Regi Finch
[i]"No false starts now. I can hear you revving from here. Thirty seconds."[/i] The calm voice spoke from the headset.
Outside, the wind was howling, a tremendous gale of clashing winds, tossing dust and leaves to the wind above the concrete.
His fingers curled tight around the collective and flight stick, talon-like claws pinching back into the skin of his palm.
[i]"Twenty seconds."
"Ten seconds."
"Four."
"Three."
"Two."[/i]
"Hey Google, play my flight playlist."
[b]"Sure. Here is your flight playlist on Spotify."[/b]
There was a long moment of pause in the radio as Regi jammed the collective forward and quickly rose into the air.
[i]"Did you seriously just cut me off for your fecking music?"[/i]
Flight was a sensation every avian craved. For the ground-dwelling species, it was indescribable. For any winged species of anthro, it was inescapable. It was more addictive than the strongest opiates and more enticing than a siren's song. It was a return to their ancestral roots, lofty and high above their ground-dwelling friends.
For Reginald LittleThunder though, natural flight had been but a small piece of it. He wanted to soar like an eagle and dive like a falcon. Being a finch, he was biologically designed for neither of those things.
So he compensated how best he knew, and how best his sponsors paid him.
As the first thrumming chords of electric guitar rang out from his headset's speakers, he was already pushing two-hundred miles an hour, barely skimming ten feet above the ground. The grass below was pushed aside as if flattened by a passing gale, a see of emerald stalks that rushed by in a blur.
This was flight at its best. Beasts of technology and horsepower tamed by those who knew flying better than anybody else. Only an avian could so instinctively know just how the winds outside his cockpit would alter his path, gentle nudges of the stick to correct. Only an avian would have dared flown so low his rotor blades came at times mere inches from scything the grass below.
No, this was what Regi did best. Better than any other pilot he knew. This was living.
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Some awesome art by sikopio , who absolutely [b]nailed[/b] Regi's carefree, smug attitude with this picture! I love it, go follow them!
Outside, the wind was howling, a tremendous gale of clashing winds, tossing dust and leaves to the wind above the concrete.
His fingers curled tight around the collective and flight stick, talon-like claws pinching back into the skin of his palm.
[i]"Twenty seconds."
"Ten seconds."
"Four."
"Three."
"Two."[/i]
"Hey Google, play my flight playlist."
[b]"Sure. Here is your flight playlist on Spotify."[/b]
There was a long moment of pause in the radio as Regi jammed the collective forward and quickly rose into the air.
[i]"Did you seriously just cut me off for your fecking music?"[/i]
Flight was a sensation every avian craved. For the ground-dwelling species, it was indescribable. For any winged species of anthro, it was inescapable. It was more addictive than the strongest opiates and more enticing than a siren's song. It was a return to their ancestral roots, lofty and high above their ground-dwelling friends.
For Reginald LittleThunder though, natural flight had been but a small piece of it. He wanted to soar like an eagle and dive like a falcon. Being a finch, he was biologically designed for neither of those things.
So he compensated how best he knew, and how best his sponsors paid him.
As the first thrumming chords of electric guitar rang out from his headset's speakers, he was already pushing two-hundred miles an hour, barely skimming ten feet above the ground. The grass below was pushed aside as if flattened by a passing gale, a see of emerald stalks that rushed by in a blur.
This was flight at its best. Beasts of technology and horsepower tamed by those who knew flying better than anybody else. Only an avian could so instinctively know just how the winds outside his cockpit would alter his path, gentle nudges of the stick to correct. Only an avian would have dared flown so low his rotor blades came at times mere inches from scything the grass below.
No, this was what Regi did best. Better than any other pilot he knew. This was living.
------------------------------------------
Some awesome art by sikopio , who absolutely [b]nailed[/b] Regi's carefree, smug attitude with this picture! I love it, go follow them!
3 years ago
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