Post by Deleted on Jan 19, 2017 0:59:40 GMT -4
NAME: Mirela Chilikova
HT (Height): 172 centimeters
WT (Weight): 59 kilograms
HAIR (Color): Black
EYES (Color): Hazel
SEX: Female
AGE: 23
PHOTOGRAPH (Description): That ID photo’s a tiny little square, but Chilikova’s a pretty tall fella from the looks of it. She’s got that kind of long neck and somewhat broad, athletic shoulders. Her skin is dark, with olive undertones and a few streaks of freckles. Bulgarian-Romani. A heart-shaped face with a sloped, almost beaked nose, sunken eyes, and somewhat thick eyebrows. Her hair’s been pulled into a low bun, with a few loose, wavy strands here and there. She’s wearing a faded, formless green jacket with a few deep pockets and a plain black t-shirt. Right at the base of the little photo, there’s a glimpse of a metal water bottle, possibly fastened to a belt at the waistline.
You hand your ID to the man, and while he checks it over, the other guard asks you exactly where it is you’re going and what you’re carrying.
Where you’re headed: Hava Şehir
Pocket contents: A lighter, roll of tape, ballpoint pen, a minuscule bottle of iodine, kershawleek (if you say it as one word in the middle of a sentence, the security guards MIGHT not recognize it. Or they don’t care about a small utility knife. That’s more likely.), a metal water bottle, one flimsy, small, and awfully battered book on essential Turkish, one fork, an impressive 237 lira, and one meager (albeit cherished) 2-leva coin.
You board the transport blimp, which seems to be manned by plenty of armed guards. There is no system of regulation or investigation in these skies, just men with guns that may or may not know how to use them. When the rest of the passengers board, the guard closest to the entry door shuts and locks it. The intercom turns on, and a man begins speaking.
"Welcome to transport. We hope you enjoy your flight."
A short message before the intercom cuts back out. You take your seat, and relax as the blimp begins to take flight. The platform and people below start to become smaller and smaller until they're barely visible, and all you can really see is the dark miasma below, and the city you just left. The ride will take at least a day, so it you take your time to relax and study a bit of Turkish before while the trip goes on. Half the day passes without anything happening, when you notice two smaller, faster sky ships trailing your transport. The guards seem on edge. They keep their hands near their guns, and you can make a number of assumptions as to why.
HT (Height): 172 centimeters
WT (Weight): 59 kilograms
HAIR (Color): Black
EYES (Color): Hazel
SEX: Female
AGE: 23
PHOTOGRAPH (Description): That ID photo’s a tiny little square, but Chilikova’s a pretty tall fella from the looks of it. She’s got that kind of long neck and somewhat broad, athletic shoulders. Her skin is dark, with olive undertones and a few streaks of freckles. Bulgarian-Romani. A heart-shaped face with a sloped, almost beaked nose, sunken eyes, and somewhat thick eyebrows. Her hair’s been pulled into a low bun, with a few loose, wavy strands here and there. She’s wearing a faded, formless green jacket with a few deep pockets and a plain black t-shirt. Right at the base of the little photo, there’s a glimpse of a metal water bottle, possibly fastened to a belt at the waistline.
You hand your ID to the man, and while he checks it over, the other guard asks you exactly where it is you’re going and what you’re carrying.
Where you’re headed: Hava Şehir
Pocket contents: A lighter, roll of tape, ballpoint pen, a minuscule bottle of iodine, kershawleek (if you say it as one word in the middle of a sentence, the security guards MIGHT not recognize it. Or they don’t care about a small utility knife. That’s more likely.), a metal water bottle, one flimsy, small, and awfully battered book on essential Turkish, one fork, an impressive 237 lira, and one meager (albeit cherished) 2-leva coin.
You board the transport blimp, which seems to be manned by plenty of armed guards. There is no system of regulation or investigation in these skies, just men with guns that may or may not know how to use them. When the rest of the passengers board, the guard closest to the entry door shuts and locks it. The intercom turns on, and a man begins speaking.
"Welcome to transport. We hope you enjoy your flight."
A short message before the intercom cuts back out. You take your seat, and relax as the blimp begins to take flight. The platform and people below start to become smaller and smaller until they're barely visible, and all you can really see is the dark miasma below, and the city you just left. The ride will take at least a day, so it you take your time to relax and study a bit of Turkish before while the trip goes on. Half the day passes without anything happening, when you notice two smaller, faster sky ships trailing your transport. The guards seem on edge. They keep their hands near their guns, and you can make a number of assumptions as to why.
