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wexhappyxfew · 8 months ago

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when all else fails

(a/n): here it is! a Silver Bullets ensemble piece featuring all of the lovely ladies that man the B-17 Silver Bullets that is mentioned so very often. let's just say....adjusting to a new pilot after losing one that did so much in terms of care - is hard. but having each other, makes it a bit easier. (featuring also: frank, the orange cat that meatball chases when warranted).

"How many times has he mentioned that the God-forsaken cat loves him?" muttered Paulina as she came and settled herself into the chair besides Carrie, shaking her head and lacing her fingers together like an elaborate pie crust.

"Dougie'll probably keep saying it," Carrie offered and then nodded at Marianne, who was sat in her own chair, working her way through another beer, "Frank doing okay?" Marianne shrugged and glanced at the orange cat, curled up at her feet, licking at his paw, eyes half-opened as he lounged on the wooden ground of the flying club.

"Looks like he's as fine as he'll ever be," Marianne said, "Dougie snuck him a thing of cheese earlier, so….let's just say, he's content." Carrie snickered as Paulina glanced down at the little ball of orange.

"Remind me how you're going to get him home again? Strapping him up in Silver Bullets, his own mask to fit his whiskers, a parachute made out of napkins?" Paulina offered and Marianne chuckled.

"I'll just ask Benny, he got Meatball over here, I'll be damned if I can strangle Frank into a harness, but it'll happen," Marianne said, "plus, he's a big sky enthusiastic." Carrie raised a brow. Paulina blinked.

"Come again?" murmured Carrie.

"He climbs up the trees, ya know? Entertains the kids. Jumps outta them, too. Crazy son-of-a-gun. There's a reason he's got nine lives, well…probably five now." Marianne said with a sigh, like an exasperated mother, "I blame Meatball."

"Why are we blaming Meatball?" a new voice said, entering the picture, the bright-eyed silhouette of Margie Harlowe coming up to them, Kennedy Farley in tow - like sunshine and gray skies clashing together in the middle of summer, but somehow making it work.

"He chases Frank around," muttered Marianne, "therefore, Frank has it out for him. Don't think Benny would agree but." Kennedy glanced downwards.

"A real wild-eyed killer there, Mar." Kennedy murmured and Marianne grumbled.

"He's just a softie on the outside that's all," Marianne said and Carrie chuckled.

"I can promise you, if I wave a thing of cheese in front of him, he's done for, there's no fighting with Meatball," Carrie said, patting Marianne on the shoulder and she all but sighed.

"It's alright, Frank, I'd be the same way," Paulina called down to Frank - who sat wildly unbothered, "swear to ya, you could wake me from a dead-sleep."

"Any of you meet the new pilot?" Margie asked, sweeping her eyes through the current group of four staring her in the face, "Alright, what's with the blank looks?"

"Don't think we're the ones you should be asking," Carrie said quietly, "you think Francis is gonna lose it? We know what happened when Harding tried with the other pilot…..Francis couldn't stand her."

"That's because that Captain Atchinson was nothing but a stuck up twit with a stick up her ass," Kennedy offered, "told me three times about how to load my goddamn .50 cal - last time I ever went up with her telling me what to do. I know how to load a gun, sweetheart."

"Bunch of bullshit, too," Paulina said, "you know she told me I had to at least eat proper in front of the guys. Does she not realize most of these guys saw me on my death bed when we arrived in Greenland? Puking my guts up as I pathetically begged for Major Cleven to take me to the grave. That was the least of my worries-"

"Well, our new pilot is not Captain Atchinson - she's actually really sweet, level-headed, can hold her own." Margie said butting in, "You all oughta introduce yourselves, stop hiding."

"Gotta name?" Marianne asked, a bit more hopeful than the others.

"Annie Bradshaw." Margie said, a hint of a smile on her lips, "She was in Fort Des Moines, but she's been a pilot for a bit. I got Benny to spill about her to me a bit. Supposedly she was going to fly AT-6s before coming here, so I guess we can consider ourselves lucky." Someone coughed.

"We'd be lucky if Birdie was still here." Carrie murmured quietly and a collective silence came over the group.

"Alright, what's with the sour faces?" Bessie, beloved navigator of Silver Bullets, said coming with a fresh drink - beer in the bottle - and Vivian and Judy in tow, the three new sets of eyes wandering about the current display of grief that seemed to wash in like waves.

"Don't tell me," Vivian said, arm linked through Judy's, eyes narrowed, "Major Egan made another one of his bad jokes and Pauli ain't having it."

"It ain't that, Viv, but feels close enough to be just like it," Paulina mumbled from her seat and shrugged, before leaning her head on her hand, "meet the new pilot?" The group glanced towards the trio and found somewhat blank looks on all their faces as well.

"Saw her." Judy offered, a bit more enthusiastically than the others, "She's a pretty thing. Didn't say anything though. It was from afar; I was trying to keep Dougie company, poor guy got turned down. I offered him an emotionally-filled pat on the shoulder."

"You really are the sweetest out of us all," Margie said with a smile towards Judy - who grinned like she always did - one that still looked youthful and full of a life now past.

"Was he trying for Helen again?" Carrie asked, her voice a bit more stiff than it had been previously and Bessie shrugged.

"A pretty poor attempt, I'll give him that," Bessie offered, in that comforting voice of hers that never seemed to let anyone down even in the worst of times.

"That or he's going on about the damn cat." Paulina groaned, receiving a shove from Marianne, "Sorry, sorry-" she glanced down at Frank, "sorry Frank, we love ya, I promise."

"So," Bessie started, glancing around the group, "anyone else willing to make the first move or should I bite the bullet. Again, might I add."

"I'll come with you," Judy offered, "she seems real sweet, I tell ya." Bessie smiled and glanced towards the group. Silence.

"Listen, listen, I'll come," Kennedy offered, "nothing a little New England charm can't do."

"New England charm?" Paulina crooned.

"Very experimentalist of you." Carrie said with a smirk and Kennedy rolled her eyes.

"I don't see anyone else jumping to their feet," Kennedy said, placing her hands on her hips with a raised brow, "imagine that was you! Comin' in here and your first introduction is Major Egan - Jesus Christ he probably scared her off-"

"I don't have to imagine," Paulina said with a sour look on her face, "if Birdie were here, we wouldn't be having to start this all over again."

"Yeah, well, Birdie ain't here, Pauli." Kennedy said. It was tough love. A tough realization that was a hard pill to swallow and something no one wanted to have to face.

None of them had really been flying since - Francis had done a practice run with Benny, but had come puking out of the plane and that had been that. Sometimes on walks around base, there was a presence about Silver Bullets that was almost sickening. It was like trying to face a fear none of them wanted to actually have to face. Getting in Silver Bullets without Birdie there. Because how much could you trust the next person to look out for the group and do much, if not the same or more?

"Well, what a surprise," Francis Montez said, swaggering over, a tired look on her face, an even more exasperated smile growing on her lips, "go on, what's happened now. Who are we bettin' on now?"

"No one, Lieutenant, except maybe the new pilot," Judy offered with a shake of her head, "you meet her yet?" Francis' face fell flat and she glanced around the group and shrugged.

"Ran into her, was on the move, didn't have much to say yet," Francis said, her words awkward and spaced uncomfortably. A few of the women exchanged side-eye glances or random coughs or sniffs.

Everyone knew Francis was struggling the most with it all - losing Birdie like they did. Just like that. Having her stuff back at the base, having to send it home to her folks, having to write out the letters and mail it out. Having to even think or say anything regarding it all. No one wanted to express any emotion towards a new pilot, or try to replace Birdie in anyway - it's why this whole new pilot shindig hurt just a little more than they all thought. They knew Birdie would never be replaced, but sometimes it felt like it was replacing her. Francis had been the one to see it and live it. She felt it the most it seemed - and showed it.

"You doing okay, Lieutenant?" Marianne asked quietly, a few worried glances going towards Silver Bullets' copilot - the drawn in expression on her face that fought with whatever inner emotions she was feeling more and more, the dark circles under her eyes, her gaunt cheeks. Francis Montez seemed to take on the weight of the world and let it stay on her shoulders for as long as she could handle; she hadn't fallen down yet.

"Fine," Francis said and then settled onto the open chair beside Carrie, "so, who's gonna make the first move? Or well, let me rephrase, who should be the one to make the first move?"

"I vote Margie." Paulina said, with a raised hand as she sipped her beer, "Margie or Vivian, someone who walks around like it's always sunny outside or something, ya know?"

"Flattering, Pauli, truly," Margie said, and Vivian offered a graceful smile with a nod.

"I appreciate the sentiment, Pauli, you really do butter me up," Vivian said, "but I think this is a Margie Harlowe situation at its finest." Margie grinned and crossed her arms and glanced around.

"You guys shouldn't have."

"Take the compliment, Margie," murmured Carrie. Margie smirked.

"She here?" Margie asked out loud.

"Supposedly Brady invited her."

"She blonde?"

"Blonde, more dirty-blonde, but nice dirty-blonde, shorter-side."

"That her?"

Everyone followed Carrie's finger and line of sight and found the new pilot, Lieutenant Annie Bradshaw, moving towards the bar, leaning up against it smoothly and ordering a drink and then looking around, her movements fluid, calculated and purposeful, her presence not entirely overwhelming and the look on her face a mix - calm, cool, collected about herself. Someone you probably didn't want to mess with unless you had it coming.

"Yep, that's her," Judy said, "Margie you should go for it." Margie turned to the group, took a gracious bow, cracked her knuckles like some professional sports star and then turned away.

"Watch and learn, ladies," Margie said and then plowed forward.

"There she goes," Kennedy said with a chuckle, "our Margie, whodda thought huh?"

"Whodda thought what?"

"Volunteering herself like that," Kennedy offered, "going into the line of fire. She's better than me."

"What the hell do you mean by that?" Francis said, "Whatcha trying to say?" Kennedy glanced over her shoulder just as Margie stuck out her hand to shake and then glanced back at the group of women and Frank, who now was cuddled in Judy's arms.

"Harding's been trying to get a pilot in for days after Atchinson was booted. Supposedly, he didn't let anyone even meet us until he was sure, especially after what happened before." Kennedy said, "Egan let me in on it, Mr. Chatterbox. Anyway, it seems legit. The entire thing. And she made it through all their levels of inspection, interviews, questioning, all of it. She's good." The group seemed to gravitate to looking towards Francis, attempting to judge her facial expressions before coming to a consensus.

"Francis?" Bessie offered. Francis was quiet for a moment, then leaned forward and took the beer bottle in her hand.

"I won't say anything until she's up there flying Silver Bullets."

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raineandsky · 13 days ago

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#133

Fourteen years ago, the hero—barely twelve years old and several years from considering being a hero—knocked on their neighbour’s door with their basket in hand and the smile of a kid about to eat their weight in sweets on their face.

The door was barely open before the hero was shouting, “Trick or treat!”

“Oh!” their neighbour exclaimed as she opened the door. “What’re you dressed as, hon?”

The hero pouted dramatically. This was the question they’d been answering all night—how could no one see it? “I’m [Superhero].”

Their neighbour laughed and produced a bowl of sweets, the wrappers glittering like gold under the porch light. “Of course you are! Well, take your pick, [Superhero].”

The temptation to dig their entire hand into that delicious ocean of chocolate was almost irresistible. The hero swiped the top sweet to push that temptation down, not even looking at what it was before dropping it into their own basket. “Thanks!”

Their neighbour said her goodbyes as the hero hopped back down onto the path, letting themself out the gate and heading for the next house.

A flicker of white moved in the bushes next to the hero. Their gaze snapped to the side, scanning through the leaves for the culprit. Then, like a mist of horror and death, a ghost drifted straight through the bushes towards them.

The hero yelped, shaking several sweets from their basket as they leapt back. It hovered just in front of them, the sheet over its head floating slightly, eye-holes cut in to show the hero their distant gaze.

A real, actual ghost. Fear gripped their throat and glued their feet to the ground. No, think—what would the superhero do?

They cleared their throat, putting on the bravest face they could, and said, “Nice costume.”

The ghost didn’t respond. It simply stared at them with dead, far-off eyes. An actor, the hero decided. It’s not real. Just someone that’s really embodying the spirit of Halloween.

They tried a smile that probably looked more pained than they’d hoped. “Super realistic,” they continued into the quiet. “Did you make it yourself?”

The hero reached out to run a hand over the bottom of the ghost’s sheet, only to find their fingers phased straight through it. They paused for a moment, staring wide-eyed at their hand passing right through this supposedly solid object, before hurriedly pulling it back.

“Whoa,” the hero whispered. “Are… are you, like… dead?”

The ghost said nothing. It only continued to stare at them. The sheet floated around them like the hero hadn’t ever disturbed it.

“Um. Okay.” The hero shuffled nervously, glancing at their destination down the street. “Very cool. See you ‘round, anyway.”

They casually wandered to the next house along. They glanced over their shoulder at the gate and, seeing that the ghost was gone, swiftly abandoned their sweet hunt and ran all the way home.

“On Clarence Street?” the hero asks indignantly. “Fourteen years ago? That was you?”

The villain laughs brightly from where the hero has hastily tied them to a desk chair. “And you were the one dressed like [Superhero]? The only kid I couldn’t scare the chocolate out of? Oh, this rivalry was destined.”

The hero can feel their face scrunching up in annoyance. The whole process of seeing a ghost, researching the paranormal, feeling bad that someone was lingering after death, wanting to shape a world people could leave peacefully, taking on heroism in their career. All their life decisions had sprouted from that one moment when they were twelve, and it was the villain’s goddamn fault.

The hero takes a step back to resist the urge to punch them. “How’d you do it?”

“Projector.” The villain looks particularly proud, like they’re explaining how their most recent invention works. “It was one of the first real evil things I planned myself. I think it was the start of my career, that night.”

The hero scowls. “Makes two of us.”

“Be honest,” the villain starts with a grin, “did I getcha?”

The scowl only deepens. The hero doesn’t like the truth, but they’re not a liar. “A bit.”

Another laugh, entirely too proud of the stunt they pulled off over a decade ago. “Happy Halloween, [Superhero].”

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain #halloween #happy halloween yall!!!!!#yall wanted some spooky heroes and villains so here we areeeee #if you couldnt tell. halloween is not my strong suit cause i am not a horror writer by any means #and i realised that a lil too late into my planning #but hey! the hero thought they saw a ghost once. that counts

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