As anyone would have expected out of the adventurous American, Amelia had finally made her way across the Atlantic to help with the war effort— nobody had wanted her to go in the first place, but with some clever lies and disguises, she’d finally sneaked her way in and was placed in the “special division”, so to speak, reserved for those with “special status”— personified things, of course. Being able to fly a plane was her dream, so being here regardless and learning to fly with a bunch of personified aircraft (especially a certain blond who she had arrived with to fight on the European front) felt like some sort of fantasy. Laughing a little at the fact that the other woman had shoved her brother away so abruptly, she nodded in reply.
“Of course— You told me how many times on how to work all this stuff? It’ll be easy. Everything’s in English. And I can’t start it with you hanging out up here, plus, going alone— can’t do that, either.”
He would be lying if he said he wasn't a little uncomfortable right now - Though, perhaps uncomfortable was not the right word so much as he was feeling a little... On edge? There was no real reason for it, other than his usual, muted concerns over Amelia's presence. It wasn't that he thought she wasn't an asset, wasn't good enough to be here - But she was distracting, a sort of emotional liability the already emotionally strained Wildcat could only just barely deal with. She was out of his league of course, not just because she was a nation (his nation, no less), but because there was no way someone as bright and vibrant and outspoken as her would be content with someone like him, the perpetual butt monkey of the United States Armed Forces and the loser stray cat of the carrier plane trio.
"You're not going alone, Amelia."
A gloved hand was placed against the still warm body of the plane, the dusty haired brunette hoisting himself over the aircraft's wing with an unconscious, almost cat-like grace ("Excuse me miss,") before settling down in the back seat - Now this, this was awkward, being inside a plane that wasn't his own. It was more than just a personal preference - To sit and fly in an aircraft that wasn't your own was something akin to sleeping with someone who wasn't yours, a kind of muted vertigo slowly sinking in the back of your head that got uncomfortable and almost impossible to silence the longer you tried not to think about it. But, for her - For Amelia, he would -
"I'm going to go with you, of course. It wouldn't sit right with me if I let you fly off on your own, ma'am."
