air[p]lanes like shooting stars.

Barrett · 07-06-2011, 04:33 AM

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“Nah, it's all you,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “but thanks.” While he appreciated the gesture, he had no reason to accept it—he hated feeling like he owed someone something. If he'd found something acceptable to offer in exchange, it might have been a different story. As it stood, it was Rook's idea to look in the first place, and Rook who had selected the winning box. All of the youth's choices had been duds.

He shrugged and turned his attention back to the plane. He approached the crushed part first, even though there wasn't much to see: just twisted metal and shattered glass, mostly. Something caught his eye and he bent to the ground, carefully dislodging from the earth one a dial that had—once upon a time—been one with the aircraft's instrument panel. The glass cover was covered in spidering cracks, but the dial itself was still in one piece... it was more than what could be said for the other shattered equipment scattered around the field.

He shook it and a spring rattled inside while the meter fluctuated wildly. “Not sure what this does, exactly, but usually they're in the front part... there's a lot of them, way more than in a car.” Which made sense, he guessed—flying seemed a lot more complicated than rolling along on the ground, after all. He considered tossing it aside but reconsidered. Maybe he'd take it apart later to see if he could get a better handle on how it worked or what it was supposed to do.

He wound his way inside his little alcove next, and deposited the broken dial unceremoniously on his cot. The cot was one of three furnishings in the entire enclosure—there wasn't much interesting to look at, unfortunately, since the front end of the plane was definitely the business end. “Eh, the ones in Halifax are better,” he lamented, stifling another yawn.

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