Tom felt and looked like he was sitting next to a museum prop; Ripslinger's huge, lengthy nose lay down by his feet. This would soon become the new routine now that Dusty was away and he had been given charge of him so to speak. The human boy had tried to voice his displeasure at the situation when Dusty had finally broke the news to him, just two days ago, after trying to ignore him all day.
"I don't think I can do this."
But Dusty just smiled that sun-coming-out-from-behind-the-clouds smile of his and said, "Aw, come on, sure you can! I never would have asked if I didn't think you couldn't. It's not like he's going to be much trouble anyway."
Tom gave Dusty a flat stare, and in an even flatter voice he said, "You're joking?"
"No, I'm not. He's changed a lot since... Well since he first came here. I had a nice long talk with him; he's promised me that he'll be on his best behavior while I'm gone. After everything that's happened so far, I'd trust him to watch out for you just as much as I trust you to keep an eye on him."
Tom sighed, and then looked wistfully over at where Chug and Dottie were taking stock of what they needed packed for the trip. He still wasn't sure why he was the one that had to stay behind or why all of them even needed to go. It was just a radio show interview. Hell, he couldn't see why something like that couldn't just be done over the phone either, come to that. Why not have Skipper stay behind and watch Ripslinger? Sure, it wasn't as if the two were best pals or anything, but at least he stood the best chance of overpowering the P-51 if he ended up having an episode, even if there hadn't been one in a long while now. But nope. The person least capable of defending themselves was picked to babysit the Grand Champion racer.
"I can't put off my obligations forever you know; I already ducked out of last year's entire racing season almost. It'll be okay, okay? Besides, the feisty kid I know," and Dusty booped him in the stomach with his nose in an infuriatingly brotherly fashion, "doesn't take crap from anyone. A crabby guy who can't even fly should be a piece of cake!"
A mentally unstable crabby guy, Tom inwardly groused. Some cake. He wouldn't even have Clarice for any support or guidance either; she had her obligations too, and had moved to New York for a month to act as consultant in a conference regarding human/Vivens machina relations. It had taken him so much time to get used to Dusty and Skipper and the others, and now he had the "new and improved" Ripslinger to contend with, who he was nervous around now. He scratched at his leg where one of many a group of stitches had been taken out just a day ago. It had been an accident, but still that whole incident had completely changed their relationship and his perception of the checker-marked Mustang. Granted, they had all done much to temper him over time after being rescued from the Cutters, but Ripslinger was still highly unpredictable and sensitive and could sometimes be a bit rough in correcting someone who acted the wrong way around him. His triggers were impossible to pinpoint and even easier to ignore sometimes.
Ripslinger was such a stark contrast to what he was used to with Dusty or Skipper, in every way. From his narcissistic arrogance to his garish, eye-straining paint job and everything in between. Tom did have to admit that he was still a beautiful aircraft though. Ripslinger was a pretty thing, and what's worse is that he knew it, although his vanity would probably be more of a problem than it already was if he weren't so damned lazy. For a racing airplane of his caliber, he spent an awful lot of time not moving. How he manages to appear laid-back but still keep up an air of intense predatory vitality was beyond the human's imagination.
Ripslinger hadn't moved or said anything the whole time they were out here as he was settled down next to him. Unlike the others, Ripslinger was usually opposed to being climbed on or even touched all that much, even by other aircraft, preferring to just be near you like he was now with Tom, his landing gear neatly folded up underneath him. It took a very content plane to lay completely down instead of simply resting up on their wheels. Tom supposed he owed him at least that much trust then, that Ripslinger should be that comfortable around him.
The boy turned his head, looking up at the huge plane's face, with his arms folded atop his knees. He looked ill-tempered as always. That haughty disdain just seemed to be his neutral face. Maybe people's faces really do stick like that after long enough, like his mother would always tell him. Tom thought back to when he first discovered how sensitive a plane's propeller blades were. He and Dusty were sat just like he and Ripslinger were now. The human had been petting him and tracing the seams in his paneling until Dusty moved his nose into his hand and it slipped and accidentally brushed one of them. Dusty practically melted into a puddle instantly. Tom thought that maybe it was just Dusty being Dusty; out of everyone he was the most receptive to being touched. Until he had talked to Clarice about it, and she confirmed it by demonstrating on Skipper. And here Tom was thinking that hearing an engine purr was just a figure of speech. He still had to wonder about Ripslinger, though.
Just then, Tom was snapped from his thoughts as a soft hissing emanated from said P-51's engine as he rose from the ground slightly. Tom stayed right where he was, not even blinking as he watched and waited for any more movement from the big plane. There was none, and he relaxed again, going back to his previous thoughts.
He wondered how Ripslinger might like something like that? All other aircraft seemed to greatly relish having their props stroked. He wondered if anyone had ever done anything nice like that for Ripslinger? Without a second thought, Tom reached his hand down to stroke the nearest blade, but before his fingers could reach, Ripslinger sprang around suddenly, and he felt teeth close over his upper arm and shoulder.
It didn't hurt, really, but the plane's hold was firm enough to get Tom's attention and make him freeze. He looked up into his olive-colored eyes, even though he knew he wouldn't be able to read them. Having Ripslinger's full attention on him caused very uncomfortable feelings to bubble up, and the boy shivered as he actually felt his annoyance wash over him. Feeling that he had gotten his point across, Ripslinger released his hold and lowered robotically back down to his previous position.
Tom folded his arms back even tighter around his knees, his eyes not moving from Ripslinger's. His engine started to rumble softly. It was a noise that you felt more than you heard, and yet that seemed to make it sound even louder than it already was.
"Never given..." was all he said, his voice sickeningly sweet.
Day 1. This was going to interesting.
