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[hallelujahpilot]

It might only be 0850, but any day where Trudy Chacon has to start with last minute repairs to her Samson is already on notice. The repairs also mean that she can’t go and find whoever it was that gave her only one goddamn gunner.

Not that she has any problem with Corporal Bill Onozuki – he’s an old Pandora hand, and they get along swimmingly. It’s just that there is, well, only one of him.

Which is why when the Ph.D.s find Samson 16 in the hanger, Chacon and Onozuki are fixing the right hand door-gun straight ahead. If things come to it, she can operate it from the cockpit.

(lets just leave aside the fact that she actually finds it fun)

Comments

[at-hells-gate.livejournal.com]

Dr. Grace Augustine enters the hanger much in the same fashion she does her lab: with a swagger and an appraising look, lab techs trailing behind her the way an entourage shuffles at the heels of a movie star. Or, perhaps it's more apt to describe them as cubs following a lioness out on the prowl.

Once she locates her Samson (yes, her Samson until such time as her work is complete), she pulls her lips together in a thin line and narrows her eyes at the pilot.

"Are you planning on flying? Or do you imagine we'll keep ourselves airborne by the sheer force of your toy's blowback?"

[hallelujahpilot]

Easily, and without looking at her, "Mornin' to you too, Doc. Nice to see you early." Now Trudy turns and jumps to the ground, giving the Samson a quick pat. Onozuki nods a greeting to Grace and her techs (although, to be fair, it's really only Marisol Evans who is a tech - Dr Hegner, as head of biology, can have enough clout on his own), and settles down by his gun.

"As you know, the hanger doors don't open 'til zero-nine," Trudy adds, wiping her hands clean on a rag.

[at-hells-gate.livejournal.com]

"Yeah, and I'd like to be on my way out of them by oh-nine-oh-one," says Grace. "Hexapedes (http://james-camerons-avatar.wikia.com/wiki/Hexapede) do a good portion of their mating before breakfast."

As Evans and Hegner move to get their gear in place, Grace stays where she is, fishing through her pockets.

"Besides, a lot can go wrong in a half hour," she adds pointedly.

[hallelujahpilot]

Trudy makes an inelegant sound as she bustles around, double-checking things.

"Well, you want to go earlier, you gotta give me a bit more notice," she says absently.

[at-hells-gate.livejournal.com]

"My apologies, Chacon," she says, not sounding the least bit apologetic. "I thought this was what you do. I didn't know I was getting in the way of your other, more pressing engagements; like knit night, and Taco Tuesdays."

She finally comes up with a pack of cigarettes and taps one out, tucking the pack away again while simultaneously fishing out a lighter. She moves to get her gear settled in the Samson as well.

[hallelujahpilot]

That does it. "Look, Doc-" She starts, voice edged

Then she stops.

And stares at Augustine, with her cigarette, and her lighter.

A fraction of a second later, "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

[at-hells-gate.livejournal.com]

Grace is just pinching the fag between her lips so she can grab her things and hoist them up into the bird, when Trudy screeches at her.

She doesn't jump (she's heard worse sounds before), but she does whip her head back around indignantly.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm preparing to get on this ship," she snaps, around her unlit cigarette.

[hallelujahpilot]

"With cigarette and lighter," she snaps, before forcing herself to take a deep breath. "Not plannin' on lighting up here, were you?"

[at-hells-gate.livejournal.com]

She arches an eyebrow.

"Marine, I light up wherever I damn well please."

[hallelujahpilot]

Chacon?

Grins.

Or at least, she bares her teeth, which passes as a grin in some cultures.

"Unless you wanna walk...no."

[at-hells-gate.livejournal.com]

"The hell's that supposed to mean?"

[hallelujahpilot]

"Two things. Firstly, if you blow us all up due to using your lighter in the damn hanger, we don't get to do your science. Secondly, my Samson, my rules. I fly you around where you want, and what you do in your labs, frankly, I don't give a shit. But you don't smoke in or around my Samson."

[at-hells-gate.livejournal.com]

Evans? Has only been on base for about six months (six months, two weeks, three days, and sixteen hours, to be exact), but she's a botanist, and so falls under Dr Augustine's review a little more than most non-Avatar drivers.

Everyone plays by Grace's rules. No ifs or buts or maybes, you just nod and smile and snap to and get on with things when she isn't looking.

Evans knows this very, very well, which is why she is currently staring at the pilot with her mouth open.

[at-hells-gate.livejournal.com]

Evans is smart. There's a reason she's a PhD.



Evans is also a pansy-assed little girl who doesn't stand up for herself. Grace likes that.



But Grace respects defiance.

She narrows her eyes at Trudy.

"'You don't smoke in or around my Samson'?" she repeats, head bobbing.

[hallelujahpilot]

"That's correct. Ma'am."

[at-hells-gate.livejournal.com]

"Do you have any idea how old I am, marine?"

[hallelujahpilot]

Slightly bemused,

"Functionally fifty-five. Technically sixty-two."

[at-hells-gate.livejournal.com]

Grace's eyes narrow slightly.

She hadn't been expecting that. Just how much information do they give these damn soldiers, anyway?


"Then you know I'm too goddamn old to be taking orders from some kid fresh out of high school."



Beat.





"But. You've got the pilot's license. And I'm not going to miss my fucking Hexapedes."

No pun intended.


The lighter gets pocketed, and Grace turns her back on Trudy and climbs aboard the Samson, sticking her unlit cigarette behind her ear.

[hallelujahpilot]

Trudy Chacon is full of all kinds of useless information, Grace. Also, she does her research.

Slowly, she lets out her breath as Grace concedes something approximating defeat, but she can't help but muttering, "Damn straight I'm the one with the pilot's license."

(she does wait until Grace is out of earshot, though.)

"C'mon, guys, you heard the doc," and her voice is almost a snap as she noticed Onozuki, Henger and Evans still staring. Yes, guys, the tiger painted on her Samson is not just for decoration. Still, Onozuki tosses her a salute and the Ph.Ds scramble into the back of the cabin, so she climbs into the pilot's seat and starts to run through the warm-up.

Yeah, this assignment is going to be fun.

[at-hells-gate.livejournal.com]

At least Grace settles herself in the seat next to you, Trudy. Right where you can keep an eye on her.

(You bet your ass if she was sitting in the back, she would have waited until take off and lit up anyway.)

"You always this stubborn, marine?"

[hallelujahpilot]

"Yes, ma'am."

[at-hells-gate.livejournal.com]

Grace slips her headset into place, checks all her belts and buckles, and turns her head toward Trudy. Her eyes are obscured by a pair of dark shades, but beyond that mic her slow spreading smile can be seen clear as day.

"Good."

She looks forward, eyes landing on a picture of a Pandora sunset set among the typical instrumentation.

"Just don't make me want to kill ya until we're back on ground again. I'm meaner without my nicotine."

[hallelujahpilot]

Perhaps oddly, Trudy just laughs at that, her snickery witch's cackle entertained.

"But you certaintly wouldn't be petty enough to use that as an excuse to be a bitch about it, would you." It's not quite a question, if only because she suspects that Grace'll do just that.

(she flips some more switches, and the rotors start to twirl.)

[at-hells-gate.livejournal.com]

Whirling rotors can make a hell of a loud noise, but through the headset, amongst static and air, you can hear Grace's answering cackle.


"I'm a genius, not a saint!"


And that's all Grace has to say about that.

[hallelujahpilot]

Trudy snorts

"-One Six, you are clear for east," the flight-controller says.

"-Roger," Trudy replies, and the Samson lifts up, turns, and flies out of the hanger. And the thing is, she is a brilliant pilot and, despite however much Grace might have briefly rattled her, she's a professional, and doesn't let it effect how she flies. The Samson flies out smoothly over the base, and then heads off to the jungle.

[at-hells-gate.livejournal.com]

There's a reason Trudy is the one with the pilot's license. Grace doesn't know flying the way she does, and frankly, she doesn't appreciate it near as much as she should.

But she does know one thing: staying up is much better than going down, and in that area Trudy performs magnificently.

The jungle is lush and dark in the daylight, impenetrably dense in most spots, and yet Grace still points outside as if there's something to be seen amongst the green.

"There," she instructs Trudy. "Get me as close to that spot as you can."

[hallelujahpilot]

Oh, Augustine had to be messing with her.

"Close as I can, roger that," she drawls with that deadpan, military cool and, yeah, 'close as she can' will have to be this bit of an open clearing, ten minutes Na'vi walk away.

And thank God for the vine-strikes.

[at-hells-gate.livejournal.com]

Beat.

"You passed it."



To be honest, Grace couldn't have picked a more convenient spot to set down. But that doesn't stop her from looking at Trudy sidelong, chewing on the inside of her cheek because goddamn does she want a cigarette.

Once they've landed, she unbelts herself and pulls that unlit cigarette from behind her ear, sticking it in the corner of her mouth.

"Nice flyin'," she remarks as she moves to the back of the Samson.

In true Grace Augustine fashion, it'll be up to Trudy to decide if she was being sarcastic or sincere.

[hallelujahpilot]

"It's what I do, Doc," Trudy answers, flipping switches and, likewise, it's up to Grace to decide her tone.

"Hey, gonna stay a while?" She asks then, half twisting in her seat.

[at-hells-gate.livejournal.com]

"Few hours, at least."

Despite the bickering and the way Grace likes to throw her weight around, there's a measure of respect evident in how she works with her crew. They move like a finely tuned machine -- even with Evans -- as they gather their equipment together.

"Why? You gonna miss me?" she grins from over her shoulder.

[hallelujahpilot]

Trudy notices the smoothness of the crew, and appreciates it - there may be hope yet.

(Not that she's going to say any such thing)

At Grace's comment, she smirks. "In your dreams, Doc," she says, and blows the other woman a kiss.

[at-hells-gate.livejournal.com]

She sniggers, throaty and wicked, and in one smooth motion lights the cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth and takes a pull.

"Don't take off without me," she warns on the exhale, that cat-who-ate-the-canary grin materializing as smoke curls around her nostrils.

[hallelujahpilot]

And they were doing so well, too.