he pulled his way in the opposite direction from the screeching kid. The exit was farther that way, but at least the high-pitched squeaking was not as sharp in his ears.
Wilko shook his head in an ultimately vain attempt to get rid of his pent-up anger for the annoyance, and gripped one of the handles beside one of the exit doors. He waited for a few people to go through the door first before finding an empty space for himself to file into.
Despite the kind requests by the lady on the intercom to remain organized, even Wilko couldn't help but notice at least one person getting elbowed- whether by accident or otherwise. He didn't care. He just wanted to get his two suitcases and leave the port.
---
He stood waiting for the distinct-looking suitcases. Both of them with his name scratched onto the metal carapaces. He spotted the first one- which contained his clothes and a laptop. After he grabbed it, he saw the second one appearing from the rubber curtains at the far end of the conveyor belt. That one contained more clothes, his Swiss army knife, switchblade and music CDs of old metal bands.
Considering everybody is strapped into the seats for the entire trip, (and the rockets moved faster than airplanes) there were no chances of an actual hijacking.
He discreetly used his powers to levitate the suitcase a little over the conveyor belt and allow it to reach his free hand. His jacket was on his back, but left open. After walking down crowded halls, passing gift shops and Starbucks coffee houses, Wilko pushed the doors open outside, making it look like he did so with his feet.
Tremorton. Town of Tremors. It was most famous for housing the wealthy Krust family, and holding many key Skyway Patrol structures. It is also famous for being the home of the scientist whom created the now-rampant Armageddroid. Two years is plenty time for such news to spread. By 2048, news was already common knowledge, and the spinster had remained holed up in her large house ever since. By the time she ever came out again, the rest of humanity would have forgotten about the Amageddroid incident.
(Jakob's note: Timeline-wise, this means that Wilko was born in 2028, since it is currently 2048 in this story.)
It is October 2nd, and a Dutch man plans to make his name known in America as an auteur. But where to start? Wilko asked himself. There should be film studios he could apply to, maybe work as a cameraman for the local news network. Anything that would allow him to handle the intricate systems of motion picture capture device.
There's still a better question: Where shall he shelter himself? He had enough money on his person to keep himself functioning for two months so far, but it means nil if he can't find a more permanent place to stay.
He passed by a large, abandoned-looking mansion, backtracking as he admired the window texture. The textures complemented the flashing lights coming from a pair of windows on the upper floor. It looked like someone was welding in that room.
Wilko stopped minding the anomaly, figuring that the house was still inhabited, and he wouldn't be welcome to take it over. Maybe there are others throughout the neighborhood?
Perhaps. For now, Wilko continued walking with both suitcases in hand. His cap gave him a unique silhouette to those whom happened to spot him.
"Flight over. Thank you for using Skyway Airlines. You may leave the ship through any of the designated exits. Your luggage will be sorted out at the drop-off hallway.
Wilko had been awake for five minutes so far, having fallen asleep on the trip. When the straps unbuckled themselves and freed the Dutch man from his seat, he checked his brass wrisgirl toolch.
12:32. It had been four hours and fifty-one minutes since he fell asleep, which was before the rocket launched from the station back in Amsterdam. Wilko had not realised how fast space-faring craft could get. Technology had improved vastly.
His train of thought was broken by the screeching of a kid whom was awaken by the sudden unbuckling of the straps. The mother and father on either side quickly hushed the infant, but it was already too late. Wilko was already in a bad mood. He didn't want trouble, so he pulled his way in the opposite direction from the screeching kid. The exit was farther that way, but at least the high-pitched squeaking was not as sharp in his ears.
Wilko shook his head in an ultimately vain attempt to get rid of his pent-up anger for the annoyance, and gripped one of the handles beside one of the exit doors. He waited for a few people to go through the door first before finding an empty space for himself to file into.
Despite the kind requests by the lady on the intercom to remain organized, even Wilko couldn't help but notice at least one person getting elbowed- whether by accident or otherwise. He didn't care. He just wanted to get his two suitcases and leave the port.
---
He stood waiting for the distinct-looking suitcases. Both of them with his name scratched onto the metal carapaces. He spotted the first one- which contained his clothes and a laptop. After he grabbed it, he saw the second one appearing from the rubber curtains at the far end of the conveyor belt. That one contained more clothes, his Swiss army knife, switchblade and music CDs of old metal bands.
Considering everybody is strapped into the seats for the entire trip, (and the rockets moved faster than airplanes) there were no chances of an actual hijacking.
He discreetly used his powers to levitate the suitcase a little over the conveyor belt and allow it to reach his free hand. His jacket was on his back, but left open. After walking down crowded halls, passing gift shops and Starbucks coffee houses, Wilko pushed the doors open outside, making it look like he did so with his feet.
Tremorton. Town of Tremors. It was most famous for housing the wealthy Krust family, and holding many key Skyway Patrol structures. It is also famous for being the home of the scientist whom created the now-rampant Armageddroid. Two years is plenty time for such news to spread. By 2048, news was already common knowledge, and the spinster had remained holed up in her large house ever since. By the time she ever came out again, the rest of humanity would have forgotten about the Amageddroid incident.
(Jakob's note: Timeline-wise, this means that Wilko was born in 2028, since it is currently 2048 in this story.)
It is October 2nd, and a Dutch man plans to make his name known in America as an auteur. But where to start? Wilko asked himself. There should be film studios he could apply to, maybe work as a cameraman for the local news network. Anything that would allow him to handle the intricate systems of motion picture capture device.
There's still a better question: Where shall he shelter himself? He had enough money on his person to keep himself functioning for two months so far, but it means nil if he can't find a more permanent place to stay.
He passed by a large, abandoned-looking mansion, backtracking as he admired the window texture. The textures complemented the flashing lights coming from a pair of windows on the upper floor. It looked like someone was welding in that room.
Wilko stopped minding the anomaly, figuring that the house was still inhabited, and he wouldn't be welcome to take it over. Maybe there are others throughout the neighborhood?
Perhaps. For now, Wilko continued walking with both suitcases in hand. His cap gave him a unique silhouette to those whom happened to spot him.