Bailing Out

by PhillyCh3zSt3ak

Chapter 4: Who the hell are you?

Chapter 4: Who the hell are you?

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“Who the fuck are you and why are you in my house,” I said. With the woman’s arms in the air and nothing holding her towel, it fell to the ground leaving her nothing to cover her naked form. However my eyes were staring into hers and not at her body, well not now at least, maybe later.

“My name is Spitfire,” she replied. As I watched her pupils they didn’t move either left or right, which looking at her hands for a split second revealed heavier callous on her right hand than left telling me that she is right handed. She was telling the truth.

“Is that a call sign or nickname?” I again questioned.

“My real name,” she replied with no pause. Again her eyes didn’t move nor did her body language suggest anything other than the truth. “I’ve told you my name, what’s yours?”

“My house, my rules. And I’m the one holding the gun. Why did you break into my house?”

“I wanted to rest and take a shower. Your house looked empty and unlived in,” she replied. Again her body language told the truth but her voice seemed to be hiding something.

“Why?” I pressed.

“I have been walking in the desert for the last three days.”

“Why?”

“My plane crashed.”

“Why?”

“It was shot down,” she replied. This surprised me. I gripped the pistol’s grip tighter at the possibility that this, very beautiful by the way, woman could be a threat. She saw me tense up and reacted in kind with her pupils shrinking in fear and her breathing speeding up.

“Now why would you be shot down, pray tell?” I asked with both fear and curiosity.

“I don’t know. I was flying over the Bermareda triange-” she started.

“Don’t you mean Bermuda triangle?” I asked in an accusatory tone.

“No I mean Bermareda,” she replied. I again analyzed her body language, again suggesting that she was telling the truth. I nodded in acknowledgement and let her continue. “My team and I were flying into the Bermareda triange, or close enough to it, in our new prototype planes when a storm flared up and a funnel cloud descended on my plane and a few hours later the next thing I knew I was over a desert when two black planes showed up behind me telling me to land. But my rudder was locked up and my microphone was damaged from when I hit my head on the side of the canopy.

“They tried to signal me down but one pilot saw something and dropped behind me with his wingman. The alarms in my plane started going off as a magic missile locked-” she continued before getting cut off by me again.

“That brings up another issue all together. The only reason they would fire on another plane is if you were in restricted airspace OR you presented a threat,” I said putting my finger on the trigger. “Now why would that be?”

I could see the nervousness in her eyes as the pupils that had grown just a few minutes ago had again shrunk to pinpricks. Looking straight into her eyes, which has been said are windows to the soul, I could almost hear her thoughts for that moment. Something along the lines of, ‘I’m going to die naked in a stranger’s bathroom.’ You got to admit, not the most fucked up way to die, but for the normal deaths it’s kind of a strange one.

“B-b-b-because,” she nervously stuttered, “I had machine guns on it. Please don’t kill me,” she said quickly after closing her eyes trying to avoid the inevitable.

I saw the tattoo on her arm a phoenix covered in flames and on the other arm a mirror image of the same phoenix, “What squadron are you with?”

“What?” she said opening her eyes.

“Your tattoo, what squadron are you with?” I asked again, this time a little more irritated.

“This?” she pointed at her arm.

“No,” I said with extreme sarcasm, “the wings on your back.”

“You want to see my wings? Ok,” she said turning around, arms still in the air.

I rolled my eyes, “Haha very funn- HOLY SHIT! WHAT ARE THOSE?!?!” I exclaimed.

“My wings, I thought you wanted to see them,” she said innocently, but still scared out of her wits.

“I was being fucking sarcastic. There’s no way in hell those are real,” I said eyeing them.

“Why don’t you touch them if you don’t believe me, it’s like you’ve never seen an angel before today,” she said. Angel? As in the messengers from God ‘angels?’ She’s just probably one of those crazed cosplay girls. I put the cold barrel of my pistol into her spine and I could see her shiver a bit. She spread her ‘wings’ out. “Just… be gentle. They’re sensitive,” she said as if she were a virgin having sex for the first time. I rolled my eyes, not like she’d be able to see that though. But why not humor her?

Using my damaged hand I reached over and touched where the skin of her back met the start lightly furred yellow wing. It felt real enough, but I was not going to be taking any chances, for all I knew it was surgically implanted for some fetish. However when I touched them I could feel her muscles tremor and the wings twitch. There’s no way that plastic surgery could do that, not unless she hired a neurosurgeon to connect the nerves and muscles to the wings.

I know that today we have some pretty slick medical technology were we can reattach someone’s severed limb and several months later with shit-tons rehab later that person could POSSIBLY use that formerly severed limb. And that’s if you get an excellent doctor.

I dug my thumb into her shoulder blade with the same pressure you would if you were giving someone a massage. She did the thing that I least expected, she moaned quietly. A few prods later and I found the muscle on her back that attached to the wing. She figured I was trying to confirm that they were real and moved them up, down, forward, and back. I could feel the muscles pull and stretch in all directions. There was no way that those were fake. I stepped back.

She turned around, “Satisfied?”

“Yes. Now about my original question, what squadron?” I said with my gun still aimed at her chest, but eyes still level with her.

“The Wonderbolts,” she replied with both enthusiasm and calmness oddly enough.

I paused for a moment thinking of any Air Force or Navy units of that name, “Never heard of it,” I said flatly.

“YOU’VE NEVER HEARD OF THE WONDERBOLTS?!?” she exclaimed. My pistol raised slightly at her exclamation in surprise. That movement caused her to calm down in response as well.

“No I haven’t,” I repeated. But for some reason the combination of both her name and ‘Wonderbolts’ got my brain starting in thought. Those two names together did ring a bell, but I just couldn’t place my finger on it.

“I think it’s time I got to ask a question,” Spitfire said.

“Fine,” I said sort of half-heartedly, my mind still on its current train of thought.

“Where am I?” she asked. This question really wasn’t to be COMPLETELY unexpected since she hinted at she didn’t know where she was.

“Where do YOU think you are?” I countered. This would make or break whether this lovely looking woman was either smoking something and had gene splicing done by some shadowy government organization, complete with black helicopters and lizard people; OR something completely different that was only seen in sci-fi movies and TV shows.

She thought for a moment, “Based on the landscape I’d say somewhere between Los Pegasus and Appleoosa, or at least on the western coast of Equestria.”

Well played universe. “Well Dorothy, you’re not in Kansas anymore.” She looked at me like I was the one on drugs, “The Wizard of Oz.” Still nothing, “You’re in Arizona, a desert state on the western coast of the United States of America.”

“I’m really confused, what?” her confusion was obvious. “I’ve been standing her with my hands up for the last ten minutes, can I please put some clothes on?”

I looked at her body, she was shivering now, and well that’s what not drying off after getting out of a shower in a stranger’s house gets you. “Just swear that you won’t attempt to harm or kill me.”

She paused for a moment, contemplating my proposal, “Agreed.” She put her right hand forward to start half of a handshake. I swapped hands with my pistol so it was now held by my bad hand. I completed the handshake. It was firm and not her arm was not limp at all. Her body language showed no signs of deceit or lies.

I put the safety back on and holstered my pistol. “Dry yourself off, I’ll be right back,” I said walking away. I walked over to my dresser and pulled musty smelling, but clean boxers, a short sleeve shirt, and sweat pants. I set them on the bed, “Sorry if they’re a little musty, I haven’t been home in almost 6 months. I’ll leave you to get changed, meet me in the kitchen when you’re done, we need to continue this little chat.” I took a few steps before turning around again, “My name is Andrew Briggs.” I closed the door to my room as I left, might as well give her some privacy.

I walked into the kitchen and looked inside the fridge, no surprise that there wasn’t anything in there, tends to happen when you’re gone for six months. Luckily someone I knew, maybe my parents, stopped by and at least cleaned out the food that could spoil. Opening the freezer I at least had some ice cream, possibly iced over, but it could be good for milkshakes or malts. I’m getting off topic.

Why was I trusting her? She had broken into my house and was using my shower. Was it because she looked a little, I don’t know, cute? But then again her wings didn’t help with the strangeness at all. I mean how the hell was this even possible? I have a small hunch, now to check up on it.

“Google: search terms ‘wonderbolts, spitfire, equestria,’” I said loud enough for my phone to pick up.

I sat there looking at the screen for a moment before only one result appeared on the screen. ‘Search result: 3. My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.’ One was for the Hub website, the second a Wiki page, and the third was an entry on imdb. Against my better judgment I went for the wiki first. The page loaded a picture at the top of a yellow pony with an uncanny hairdo with the exact same coloring as the same woman who was in my bedroom right now. Same thing with her wings, they were the same coloring as the coat on this animated pony.

How much further do I go down the rabbit hole? I go over to YouTube and find a clip with the pony called Spitfire. After watching and listening to it all I could say was, “Damn.” It was her voice.

“Something wrong?” Spitfire said as she emerged from my bedroom now wearing my old “People Like Grapes” shirt from Rooster Teeth and those black sweatpants. Wet hair plastered to her head with no styling to speak of.

“Care explaining this?” I ask showing her my phone and the video on it.

Author's Note:

A shorter chapter this time around due to my girlfriend wanting to spend more time together, which is never a bad thing. Some major gaming sprees took place during the writing and editing of this. Assassin's Creed IV, Battlefield 4, Call of Duty: Ghosts, and Bioshock Infinite: Burial at Sea episode 1. Fun stuff.
The "People Like Grapes" shirt is available on the Rooster Teeth store and is probably one of my favorite quotes from their podcast.

No real notes in the chapter itself on the content. Other than that I didn't find any glaring issues when editing this guy. If you noticed something that I didn't, PM me or comment it and I'll fix it ASAP.
Oh and a happy Thanksgiving to all of you who celebrate it.

Comments

[Shpoople96]

Your house looked empty and unlived in

You mean abandoned? Deserted? Empty?