Fayth
Junior Member
"...and the women, my friend." Boris laughs heartily, grinning at Ivan, "American woman come in two flavors: banana," he holds his hands a short distance apart and jerks them downward, "and orange!" he shapes his hands around an imaginary orange as the rest of the plane erupts in laughter.
"What, no variety?" Ivan pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. "Variety in women is the best part of being on assignment!"
"No, they either believe that only sticks are pretty so they don't eat, or they don't care and eat whatever they want!" Boris continues to laugh. "It makes for problems in b-"
An on-board announcement cuts him off, telling the assembled Russian soldiers that landing is imminent. Those awake rouse the sleepers, and everyone begins pre-landing procedures: securing unsecured books, plates, and cups, turning off cellphones and laptops. Most of the travellers exchange quick jokes and smiles, enjoying their last few exchanges in their mother tongue before the mandated switch to English for the joint assignment.
The plane lands without a fuss, but there is a strange tension in the air. It filters from the cockpit on back, soldiers uneasily rolling their shoulders and tightening their jaws without knowing why. Conversation dies down, and silence persists all through the plane rolling to a stop. The bright lights of Midway filter through the windows, and the door to the plane unfolds onto the tarmac.
"Alright, one at a time," grumbles a sleepy junior grade officer, overseeing the disembarkation of the plane.
"What, no variety?" Ivan pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. "Variety in women is the best part of being on assignment!"
"No, they either believe that only sticks are pretty so they don't eat, or they don't care and eat whatever they want!" Boris continues to laugh. "It makes for problems in b-"
An on-board announcement cuts him off, telling the assembled Russian soldiers that landing is imminent. Those awake rouse the sleepers, and everyone begins pre-landing procedures: securing unsecured books, plates, and cups, turning off cellphones and laptops. Most of the travellers exchange quick jokes and smiles, enjoying their last few exchanges in their mother tongue before the mandated switch to English for the joint assignment.
The plane lands without a fuss, but there is a strange tension in the air. It filters from the cockpit on back, soldiers uneasily rolling their shoulders and tightening their jaws without knowing why. Conversation dies down, and silence persists all through the plane rolling to a stop. The bright lights of Midway filter through the windows, and the door to the plane unfolds onto the tarmac.
"Alright, one at a time," grumbles a sleepy junior grade officer, overseeing the disembarkation of the plane.