urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:cidynamo Buckle Your Goddamn Seatbelts Cid Highwind 2006-02-10T02:52:38Z urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:cidynamo:353 2006-02-10T02:52:38Z 2006-02-10T02:52:38Z "Drunken Lullabies" -- Flogging Molly Cid opens the door to Rocket Town's lackluster pub. The place has its charm -- as expected, it's decorated in flight paraphernalia -- propellers, jackets, models, tools -- as well as photos of various milestones in Rocket Town's aeronautical history. Depending on who you are, this might be a source of pride, or bitterness (or some fluctuation between the two).<br /><br />Cid nods to some of the regulars and puffs on his cigarette, adding to the communal, nicotine haze. He seems oblivious to the fact that his unlikely drinking buddy, the man trailing behind him, looks ridiculously out of place in his gold suit. Most people in Rocket Town don't even <i>own</i> suits, much less clean, neatly-pressed ones.<br /><br />The pilot stalks across the hard-wood floor to take a seat at the bar.<br /><br />"Evening, Captain! The usual?" The bartender is an older, greying, reed-thin gentleman with a neatly-trimmed mustache. He pulls out a glass in preparation to pour Cid whatever "the usual" is.<br /><br />"Yeah, whatever," Cid says, grinding his spent cigarette in a handy ash tray. He gestures for Baofu to take a seat. "Take a load off, Rapunzel. Maybe you can start by finally telling me what your real name is."