Chapter #3Beach Bummed...(i know, clever, right?) by: mr.snuffle   ...Shit!SHIT!"you continue, repeating and increasing volume for increased emphasis. The GArgantican sky blasts past the windsheild. Chutes of flame start sprouting all over the hull, atmospheric resistance's gift to you...it's valued customer. Moona has herself wrapped air-tight around you in what you're pretty sure is a wrestling move called the "Sarazenian Muffler". Every soft, sexy inch of her touches you, which would be all well and good, but you had a ship to crash land and her suffocating submission hold wasn't gonna help anything. You move your arms as best you can and try to guide the steering wheel (which you've covered in a cheesy dice-and-fire print neoprene grip)up to level the ship out, but the turbulence is too great and even using all of your strentgh (which is not too shabby, you assure yourself) you can only pull it up about a centimeter, which does, you guessed it: absolutely nothing. In ebonics: You be fucked. Your eyes widen in speechless terror as the ship heads, nose first, towards a tan stretch of land, the huge, fluffy clouds speed past you and start to thin in an increased frenzy, somehow adding to your already formidable sense of doom. Realizing arm-wrestling the steering wheel would do you no further good, you let it go and surrendered yourself to the fates and knowing the best use for free hands squeezed and groped Moona...to help reassure her, you tell yourself, though you know other wise. You were just appraisng the firmness of her cute ass when you were rudely interrupted by a cacaphonous crash. You heard and felt parts of the ship rattle off and break, and saw the windsheild crack and felt a knot form in your stomach as the ship flipped. You and Moona fell to the ceiling, but true to your heroic nature, you held on tigtly to her and took most of the fall. It hurt but only slightly, your suit was made to take such punishment and minimize it. You didn't have much time to appreciate this before the ship flipped again however and gravity mashed you once more to the floor. The windsheild cracked further and bits of sand, WAY larger than was normal, started to shoot through scratching past you and sifting into openings in your ship. Your heard the siren give one last analog crackle before dying. A vast majority of the controls and related screens did the same. the ship rattled furiously, but diminishingly so. You were coming to a stop. When you finally did you took some time to rattle your head out of panic mode with a few deep breaths...then the airbags ruined it. they blew out full and white, and pressed you and Moona into an even more uncomfortable position then you were already in, which until the very second they did, you would've thought such an act impossible. And, you realized rather furiously the bastards deployed about 12 flips too late. What brand was this thing? You raked your throbbing head but couldn't remember. Whoever it was you were sueing their collective ass off when you got back. Heh. if you got back. While you plotted against the ship's manufacturer's the air-bags let out a fart-ish wheeze and deflated themselves considerately. "You okay?" you ask the quivering mass of hotness clinging to you. her head lifts slowly, her frazzled hair falls back and though her eyes still hold a few lingering tears of shock and/or fear, her lips form the familiar smile; the fetching one you took note of upon your meeting. "Yes. Yes I'm fine..."With that she awkwardly dismounts you, pulls her panties back into place, smooths her mini-skirt down and scans the cracked floor for something, her top you figure. You leave her to her devices, zip up your uniform, replace your nearly-indestructible codpiece after retrieving it from a small hill of sand on the floor and set about assessing the damage. You look about you.It's a total mess. Miscellaneous panels have fallen from both the ceiling and the floor. Wires, pipes and other innards hang out like alcoholics' beer bellies. One pipe, towards the back of the bridge, is busted open and leaking some dark, crude-looking liquid. It drips noisily to a puddle on the floor, splashing its excess about it wantonly. You silently hope it's oil, and not the septic tank's load. Sighing you turn to the controls. Most lay still, unlit and smoking. Some more aren't still but rattle, humm and spark angrily. The screens offer no more than the controls. Most are just black. Some are cracked completely open, their glass scattered with the sand all over the ship, other's display static and scream at you unintelligibly like electronic ghosts. One, however, flasehes red, boops and warns that the ship is at 14.459% efficiency. "Swell. Thanks for the good news buddy."you mutter. Well, the ship was fucked. You decided to forget appraising it's level of fucked-ness for now and try to get a bearing on the surronding environs. neither one of you seemed to be having any adverse affects to the air; you concluded it was therefore breathable. That was always nice. You pulled a drag of it in through your nose. It was humid, almost palpabably wet. And it smelled strange...and as you mulled it over it leapt to your head. Salty. It smelled salty. You sought more clues through the windshield but could see only a semmingly endless stretch of sand. Hmmm...sand, wet, salt... could it be? Yes."We're at a beach..."Moona said before you could evne think it. You turned towards her voice. "Yes...yes we are."you agree, slightly angry she cut off your intense detective work. Before you could think another syllable though...a great SOMETHING happened. Ths ship began to rock gently and you became aware of a distant rumbling noise. Both increased it intesity at asteady rate utnil in several seconds, your ship shimmied and shook uncontrollably and the steady booming thuds filled the walls and echoed it menacingly.What was it? An earthquake. or...an alien menace? Either way you had to get ready...   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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