Her platinum blonde hair rustled in the breeze as Geneve Gridley pushed the aviator glasses up onto her head and surveyed the sky. It was a bit windy but the weather looked all right. She'd be able to fly in this wind with no problem. The white scarf she wore flapped against the dark brown leather flight jacket. It was open, revealing a creamy expanse of pale skin and a black leather vest done up in a style similar to a corset with black rawhide lacing. Her tight black shorts clung lovingly to her like a second skin and were fraying around the edges.<br/><br/>A leather belt cracked and softened with age was slung at an angle across her hips. A gun holster was attached to the lower side of the belt. Tucked in the patched and worn holster was her long-time companion. She never went anywhere without her pistol. She'd learned it was better to be safe rather than sorry.<br/><br/>Her long legs were covered in grey and black patterned tights which disappeared into the well-worn and dusty brown leather boots that started at mid-calf and were decorated with a number of buckles. One hand, clad in a fingerless black leather glove, reached into her jacket and pulled out a pack of smokes.<br/><br/>She took a moment to light a cigarette then called out some orders to her crew. Things had been different since people started disappearing. She felt that this was the one thing that would never change, her love of flying. Her eyes moved to her ship,<em>Hawkstone</em>, and she smiled at the sight of it floating proudly a few feet off the ground waiting only to be untethered. Yes, it was going to be a fine day for flying.