My first Airman fic. I normally write for Artemis Fowl, but I love this book, and writing is addicting.

Disclaimer: Who thinks I own airman? Comon, it's a free country, no harm in voicing opinions…

*Five hands go up*

2wh immediately hits them all over the head with the dumb stick, hoping that ut might have the i\opposite effect. The logic is clearly flawed.

Paperclip: You said no harm would come…*watches a person stumble by, drooling

2wh: Nothing fatal!

This is a short little something that takes place after the fight with bonvilain. Enjoy!

P.S: Did anyone besides me notice that Eion Colfers sons are named Finn and Sean? Conor FINN? SEAN broekheart?

Greg stared at the flying device.

"Cool" was the smartest thing he had to say.

Greg, like Conor, was enrolled at Glasgow University. He didn't know what to say to his roommate, Conor. He was a mathematician. Other people mostly brought blueprints for flying machines to him; they didn't show him the flying machine itself.

Conor smirked. He then started strapping on the device.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, do you want a demonstration?"

Greg didn't know what to say. "The tests…."

Again, Conor smirked. "Already done."

He then kicked open the window, and jumped.

Greg rushed to the window, but he saw nothing buy sky, sea, and air.

Conor tipped the nose of his deice up. He had long mastered flying upwards into drafts, and it rose soundlessly, and gently. He started to relax, letting the surrounding elements overtake him. He was thrown back into reality, by a low cloud's chill. He immediately leveled out, and lowered the nose. He had always worried the Bonvilain really had survived. He would not be hard to find. He was the talk of the school. He was from Ireland, (Which had the girls swooning), he had a fearsome tattoo, he was skilled in weaponry, Someone had started a rumor that he was member of the royal family, and he stills seemed to be ahead of everyone if the classes. He always looked forward to Friday nights. Everyone had gone home, and he could grab his contraption and fly around the US. It still amazed him, all the lights. Ireland had nothing of the sort, although he missed the green hills sometimes. At least he could still see the sea.

He sniffed, and he smelled a storm coming on. Better sfae than sorry. He looked around for a good landing spot, but he was above a group of houses. He sighed, and heard thunder in the distance. Someone was going to have their weekend ruined. He guessed he could coffer to help them fix their roof. Suddenly a huge gust caught his rig, and sent it spinning out of control. Colors, land, it all seemed like an impressionist painting. He gritted his teeth, fighting panic. He pulled his wings close in, and spiraled down, fast, searching for a wind going the opposite direction. He couldn't feel anything.

He vaguely noticed a tree blowing in the opposite direction, and then realized he wouldn't be able to feel anything at all anyway, riding this kind of draft. He tipped the nose forward, and stretched one wind to try to switch drafts. It worked, with Conor leaning to one side, but the change in speed shot him high into the air. Good thing too, when his rig was shaped like a javelin, he flew too fast, aiming at the ground.

He gained control, and gained his bearings. He drifted noiselessly down, turned around, something he needed to work one, and found a roof. It wasn't as flat as he would have liked, but the drop of rain on his cheek dispelled all thought like that. He needed to land. Now.

He pulled up his wings so he was almost vertical, and came crashing down on the roof, sending tiles flying, and adding a few cuts to his body. He was sliding forward on the roof in the most undignified position, and grabbed an iron headlamp; just another gust almost sent him spinning into the atmosphere. He grabbed it, and pulled down to send himself to the ground. A light turned on in the house.


He yanked down one more time, but the gust sent him flying into their tree. He was going to have a field day with this family explaining thing. The door opened, and a head stuck out.

Conor had no experience in this kind of situation, so he set the nose down, and glided gently toward the ground, and shrugged the rig off.



Rylee Parkins. A girl from his class. This night was getting better and better.

"Ah. Rylee. Sorry for interrupting your evening like this, but I got caught in a storm, and…"

He stopped, realizing how stupid that sounded.

She took one look at him and dragged him inside.


After explaining the entire story, from when e jumped out of the window, He coughed. The story had taken more out of them than it should have, and flying in the storm was exhausting. Half way through, her parents listened in.

Suddenly she stood up, fingering, the A symbol around his chest, He had another one made after his fight with Bonvilain.

"What's this?"

Conor was suddenly uncomfortable. "Its ahh.."

"It's the Airman symbol isn't it?"

He looked sharply up at her father, who had spoken.

"How do you know that?"

The Father looked at him with a weird look.

"My cousin is a guard on the saltee islands. He is recovering from a bullet wound to the foot. Another idiot shot him, chasing an Airman who broke into the island, took out multiple armed guards, stole diamonds, and just disappeared after leading the guards into a merry chase around the island, into the sky, with the same symbol. The he turns up overthrowing a major ruler in the Ireland area."

Conor had a few option. Whistle, and look at he ceiling, or give some random detail confirming it, and change the subject. He chose option two.

"The guard with the gun was screaming like a little girl. Personally, I thought it was funny. Do you want me to help fix the roof? I landed awkwardly, the storm messed with my landing."

The entire family just blinked. In 2.5 seconds, the questions would come.

"Ill come tomorrow with more tiles."

With that, he winked, thanked them, and walked out the front door. When they looked, they saw nothing but sea, sky, and air.