[Round 2, Darth Cookie] Selective Reality

[Puck]

OoC: THERE ARE YOU HAPPY! It's a pretty "meh" post, and chances are I wont win with it...BUT...this is the furthest I have ever gotten in a touny so Puck is Happy ^_^.

Ic:


“Hello Sir, Where are you going today?~” A tall lanky, and obnoxiously over cheerful women in a blue blazer piped up from behind the reception desk, causing the man in a pure white suite to only glare at her from beneath his white rimed hat. Reaching into his pocket he produced three documents, all but one of which where forged.

Without words, or turning away from the blond haired women he slid his passport, with the name Greg Thunderstone written on it, a birth certificate, and a ticket to the 797 departing to England. The white suited man was not one for chit chat, or talking at all for that matter, opting him to stay silent through the duration the women looked over his legal documents. After a good five minutes of looking over the tall strangers passport the women, whose named tag called her Diane, picked up the phone to her right sending a message throughout the airport, “Hector to the front desk, Hector to the front desk,”

Derrik inwardly sighed, driving across the Atlantic would have been faster then this. Not a minute passed when a small brown haired individual with glasses and a pocket protector came strolling along the chessboard tiled floor, “What is it Diane?” He asked allowed prompting the women in the blue blazer to call him closer, giving them enough room to whisper. Five more minutes of this and the women looked back up at Derrik, who looked about as happy as a vegan in a slaughter house.

“Are you related to William Thunderstone?”...That is what she was trying to figure out? William Thunderstone was a famous solo singer, which was one reason he picked that name, but he never expected such stupidity from the general populous like this. Derrik glared at the wide eyed pair, and shook his head lightly hoping that the stupid women would just let him pass, “Oh sorry then, you will be in gate number three, you better hurry it's boarding in just a minute. Enjoy your trip, it's the maiden voyage of a new Jet liner they say it's incredible,”

As soon as the women told him to hurry he had enough, grabbing his bag, and walking off leaving the blond haired women talking to herself. The blond haired man in the nice white suite pushed his way through the hordes of people, so numerous Derrik could have sworn they out numbered grains of sand on a beach. When he finally got to his gate, then came the tough part.

Walking through the metal detector he smiled with relief as it made not a sound when he passed through, for as he walked he placed a small device on the side of it that scrambled up it's interior, rending the metal detector all but useless, or so was his plan. Whether by luck, or ingenious design he had managed to board the most expensive, largest, and fastest jumbo jet in the world, with enough ammo, and guns on him to build his own small army. After 9/11 he had been told that the airports had upped their security ten fold, as he sat down on his first class seat Derrik was glad he never got to see airport security as it used to be.

Ten thousand feet into the air is when Derrik chose to make his move, standing to his feet he started towards the Cockpit, taking note of the fact that despite the size of the plane it seemed almost completely barren. That did not sit well with the assassin.

As Derrik walked counting the passengers on his level he accidently pumped into a flight attendant, and by some twist of fate his pistol was jarred from his holster causing it to hit the ground, bounce a couple times, and come to a stop the women just staring at it in disbelief. With an ear wrenching screech the stupid, clumsy women rand fleet footed towards the cockpit. I guess nothing is perfect.

Derrik bent over and picked up his weapon, muttering only one word, “shi-.”

Edit: Ooc: Derrik

[Andurhil/Cookie]

She was really late. The flight was in less than twenty minutes and she was still heading for the check-in Her boots thumped loudly on the marble floor as she dashed forward, a wheeled suitcase trailing behind her. Pushing an orange curl behind her RayBans, she hoisted the suitcase on the weighing platform and produced her identification documents. She maintained her usual air of confidence, completely at ease with her surroundings. The desk clerk stamped her passport and returned the documents. Tanya flashed a polite smile, and returned the documents to her backpack.

Ticket in hand, she set off in dash towards her gate, the minutes counting. She reached it just as the last few passengers headed into the tubular pathway that linked to the aircraft. Passing through the metal detector, she flashed her ticket to one of the clerks who proceeded to tear half of it off, with an almost pleasant tearing sound. Retrieving her half of the ticket, she walked into the connecting corridor and boarded the aircraft.

Glancing around as she made her way towards her seat, she realised that the colossal aircraft was only scarcely occupied. It seemed oddly strange to her that something of this size would be flown with so few passengers. The logistics of the endeavour must have simply been obscene. Eventually reaching her seat, she plopped down on the soft fabric, strapped on her seat-belt, and reclined her seat. Putting on her headphones, she leaned back and closed her eyes, oblivious now to the fact that she was in an aeroplane.

It was some time past her fifth song when she heard the scream. The reason for this was the fact that it was less than ten meters away from her. Eyes immediately darting open, she sat up and looked around for the source of scream. Her eyes widened when she saw a man in a white suit picking up a pistol from the floor.

Her mind immediately arrived at the most logical conclusion: the man was a hijacker. Pulling away her headphones and stopping the music, she silently rose to her feet and crept up to him while his back was turned. In one quick, fluid movement, she lunged at him with the intent of tackling him to the ground.