Feldspar’s the same whether they’re preparing for a mission or actually flying - seemingly careless, laid back, ready to roll with the punches. They are paying attention though, always; that’s just the mark of a good pilot. They learn all the new modifications Slate’s put into their ship, all the little tweaks and upgrades and experimental parts that they like to make them fly with instead of the new recruits - for obvious reasons. If the new recruits were treated like Feldspar then no one would want to fly.
They take everything in, those last final instructions and preparations, hauling up their supplies and equipment and listening to Hornfels review the flight conditions and chastise them for not checking in with ground control as often as they should. Gossan drops by to catch up and talk about their flight plans, and they trade a few friendly barbs about riding cyclones before they’re finally left alone with their ship.
Finally, a bit of a break. They climb into their ship and settle into the pilot’s chair, settling back with a low groan as they finally let themselves react to the toys that were very much torturing them throughout the day. They roll the top of their flight suit down, turning them into trousers that they can then slip their hand into and give themselves a little relief. They fiddle with the toys, looking at the top of their viewing window to the picture they keep of Kent tucked into one of the seams. They come surprisingly fast, quiet unlike all the other times they might have done this in the quiet void of space.
Feldspar takes a minute to rest, then cleans themselves up and hops back down onto the ground to join the others at the campfire. They keep their flight suit top rolled down and tied around their waist, scars on full display from just wearing the thin, sleeveless shirt they typically wear under their suit.
The campfire is in full swing by the time they arrive, and they’re met as they usually are - happy cheers and pleas for stories or to join the others with their harmonic. They promise they’ll do so soon, but they’ve got to see a certain someone and kiss their stupid face.
no subject
They take everything in, those last final instructions and preparations, hauling up their supplies and equipment and listening to Hornfels review the flight conditions and chastise them for not checking in with ground control as often as they should. Gossan drops by to catch up and talk about their flight plans, and they trade a few friendly barbs about riding cyclones before they’re finally left alone with their ship.
Finally, a bit of a break. They climb into their ship and settle into the pilot’s chair, settling back with a low groan as they finally let themselves react to the toys that were very much torturing them throughout the day. They roll the top of their flight suit down, turning them into trousers that they can then slip their hand into and give themselves a little relief. They fiddle with the toys, looking at the top of their viewing window to the picture they keep of Kent tucked into one of the seams. They come surprisingly fast, quiet unlike all the other times they might have done this in the quiet void of space.
Feldspar takes a minute to rest, then cleans themselves up and hops back down onto the ground to join the others at the campfire. They keep their flight suit top rolled down and tied around their waist, scars on full display from just wearing the thin, sleeveless shirt they typically wear under their suit.
The campfire is in full swing by the time they arrive, and they’re met as they usually are - happy cheers and pleas for stories or to join the others with their harmonic. They promise they’ll do so soon, but they’ve got to see a certain someone and kiss their stupid face.