[ It'd been the same for Sam, really, the first time he'd gotten there - right down to hiding from his broodmate, trying desperately to shut him out. But now - now he misses the Station, honestly, and part of him just wants to be back there.
But that's for the future, and for right now - well, he can share this, at least.
His mind flips back, flashes of wings and laughter and wind, until he catches on one at random.
A flight test, and there's the drone of those monitoring him and Riley in his ear, calling out numbers and specifications as if he didn't already have those memorized, as if he didn't already know the wings better than they did.
He shoots a look at Riley, on the platform across from him, who raises one sandy eyebrow in a challenge - and they jump just as the all clear goes up, before they're given the official okay, to a chorus of heavy sighs and curses that don't matter in the slightest, now that they're in the air.
There's the weightless feeling of free-falling, wind buffeting all around him as Sam rolls with it, getting a feel for it physically while his goggles spit numbers out at him and his mind calculates the combination - but still it's feel more than anything else that tells him when to snap his wings open. He rides a thermal column up, a loose circle that feels almost lazy for the tiny movements he makes with his wings to keep at it, and then he lets out a whoop of joy as he evens out to cruising altitude.
"All right Falcon, Redwing, no racing this time," someone tells him, but they're drowning out by the sound of both his and Riley's laughter.
"Five minutes to the rocks," Riley says, and Sam shoots back, "Four," and takes off without even waiting for confirmation.
And it's the strain of back muscles, the rush of adrenaline in his veins and the absolute feeling of freedom, knowing that up here nothing matters but the wind and coaxing gravity to do what you need it to. He focuses on just that feeling, just the memory of the four and a quarter minutes it'd taken him to get to the rocks, and then he lets it go. ]
no subject
But that's for the future, and for right now - well, he can share this, at least.
His mind flips back, flashes of wings and laughter and wind, until he catches on one at random.
A flight test, and there's the drone of those monitoring him and Riley in his ear, calling out numbers and specifications as if he didn't already have those memorized, as if he didn't already know the wings better than they did.
He shoots a look at Riley, on the platform across from him, who raises one sandy eyebrow in a challenge - and they jump just as the all clear goes up, before they're given the official okay, to a chorus of heavy sighs and curses that don't matter in the slightest, now that they're in the air.
There's the weightless feeling of free-falling, wind buffeting all around him as Sam rolls with it, getting a feel for it physically while his goggles spit numbers out at him and his mind calculates the combination - but still it's feel more than anything else that tells him when to snap his wings open. He rides a thermal column up, a loose circle that feels almost lazy for the tiny movements he makes with his wings to keep at it, and then he lets out a whoop of joy as he evens out to cruising altitude.
"All right Falcon, Redwing, no racing this time," someone tells him, but they're drowning out by the sound of both his and Riley's laughter.
"Five minutes to the rocks," Riley says, and Sam shoots back, "Four," and takes off without even waiting for confirmation.
And it's the strain of back muscles, the rush of adrenaline in his veins and the absolute feeling of freedom, knowing that up here nothing matters but the wind and coaxing gravity to do what you need it to. He focuses on just that feeling, just the memory of the four and a quarter minutes it'd taken him to get to the rocks, and then he lets it go. ]