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It took a while before Faye worked up the courage to soar towards the upper limits of the city. Honestly, sometimes she's still surprised that she tried. Even though the magical borders of Darrow make it seem pretty likely that the ticket out isn't as obvious as any singular mode of transportation, there's something about Red Tail that feels like just that. The one thing that she can trust to take her out of this place should the opportunity ever arise.
An escape plan.
Having everyone else's stories confirmed is at once a disappointment and a relief. The last thing that she remembers is flying up with her ship at full power, the engine roaring as she hurtled up at dizzying speeds. It'd been a while since she kicked everything up to eleven with her ship. That's frightening in its own way — the suggestion that she might someday forget the weightlessness of space, that her skills as a pilot might only deteriorate in time. It only strengthened her resolve as she went up, the clouds around fading into a soft blur and parting for the azure above.
And then, nothing. No memory. Just the awareness of passed time, and a ship gently returning back into Darrow's skyline.
She doesn't have the tears to spare for it, or the anger. Just a soft drag of breath as she circles the ship back towards the parking lot by Darrow's research labs, where a section's been quartered off for her zipcraft. Faye ignores the few gazes that she always draws as she descends towards the asphalt, and only after she feels the metal settle against the pavement does she finally release a deep exhale.
Pinching the bridge of her nose with delicate fingers, Faye releases the pressure in her ship, the windshield lifting away to make way for fresh air again.
"You win some, you lose some, Valentine," she murmurs.
An escape plan.
Having everyone else's stories confirmed is at once a disappointment and a relief. The last thing that she remembers is flying up with her ship at full power, the engine roaring as she hurtled up at dizzying speeds. It'd been a while since she kicked everything up to eleven with her ship. That's frightening in its own way — the suggestion that she might someday forget the weightlessness of space, that her skills as a pilot might only deteriorate in time. It only strengthened her resolve as she went up, the clouds around fading into a soft blur and parting for the azure above.
And then, nothing. No memory. Just the awareness of passed time, and a ship gently returning back into Darrow's skyline.
She doesn't have the tears to spare for it, or the anger. Just a soft drag of breath as she circles the ship back towards the parking lot by Darrow's research labs, where a section's been quartered off for her zipcraft. Faye ignores the few gazes that she always draws as she descends towards the asphalt, and only after she feels the metal settle against the pavement does she finally release a deep exhale.
Pinching the bridge of her nose with delicate fingers, Faye releases the pressure in her ship, the windshield lifting away to make way for fresh air again.
"You win some, you lose some, Valentine," she murmurs.