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xp_logsThe first group of Red-X, Elpis and Staff arrive in Pakistan, and are ferried to the site of the earthquake.
The helicopter wasn't exactly roomy, and the up and down motion as it skimmed over the rugged terrain was enough to turn anyone's stomach. Still, it was the fastest way to reach the temporary camp that was near the epicenter of the earthquake. When they had arrived in Islamabad, one of the Red Cross officials had met them and explained the situation. Splitting into two groups, they'd let the New Mutants and other Red-X team members head directly to the Red Cross refugee camp, and had boarded helicopters provided by the US Army Engineer Corps to head to what was being called a rally point.
The destruction beneath them was extreme; shattered buildings, gutted towns, and a broken network of roads. It was a nightmare that the ruggedness of the mountain terrain made worse. No easy access for rescue vehicles, no way to provide a steady stream of supplies to support the camp, little fresh water. The only bright spot had been an old rail line that a pilot had spotted, and which the engineers had confirmed amazingly survived the quake with little damage. Some research had identified a possible engine; old and decommissioned, which sat in the siding station near which the camp had grown. If it could be made to work, it represented a direct link to moving refugees out and supplies in.
"We're fifteen minutes out! Expect some chop on this last stretch!" The pilot called back helpfully as the Pav-Low swooped over a rocky ridge.
Angelo was staring out of the window, distracted by the devastation below, but he heard that and turned, latching onto his armrests with several strips of skin. It might only be a little turbulence, but better safe than sorry.
Next to him, Yvette was clinging to her seat for grim death, grateful for the gloves which stopped her from slicing into the padding. Her eyes were emitting a constant low-level glow which bathed the faces of her companions with a blue-ish tinge, a sign of her personal agitation. "I do not think I am liking the helicopters," she murmured, mostly to herself.
And I thought planes were bad... Although Callisto was clearly having no trouble with the turbulence, tiny corrections in her stance keeping her from being knocked around as the chopper dipped and wove, she looked less than happy, arms wrapped around herself, face paler even than usual. The tranquilisers she'd taken earlier, enough to fell a horse, had long since worn off, and the earplugs were doing very little to cut out the roar of the spinning blades above their heads. She hunched down further in her seat, scowling. This was a fuckin' awful idea. Should've stayed home.
Jean-Phillipe did his best to remain stoic despite the jouncing. Keeping rigid control of his powers in a machine so full of delicate electronics was important. The only real indication of his nervousness was the way an unopened pack of cigarettes moved in his hands. He tried to offer some encouragement to Yvette, but his own lack of comfort left him at a loss for words.
John kept himself distracted with the use of his BlackBerry. Cell phone reception was spotty at best but thank god for being able to take quick shots of the destruction below via his camera phone and the ability to access his inbox for drafting out emails to the Elpis office. Having worked with the NGO for close to three years now, John was used to the rough modes of transportation. If he had any complaints, it was to do with the lack of good food available during these trips.
The motion didn't bother Kevin much, he was mostly fascinated with the scene that stretched out below them. His eyes would gaze about every now and then for Jean-Paul who was flying along near the helicopter but who had refused to go anywhere near the inside of it. Kevin himself had sat near the door so he could reduce the risk of contact with anyone, layers of cloth or not.
Jean-Paul kept pace with the helicopter for the most part, letting himself fall behind every now and again as he took in the damage below him. Then he pushed himself to catch up, steeling himself against the things he would likely be seeing during the next few days. Either he was going to simply not sleep or he would have to isolate himself from the others, just in case. Neither was ideal, he supposed, but they were both preferable to the alternative of harming someone accidentally.
Farouk slept, inured to the vagaries of the helicopter travel by his experiences with the French Alouette models that had been confidently described by their pilots to him as the collection of roughly compatible parts, in relative close formation, flying notionally in the same direction. The panoramas of ruined Pakistan had as little to attract his attention as the scintillating conversation of the company in which he found himself. So as soon as they had been herded into bird to demonstratively pulled his broad-brimmed had down and willed himself into slumber, hoping to dream of dismembered D. Ken.
The helicopter wasn't exactly roomy, and the up and down motion as it skimmed over the rugged terrain was enough to turn anyone's stomach. Still, it was the fastest way to reach the temporary camp that was near the epicenter of the earthquake. When they had arrived in Islamabad, one of the Red Cross officials had met them and explained the situation. Splitting into two groups, they'd let the New Mutants and other Red-X team members head directly to the Red Cross refugee camp, and had boarded helicopters provided by the US Army Engineer Corps to head to what was being called a rally point.
The destruction beneath them was extreme; shattered buildings, gutted towns, and a broken network of roads. It was a nightmare that the ruggedness of the mountain terrain made worse. No easy access for rescue vehicles, no way to provide a steady stream of supplies to support the camp, little fresh water. The only bright spot had been an old rail line that a pilot had spotted, and which the engineers had confirmed amazingly survived the quake with little damage. Some research had identified a possible engine; old and decommissioned, which sat in the siding station near which the camp had grown. If it could be made to work, it represented a direct link to moving refugees out and supplies in.
"We're fifteen minutes out! Expect some chop on this last stretch!" The pilot called back helpfully as the Pav-Low swooped over a rocky ridge.
Angelo was staring out of the window, distracted by the devastation below, but he heard that and turned, latching onto his armrests with several strips of skin. It might only be a little turbulence, but better safe than sorry.
Next to him, Yvette was clinging to her seat for grim death, grateful for the gloves which stopped her from slicing into the padding. Her eyes were emitting a constant low-level glow which bathed the faces of her companions with a blue-ish tinge, a sign of her personal agitation. "I do not think I am liking the helicopters," she murmured, mostly to herself.
And I thought planes were bad... Although Callisto was clearly having no trouble with the turbulence, tiny corrections in her stance keeping her from being knocked around as the chopper dipped and wove, she looked less than happy, arms wrapped around herself, face paler even than usual. The tranquilisers she'd taken earlier, enough to fell a horse, had long since worn off, and the earplugs were doing very little to cut out the roar of the spinning blades above their heads. She hunched down further in her seat, scowling. This was a fuckin' awful idea. Should've stayed home.
Jean-Phillipe did his best to remain stoic despite the jouncing. Keeping rigid control of his powers in a machine so full of delicate electronics was important. The only real indication of his nervousness was the way an unopened pack of cigarettes moved in his hands. He tried to offer some encouragement to Yvette, but his own lack of comfort left him at a loss for words.
John kept himself distracted with the use of his BlackBerry. Cell phone reception was spotty at best but thank god for being able to take quick shots of the destruction below via his camera phone and the ability to access his inbox for drafting out emails to the Elpis office. Having worked with the NGO for close to three years now, John was used to the rough modes of transportation. If he had any complaints, it was to do with the lack of good food available during these trips.
The motion didn't bother Kevin much, he was mostly fascinated with the scene that stretched out below them. His eyes would gaze about every now and then for Jean-Paul who was flying along near the helicopter but who had refused to go anywhere near the inside of it. Kevin himself had sat near the door so he could reduce the risk of contact with anyone, layers of cloth or not.
Jean-Paul kept pace with the helicopter for the most part, letting himself fall behind every now and again as he took in the damage below him. Then he pushed himself to catch up, steeling himself against the things he would likely be seeing during the next few days. Either he was going to simply not sleep or he would have to isolate himself from the others, just in case. Neither was ideal, he supposed, but they were both preferable to the alternative of harming someone accidentally.
Farouk slept, inured to the vagaries of the helicopter travel by his experiences with the French Alouette models that had been confidently described by their pilots to him as the collection of roughly compatible parts, in relative close formation, flying notionally in the same direction. The panoramas of ruined Pakistan had as little to attract his attention as the scintillating conversation of the company in which he found himself. So as soon as they had been herded into bird to demonstratively pulled his broad-brimmed had down and willed himself into slumber, hoping to dream of dismembered D. Ken.
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