So, first off, sorry for the late start. Got caught up talking about another project I'm working on, forgot to finish the OP on time. My bad there, haha.
This isn't it, I don't think, but we're getting pretty close to the end of it- We may marathon tonight so that this is our last real thread, and then get the epilogue done as the next regular run. We'll see how we do here, IDK.
Archive here:
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Strike%20witches%201989++
The fenrir is massive and feels like it- it's a far cry from the Wyvern. Instead of cutting through the air, graceful and powerful, this plane simply hammers through it, it's maneuverability less because of aerodynamics and far more because of the hundreds of tiny magical vernier thrusters studded across it's body. It's taken getting used to- you wish you had more time to do so.
Merlin, meanwhile, is a ball of conflicting emotions- as usual, to be fair, though more pronounced, somehow. More... distinct. You can feel echos of her own hope and fear and happiness and the embarrassment you still don't quite understand, but you don't really know if you want to ask about.
You're hitting a USAF tanker over Poland now- part of the country that used to be Belarus. It's hard to tell that there was a war on down there just over a week ago at this altitude, the fields and forests sliding beneath you serenely.
"We're good to tank." Merlin intones from the back. "Receptacle is just behind my hatch, your HUD should display where you need to go."
You nod, the green arrow appearing inside your helmet. "Got it. You ok back there?"
"Mhmm." She says, though you can feel that embarrassment deepen a bit. "I-it's just taking some getting used to is all. It's ok Frank, I'll be fine back here."
[] Ask Merlin if there's any more information on what we're flying into
[] See if Wendy's holding up ok over there.
