• The large, ominous shape of the massive helium filled airship hovered over the towers of the city, as the loading ramp lowered itself onto the show floor of the warehouse. Gallantly, three men stepped down, but all eyes went to the one in the lead.
    The auburn hair and sapphire eyes of this pale, tall, gangly character was enough to get anyone’s attention, but it was what the man wore and carried was what seemed to describe who he was.
    A dirty, mustard yellow scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck, sewn here and there from apparent holes, darkish blotches of ash and oil speckling it some. The frills were un-kept and frayed every which way from the man’s activities. One end made a short stub of a tail that was stationed in the back, another going down to the bottom of his ribcage, covering most of his left side. It seemed to always be kept clean, despite the stubborn stains and the scars all over it.
    A tan, long sleeved V-neck shirt was what he wore under it, the neckline covered by the scarf of his. Like the scarf, it also had its fair share of battle scars, but seemed to be kept clean. It was tucked into his pants, though was still loosely hanging from his shoulders.
    A dark auburn long coat also sat upon his shoulders, giving the illusion that they were broader than they actually were. The leather it was made of was well worn, but still shown its former glorious luster, the scent of leather still hovering gently about the immediate area of the coat, along with the faint aromas of gunpowder, iron, and smoke. The shoulder of the sleeves had patches stitched upon them, depicting a flight unit, a squadron, nationality, and even the plane he flew.
    Over his shoulder was slung a satchel. The dark earthy brown of its leather strap and bag was obscure over the rest of his uniform. Golden buckles hung tightly to it, either upon the strap, or latching the flap of the bag closed. Inside lay a plethora of food, equipment, charts, maps, weapons, survival tools, and even a collapsible lap desk complete with its own lamp.
    The faded brown of the cargo pants seemed to match with the rest of the outfit, the pockets bulging with flight charts, maps, documents, pencils, erasers, compasses, and rulers. Everything that was contained in those pockets was vital to him, and had it not been for the construed space, he probably would have taken his desk with him.
    The pants were held up by a charcoal colored equipment belt, various pouches with medical supplies and ammunition clinging to the belt, flanking either the two canteens or the reversed holster on his left side. Hooked onto the belt was a ceremonial Japanese katana, glistening with a silver trim upon the hilt and the decorative metal bits upon the sheath of the blade. The holster was a reversed right handed holster, which held his most prized possession in the world… a battered old Model 1911A1 Colt .45 Semi-Automatic handgun.
    He prized that gun as if it was his own life, having belonged to his late father before being given to him as a birthday present. The raven black metal was dulled to a dark gray, several scratches on the façade. The cherry oak handles were worn, yet still seemed as if new. His father’s initials were engraved on the slide of the gun, kept polished and in working order.
    The faded and worn leather auburn boots finished off the wardrobe, the toes of them scratched and weathered down. A small glistening of polish was always seen on the boots, the scent of leather and wax hugging them ever so gently. Wrinkles snaked where his foot would flex on every step he took, only the clicking of the soles hitting the ground heard upon the hard hangar floor.
    He soon stood in front of me, towering at a whopping six feet, two inches. Looking down, a small smirk crossed his face, his sapphire blue eyes glistening with mischief and adventure. Dark auburn hair hung over his forehead as he leaned closer; nodding over to the large zeppelin perched upon the landing pad.
    “Do you mind watching my ship for me? I have some business to attend to over in town, and I’d really hate for it to get damaged or come to harm…” He shoved a wad of rolled bills into my hand, giving a wink and patting my shoulder. “You understand, right? Well, I’ll be seeing you later then, buddy.” He began to walk away, waving his hand over his shoulder at me with a bit of a laugh. “Remember, I don’t wanna see a scratch on her!”
    I stood there dumbfounded, merely looking at the rolled up money he had handed over to me so inconspicuously. I looked over towards my co-workers in that hangar; neither of them even muttering an exclamation of awe.
    About five minutes passed before someone finally shook me out of vertigo. He looked up at the airship, then back towards the door where the lead stranger made his exit. He patted my shoulder a bit, and then let his hand drop down to his side in a flop. I looked over at him, expecting him to answer who he was. Surprisingly, he seemed to read my mind and started his small lesson.
    “… I don’t believe it. You just got paid by the one and only Captain Lepper of the Winged Fox Air Pirates to look after the legendary Sapphire Ruby. He and that zeppelin are wanted all over the country for piracy, thievery, assaulting law enforcement officials and military personnel, evading arrest, and vandalism.” He paused, looking over at me, then at the roll of green still in my clutch. “… That must be about $10,000 worth of greenbacks in that roll! You, my friend, are a very lucky man!”
    I let his words sink in for a moment, taking into consideration what had just happened. I had just been bribed to look after a pirate zeppelin by the captain himself, who just casually walked in, slipped the money to me, and headed out into public where he was certain to meet up with several police officers.
    I was still awestruck when the infamous pirate captain arrived once again on the scene, his prized gun in hand as he sprinted past, firing behind him towards several steam pipes above the door, white mist and a loud hiss soon filling the air at the doorway, both confusing and detaining the small group of law enforcement officers from pursuing. His two companions were flanking him, running up the ramp and back onboard, as the officers ran in and shouted orders at us to shut the hangar doors. We knew well they had come too late, the mooring lines already having been severed from the ship as the large shape rose upwards.
    Lepper held onto one of the poles supporting the ramp, slowly rising upwards back into the depths of the zeppelin. He looked over towards me, giving a faint salute and disappearing into the mass of metal, canvas, and gas.
    Militia scrambled every which way to pursue, but had no such luck, since they had been unknowingly sabotaged by the pirates that stayed back with the ship.
    I found myself laughing, looking at the scene with a grin as I gave a return salute to the rapidly disappearing airship, soon being joined by a jeering and happy hangar crew as the police and militia simply stood there or stomped around angrily and shouting curses as the hangar doors finally shut, enveloping us in shadow.
    Once again, the illustrious Captain Lepper and his band of Winged Foxes had gotten away, still one step ahead of the military hounds and police dogs. And for the first time, I was present to see it, rather than being forced to listen to it on the evening news on the radio. To this day, I still have the small roll of bills tucked away, though it had progressively gotten much thinner over the days.