"We're going to China in that?" Alfred said as he looked at the small airplane.
June had come so quickly, and Alfred, along with Matthew, was so excited he thought he would die. However, the sight of the small, somewhat dilapidated airplane made him apprehensive about the trip, but he got his mind off it when the image of meeting Walter Meyer in person put an optimistic smile on his face.
"Mr. Jones, may I introduce to you your group members?" Dean Gregory said, prompting the young man to turn around and look at everybody.
Alfred didn't fail to notice that every guy in their group had blond hair, but the shade was different on each man. Both the Frenchman and Englishman had lighter shades, while the one from Russia had hair that was so blond it was nearly white.
"Everybody, this is Alfred Jones from GeorgeWashingtonUniversity in Washington, DC," the dean said, introducing him to the group. Alfred gasped, pointing at Matthew. How dare he forget him, he thought.
"Hey! What about Matthew? He's going on the trip, too!" he said.
"Oh yes! I am so sorry, Mr. Williams," he said, bringing him forward. "Also from GeorgeWashingtonUniversity is Matthew Williams. So, let's get to everybody else, shall we?"
The dean walked toward the foreigners, who looked as though they were in a line staring at Alfred and Matthew. Dean Gregory gestured to each group member as he spoke.
"This here is Arthur Kirkland from King's College in London," he said, gesturing to a young man wearing an army green button up shirt with a pair of dark blue denim jeans. His hair was a yellow shade of blond, but it was strangely natural. His eyes were green and lively, but what stuck out to Alfred most were his thick, bushy eyebrows. The chap smiled at the two friends, waving.
"Hello," he said.
"Hey!" Alfred responded.
"Francis from the University of Paris in France," the dean continued. Francis was a rather comely young man with shoulder-length blond hair, facial hair on his chin, and dark blue, emotional eyes. He was clad in a shirt made of delicate fabric, gray slacks, and a pair of black leather boots.
"Bonjour!" he said, blowing a kiss at Alfred and Matthew. This made him slightly uncomfortable as his attention got distracted by the final group member.
"Last but not least, Ivan Braginsky from Russia's St. Petersburg University," the dean said finally.
Alfred and Matthew's jaws dropped and their eyes widened at the really tall young man standing before them. He had platinum blond hair and strangely-colored indigo blue eyes, and around his neck was a plain beige scarf that didn't quite match his pinstripe button-down shirt and black slacks. In fact, he stuck out like a sore thumb among the group members because of his tall stature and funny-looking scarf.
"Hello, I'm Ivan. It's good to meet you and I look forward to working with you," the Russian said cordially.
"Hey, dude! Glad to be here!" Alfred said cheerfully.
"Hi," Matthew said. The dean clapped his hands to get everyone's attention, and the pilot that was supposed to take them to China in the small airplane, and everybody got on board except for Dean Gregory, who wished them luck on their journey. Once the airplane rode off into the air, Alfred looked around the small passenger cabin.
It was rather bland and smelled of old French fries, but that didn't prevent Alfred from being even more excited for the trip. The seats were worn and made of gray leather, and they were cold against his bottom. On his right were Matthew, who was drawing in his sketchpad, and Arthur, who was staring off into space as if he were bored. Eager to get to know someone new, Alfred decided to break the ice with the young Englishman.
"Um…you like video games?" he asked awkwardly. Arthur's green eyes looked over at the American, who had a content look on his face as he waited for him to answer.
"No, I don't waste my time with such things," he said.
"Hey, your accent's cool, Arthur," Alfred said kindly. The Englishman's face grew less tense—he was becoming more comfortable with this stranger.
"Why, thank you," Arthur answered in a brief mutter. "After all, I am English. What part of America are you from?"
"I'm from Chicago. That's in Illinois, but I went to DC for college. I have a sister back at home, and her name is Amelia. My parents are George and Martha," Alfred said. Arthur nodded. Why the bloody hell is he telling me his back story, he asked himself as he stared strangely off into space again.
"I'd cross the Thames for a cup of tea right now," Arthur said. "Do you like tea?"
"Nah, I love soda," Alfred said. "Like burgers?"
"No," the Englishman said.
"Well, they are legit my life," Alfred said with enthusiasm. "I can eat seven double-pounders in one sitting. Just ask Matthew over here; he knows." The shy young man looked at Arthur and sighed. Good, he thought, at least I'm being noticed for once.
"He's obsessed with burgers, but even though I tell him how unhealthy they are, he never listens to me," he told him.
"Alfred? Is that your name?" Arthur asked, looking at the one next to him.
"Yeah, that's me. They also call me 'the hero,'" Alfred responded with excessive pride in his grin.
"Why?" Arthur asked. "Doesn't that get…utterly boring?"
"Nope! Never!" the American told him. "I am a hero." Suddenly, Matthew cut into their conversation, thinking he was still playing an active talking role.
"He thinks he's a hero because he reads too many Spiderman, Superman, and Batman comic books, Arthur," he told him. The two other men looked at him, and then Arthur looked at Alfred.
"Is this true?" the Englishman asked, looking at the American strangely.
"Yeah!" he said, taking a comic book out of his backpack. "This is The Adventures of Superman, DC Comics, Volume 4, Issue 2! Cool, huh?!" Suddenyl, the Frenchman cut in rudely.
"Eh, you waste your time," he said coldly in his seductive accent. "Wouldn't you rather be out with beautiful ladies and buying them gifts? Taking them to dinner or having a glass of wine in the moonlight? Or…honhon….oh wait. Your girlfriend is your comic collection! Oui, I know that!"
"Oh, can it, wanker!" Arthur said sharply. "He likes comic books, let him read them!"
"Excuse moi, but did I say you could talk?" Francis questioned snobbily.
"Excuse me, Pepé Le Pew, but you weren't in this conversation!" Arthur retorted, pointing his finger at him.
"I'll make you into escargot before we even get to China!" Francis threatened.
"I'll make a man out you, dandy!" the Englishman said, slashing him with his sharp-tongue as he rolled up his sleeves, wanting to fight the Frenchman at any given time.
"Stop, you two! I'm trying to enjoy my vodka!" Ivan demanded, taking a sip from his tall, glass Smirnoff bottle.
The eyes of Francis and Arthur met conspiratorially, eager to slash at the other when they landed at their destination. However, by noon, they were already passing over the HimalayanMountains. Francis and Matthew had cameras, and once they saw Mount Everest for the first time, they took photographs of the natural wonder. Alfred placed his hand on the window and smiled at the sight, but once he felt abnormal shaking, he knew something bad was going to happen.
"What's going on? What's wrong with the plane?" Arthur asked worriedly.
"I don't know!" Alfred said, feeling his distress worsen as moments passed. "What's going on!? Pilot!?"
The pilot walked out of the cockpit and into the passenger's cabin, where he removed his jacket and aviator goggles as he walked toward a compartment that was not noticeable before. He pulled out one parachute vest and strapped it on himself, causing the others to promptly jump out of their seats and question the pilot.
"What the hell are you doing with just one parachute?" Francis asked. "What about us?"
"What about you, dandy?" the pilot laughed sinisterly. "You don't think I'm going to die, do you? NO!" Before he could open the side of the plane into the open, chilly air, Arthur stopped him, tugging on the parachute vest with the pilot to at least try and get it.
"You no-good wanker! You only have one life parachute?!" he screamed angrily, trying to rip it out of the pilot's grimy hands.
"Give it up. It's futile," Ivan said calmly; he was ignored, and the pilot snatched it and jumped out, leaving the young men to worry.
"Oh no!" Matthew said, looking around nervously. "We're going to die, aren't we?"
"NO! We are not!" Alfred said, looking around for something to use—on the walls were a first aid kit, a life boat, and—wait, a lifeboat, he asked himself as he sprinted over and tore it off the wall. Arthur, Francis, and Matthew looked over and saw him take the unusual item off the wall.
"What are you doing?" Francis asked distressfully. Ivan, who had went to the cockpit to see what was wrong, saw that there was no gas left in the ignition.
"There is no gas! What are we going to do?!" Ivan cried, tugging his scarf roughly.
"We aren't sinking, you fool! We're about to become mincemeat! WE'RE CRASHING, YOU DIMWIT!" Arthur scolded.
"No, it will work!" Alfred said, talking loudly over the rapidly blowing open air. "I know it will! Just each of you grab on!"
Matthew was the first to grab hold of one of the handles, next Francis, then Ivan, and lastly Arthur, who was not so keen on the idea of going down a couple thousand feet to suspicious terrain in a flat lifeboat. Everybody sandwiched one another near the door, and as everyone yelled, they prepared to jump.
"I can't look!" Ivan shouted.
"My hair is being blown too much!" Francis squealed. "I'm getting uglier by the minute!"
"Oh my God!" Matthew grimaced.
"This isn't going to work!" Arthur said pessimistically. "If we die, my soul will haunt yours forever!"
"Ready! Set! JUMP!" Alfred ordered.
The five men fell from the wayward airplane, which burst into flames on impact into a mountain. The ride back onto the earth was long and treacherous, but nevertheless, they made sure they stuck together.