Tailspin Into Primitive Dangers

[SideShowFreak]

http://i1093.photobucket.com/albums/i424/pertweefan/thacoverthumbnail.jpg

When Mike Castle took New York reporter Sonja Brandon up in his little prop plane, he only expected to fly her a few miles across the Amazon jungle, to meet up with a scientific expedition. He never expected to his plane to fall through a dimensional vortex, tailspinning them into a primitive and deadly world! Now these two souls must come together to survive and to try to find a way back to their own world.

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July 9, 1956- Brazil, Above The Amazon Jungle

The Amazonian rain forest and twisting river stretched out below, as Mike piloted his Cessna through the sky. He was a lean, weathered man with thick black hair and blue eyes. He had an unlit cigar firmly clasped between his lips and was chomping on it in annoyance. A hawkish nose dominated his face, over a squarish cleft chin and expressive lips. He wore knee high black boots, khaki trousers and a white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up on his corded forearms. On his hat sat a New York Yankees baseball cap which was battered and faded by twenty years of wear.

The dame in the seat next to him hadn't shut up since she showed up three hours before, looking for a pilot. She was a looker, to be sure, with plump red lips, dark wavy hair and a luscious body. He only wished that she would just sit there and look gorgeous, rather than flapping her gums! It was opinionated dames like her that had driven him to move to Brazil and become a bush pilot.

He had flown fighters in the war, for good old Uncle Sam, and shot down more Japs than he could count. It had only taken Zero coming down out of the clouds to shoot him from the sky and send him crashing into the beach. He had almost lost his left leg in the crash, and still walked with a limp, but unlike many of his buddies, he had at least survived the war.

It had been a fresh faced, idealistic eighteen year old who flew those missions. He had wanted to stop Hitler's mad expansion across Europe and make the world safe for democracy. Now he was pushing thirty and knew that the world was a crappy mud ball, filled up with dark hearted selfish bastards. His time as a POW had been the start of his education, but his subsequent attempts to find a job when he returned to the States had furthered it. The world had changed, and he wasn't the sort to go off to college and change with it.

Now here he was, flying a fresh-faced youngster over the Amazon. She was so chipper and bright. She was so sure that she would be the next Nellie Bly, and have her stories covering the pages of the New York Times. Somehow, she was going to make a difference. It was all bullshit, but he did not have the heart to tell her so. All he could do was listen to her chatter on and chew at his cigar.

OOC: PM before you join. I am looking for someone who can write at least two paragraphs per post. This is an adventure first and romance/erotica second. This is two fisted adventure with dinosaurs and primitive tribes, in an alternate dimension. I left the description of the female characters somewhat open, so change her around as you will.

 

[laceandcogs]

Sonja could tell her pilot was not a particularly active conversationalist. Fortunately for her career, and less fortunately for those on the other side of the interview, she never allowed recalcitrance to slow her down. Resistance was most frequently broken by the simple refusal to shut the sweet-Pete up, she felt, and that was going to be the first chapter in her autobiography. A book which, Sonja felt completely certain, would be a bible to the hundreds of eager, clever young girls who would idolize her trailblazing journalistic genius twenty years down the line.

Fidgeting with the hem of her fashionably-cut safari pants, Sonja inspected the dust already caked on her sturdy boots. How she longed to trade them back in for the pumps she normally wore, the patent-leather, slick black homewreckers currently languishing in her suitcase! They gave her a badly desired two inches of height, though she was still forced to crane her neck quite a bit to deliver her trademark smoldering glower.

They served another purpose, as well. Sonja refused to let any of her subjects- or rivals- forget that she was a knockout. A wasp-waisted, full-busted, hip-swivelling temptation that made men bite their fists and wives shake theirs. She wanted every imperious detective, patronizing senator, and wheedling manager to know, in a deep, cold place that made the sweat start to trickle, that she could very easily have chosen a plush, lush life of bauble-decked trophy. She wasn't doing this reporter gig because she had to earn a buck.

She was doing it because she -wanted- to. Because she -loved- to. Because watching those cracks start to form in a story, seeing the sweat stand out on a previously cool exterior, hearing the desperate little pick-up in the pace of the spinning bullshit... it thrilled her. A dark, lovely little sense of power, of importance.

"...and obviously, there aren't a whole lot of bush-pilots looking for work in New York. If there were, they'd probably been taught not to talk to me." A soft, throaty laugh as she came back to her conversation, fishing in an overstuffed, surprisingly frill-free purse for her cigarette case. "Mind if I smoke on the plane, Mr. Castle? Or should I be calling you Captain?" Coming up with the monogrammed case, she offered it out to him first, still digging for her lighter.

 

[SideShowFreak]

Mike grunted and stuck a coffin nail in his mouth, before pulled a beat-up silver lighter from his shirt pocket. He lit it with practiced ease and then held out the flame to the reporter, without taking his other hand off the yoke. She certainly was a distracting dame, but it was difficult to leer at her while piloting a plane. You never know what would happen if you looked away in the air.

He had done a bit of looking while helping her up into the plane and had admired how her strong, beautiful legs lead up into her womanly hips and fanny. He had not really cared if she knew he was looking at her, since their association was to be a short one. The kind of women he liked best, enjoyed being ogled and the kind that took offense amused him with their supposed shock.

He had been flying runs in Brazil for years now and knew every cheap dive and cheap whore from here to Rio. Still, he had always appreciated a woman with spunk and sass, even if they were a bit of a challenge. He appreciated them for a weekend of bumping together during the heat of the Brazilian nights, and not for having to stay with them for longer. It was not that he would not settle down some day, when he was old and gray, but that he did not feel the need to do so when there were still so many luscious creatures left to sample. Besides, he liked his privacy. If you let a woman in, they always tried to run your life.

Below them, the jungle sped by. The skies around them were growing darker, as a bank of dark clouds came in swiftly from the South. He could see flashes of lightening miles off. "We're gonna be in for a rough ride doll. You might wanna buckle up. Might have to take her down before we get to base camp." He did not let his worry show, but the storm was coming out of no where and moving at an unnatural pace. He would need to find somewhere to bring the plane down, and quickly, but safe landing sites were not easy to find in the jungle.

 

[laceandcogs]

Sonja murmured a thanks for the light before dragging deeply on her cigarette. It always felt so good, that first lungful, feeling the calm spread through you. A bit like the first sip of a good scotch... or the first kiss of a new man.

It wasn't surprising to find her thoughts wandering, sitting here next to Captain Adventure himself. Mike had seemed like just the type she liked- pretty, quiet, and probably not all that bright. Sonja didn't like to compete with a man- well, that wasn't true. She didn't like to compete with a lover. The way she saw it, all those men who tomcatted around on their wives for a little meaningless side bet were her staircase to sexual equality. After all, they had to be schtupping -some- girl, and why not her?

His concern made her stomach twist, but she refused to let that worry make its way to her face- or voice. With studied casualness, she fastened her seat belt, finding an empty solace in the firm click.

"Aw, hell, Captain. Good thing I got the best damn pilot operating in Brazil." With a sharp salute, Sonja settled back, crossed her legs, and tried to look suitably worldly and unimpressed.

 

[SideShowFreak]

The clouds were on them now and swirling in an odd fashion. Mike had spotted a break in the trees some half mile away and was descending towards it. The only other choice was to land in the treacherous waters of the Amazon itself. The tiny plane bucked and dipped through the turbulent air, as he struggled to keep the yoke steady. There was no time for talking or agreeing with her assessment of his abilities. He had best be the best flyer around, or they were both on a flight to the Pearly Gates... or possibly somewhere a bit hotter.

Lightening lit up the sky now, flashing all around the plane. Unnatural lights were playing across the storm clouds, flashing purples and golds. Mike could not even begin to think what the source was. He bit his lip and kept flying. "Damn it all." Suddenly there was sound like a cannon and he felt the plane buck violently. Half of the left wing was suddenly gone, leaving a charred end behind. The plane started spinning and he knew that they were dead. He looked back and realized what a crap life he had lived. For a second, he wished that he had done something that actually mattered. The next second he was out of his seat.

The plane was already going into a tailspin, but Mike unstrapped himself and knelt on the back of his seat. He reached over and unlatched his passenger's seat belt and then grabbed her under one arm. Shoving off with his feet, he propelled them both toward the side door of the plane. They were dead anyway, but he was damned if he would burn with the wreckage of his plane.

 

[laceandcogs]

Sonja really had to admire her own ability to not scream. It would have been appropriate, in that swooning dame fashion, to press the back of her wrist to her forehead and release one of those satisfyingly blood-curdling shrieks that always brought Bogart running. Admiring one's own ability to keep mum in the midst of real terror was just the sort of cozy, pleasantly distant intellectual game one could engage in while refusing to move, breathe, blink, or engage with reality.

Still, she was very, very happy to allow Mike to pull her from the plane, to cling with distressed-damsel tenacity to his chest as they leapt from the plane. It seemed already too far from the ground, despite the stomach-lurching speed with which the machine had begun to drop. They must have been a half-mile up, Sonja thought, before that strange purple-gold lightning forced her to close her eyes.

At least, she reflected peacefully, in the endless moment of falling, falling, falling, the Times will give me a two-column obit. Front page, but below the fold. That's only fair.

Sonja had time for only one more question, as the hot electric smell in the air suddenly gave way to a heady, rotten-floral scent, and the screaming noise of the engine disappeared into the sharp, needling cry of some sort of bird.

Why was it taking so long to hit the ground?

 

[SideShowFreak]

The falling seemed to go on forever. Mike had expected to see the jungle rush up at them and expected to meet a quick end. They were still falling though. It seemed as if they were falling through a cloud with golden coloring. He speculated that he must be processing the experience oddly, because he was about to die. Part of his brain considered bargaining with God, but thought it was probably a lost cause. The other part was yelling in fear, but was also aware of the woman wrapped in his arms. In any other situation, he would have given her his full attention.

It was in this moment that Jack cursed himself for not investing in a parachute. He had logged hundreds of hours without ever having an incident of note. Somehow he though crashing was something that happened to other lesser pilot, but not to him. What a fool he had been!

Finally, they broke through the cloud and he could see the jungle rushing toward them. He also saw a lake which he had some how not seem before. It was a long shot, but he tried to head toward it. Falling without a parachute did not make for great maneuvering, but if he failed, or succeeded, they were both going to die. Hitting the water from this height would be deadly. Still, it seemed that they were not falling as fast, as if their jump had just started.

The lake rushed to meet them and they hit the surface with a smack. Jack felt all of the air driven from his lungs and the woman loosen from his chest. Pain shot through his body as he felt himself sinking into the water. He went down ten feet and then pushed off the bottom. He felt as if a boulder had been dropped on him as he tried to catch site of his passenger.

 

[laceandcogs]

Sonja had indeed spent her last few moments of consciousness bargaining with God.

Of course I've told a lie or two, but isn't that okay in the pursuit of the larger truth? It's not like those Senators were going to buzz me up into the penthouse if I didn't pretend to be Bunny or Sunny or Suzie-Lou. And who among us hadn't had a couple of damned impure thoughts? Let the innocent cast the first stone, right? I don't need to tell -You-, buddy. You wrote the book. I guess I do have some explaining to do on all those impure actions, but, pardon my French, Jeez-louise! Wasn't it Your infinite wisdom that gave me this body? And, you know, we've all been told that Your greatest gift to man was free will, and I have never, Lord, never ever been anything if not willful...

Cold water has a way of ending a conversation, even if it had been building up to one hell (again, Lord, pardon the French) of a closing argument. The impact rattled Sonja's bones and made all that sensible khaki heavy. It would be so very, very easy to simply decline to fill those knocked-breathless lungs, to let this cold, hungry quiet wrap her up. It would be so easy to quit...

And yet, even now, in the aftermath of madness, in a world unmoored, Sonja found it simply impossible to quit. If she could have spared the breath for a heaved sigh, if she had had the time for a eye roll and shrug, she would have indulged. Yet, as her boots touched the muddy bottom, she felt herself spring back, reach and kick and push for the surface.

Sorry, God. We're going to have to put a pin in this conversation.