Captain Stuart Mann had, of course, been watching the weather reports all day, had even known this might happen. All good pilots know when to keep it in the hangar, at least literally. Problem was, the higher-ups weren't good pilots, and worshiped nothing but the Almighty Dollar. So while he was relaxing all day in the lounge at the Airport Sheraton waiting for the storm to hit--like he knew it would--everyone else was going about things as they usually did.<br/><br/>When the news broke, he simply gave an exasperated sigh and headed to the lobby to wait his turn to talk to the poor, beleaguered receptionist, who was quite pretty and looked like she'd rather be anywhere else. He asked her if there was any room with any space left, she said, yes, there was, and five minutes later she had taken a "coffee break" in the staff restroom--with no coffee except the dark color of his aviator shades, which came close to being crunched underfoot more than once in their heated, wild passion.<br/><br/>So it was with a satisfied smile and a definitely improved mood with which he swept into the hotel room and said, "Don't blame me, I just fly where they tell me to!", in what he hoped was a friendly, winning voice.