For j_s_cavalcante
Number Seven - Whimsy/Reality
Ray cupped his hands around his mouth and cleared his throat. “When I said ‘Super Mountie’, I was being meteorological.”
“Metaphorical, Ray.” Fraser’s voice was muffled, coming, as it did, from inside quite a large hole.
Ray reached the edge of the hole and peered in. It appeared to be a dead-space-a sink hole that had been covered over with trash and soil until Fraser had found it by jumping off the landing skids of a helicopter (piloted, for reasons that do not need explaining at this juncture, by a homicidal maniac in a Nixon mask), some fifteen feet up in the air.
“Are you okay?”
Fraser looked around at his surroundings. “The leaf litter and rubbish mostly broke my fall, Ray,” he said. “However, I appear to have twisted my ankle quite badly.”
“Right, you stay there, I’ll go get some help.”
Ray straightened up and headed for the growing knot of police officers and medics around the downed helicopter. Before jumping, Fraser had somehow managed to cut every hydraulic cable worth a damn and not-Nixon had been forced to make an emergency landing in the park. He’d been apprehended by a severe-looking group of S.W.A.T. officers and was already being bundled into a police van.
Ray shook his head. When he found someone from Fire and Rescue and they pulled Fraser out of that hole, he was going to have a serious talk with him about the limits of ‘hot pursuit’.
Ray cupped his hands around his mouth and cleared his throat. “When I said ‘Super Mountie’, I was being meteorological.”
“Metaphorical, Ray.” Fraser’s voice was muffled, coming, as it did, from inside quite a large hole.
Ray reached the edge of the hole and peered in. It appeared to be a dead-space-a sink hole that had been covered over with trash and soil until Fraser had found it by jumping off the landing skids of a helicopter (piloted, for reasons that do not need explaining at this juncture, by a homicidal maniac in a Nixon mask), some fifteen feet up in the air.
“Are you okay?”
Fraser looked around at his surroundings. “The leaf litter and rubbish mostly broke my fall, Ray,” he said. “However, I appear to have twisted my ankle quite badly.”
“Right, you stay there, I’ll go get some help.”
Ray straightened up and headed for the growing knot of police officers and medics around the downed helicopter. Before jumping, Fraser had somehow managed to cut every hydraulic cable worth a damn and not-Nixon had been forced to make an emergency landing in the park. He’d been apprehended by a severe-looking group of S.W.A.T. officers and was already being bundled into a police van.
Ray shook his head. When he found someone from Fire and Rescue and they pulled Fraser out of that hole, he was going to have a serious talk with him about the limits of ‘hot pursuit’.