<strong>Dixie Mae Clementine</strong><br/><br/>I am a countrygirl but this man, I think he was from the northeast, maybe Boston, judging by his accent, was taking that a bit too literally. Never ever heard of 'hungarian' before I looked at the man a bit puzzled. Not knowing what else to say to the fool, I stuck out my hand and introduced myself.<br/><br/>"I'm Dixie Mae Clementine sir..." I had already forgotten his name. People in the south didn't have those stupid names. We liked it simple. I then noticed something, perhaps a little bit late but still. Kudo's for trying... Everybody had their plane with them. The preppy lady didn't tell me to bring my plane. It was still at the hangar where I left it in all it's pink and yellowness. If she wanted though, my trusty horse could get me there in no time but then was the question, where would I keep the horse? A deal had to be made with the hangar clerk, which wasn't a problem with legs like mine.<br/><br/><br/>"Y'all look a bit overdressed for a merc pilots," I stated as I looked around.<br/>How could people fly with gloves and funny colored clothes? I shook my head and thought of the fun I would have when this turned out to be a competition. Not only would I be faster than most of the planes on the field here, their fancy outfits would look all scruffied and dirty after a parachute drop down to the ground. The Bostonian and the other male, he looked and sounded like a smug and therefore had to be European or Canadian, looked like a good night of fun though and maybe I could offer them some symphaty after shooting them down.