08-13-2018, 10:00 PM
She loved flying. She loved travelling. Easy steps forward on a road to anywhere and the promise of escape. Barely a week had passed since she'd last been in this airport and all its intersectional crossroads, and despite the crush of everything else it lightened her mood. She was hardly sad to leave Moscow behind, even if only for a while. Those were problems boxed for another day; she looked forward to an indeterminable future instead, despite past's reminders in her pocket. Her father's device, whatever it was (it did mostly resemble a wallet) didn't flag any security systems. Their passage through was painless.
In the plane they sat separately.
She worked on Marcus's app for a while; the theory, anyway. Earbuds blocked out the noise, the dulcet tones of Debussy drowning out the drone of aircon and chatter and distraction. A coffee balanced on the tray across her legs; then two, then three. At some point the crew dimmed the lights and she turned the glow of the wallet off. Covers were drawn over the windows, and it had been dark by the time they departed; by now it had to be the early hours. Given the stiffness in her legs they had been in the air for some time, and with the volume turned low she couldn't even hear a murmur of conversation.
The coffee had worn off. It was peaceful quiet. The music lulled as much as the hint of soft breathing, beckoning sleep. But she didn't want to drift off amongst a cabin full of strangers. How long until they landed for their connection? There wasn't room to stretch her legs without disturbing others, though at least she was in an isle. Her leg bounced, stopped. The weight felt like lead in her eyes.
The next thing she knew, Natalie jerked awake, and found herself tethered.
The passenger beside her snored gently, undisturbed. She gripped the back of the seat in front while her disjointed panic gathered in context, at least until she realised her body wasn't finished with its violent reaction. She slipped the offending seatbelt free in haste and managed to pull the door closed before she threw up in the toilet. Memories of the dream sucked out with the vacuum when she pulled the flush, her heart still skittering.
She washed her face, swilled her mouth out twice in the sink before she pressed her forehead against the mirror. That was worse than normal; but then she didn't normally wake from nightmares caught in any sort of restraint. Worse was the knowledge they were only halfway through the journey on a fucking red-eye. "Shit." She breathed the obscenity out on a cloud. Her eyes blurred with fatigue. She stumbled back to sit on the closed lid. It smelled like cheap sanitiser in here, hardly the most pleasant of refuges. But she wondered how long she could conceivably sit in here before one of the stewards roused her back to her seat.
In the plane they sat separately.
She worked on Marcus's app for a while; the theory, anyway. Earbuds blocked out the noise, the dulcet tones of Debussy drowning out the drone of aircon and chatter and distraction. A coffee balanced on the tray across her legs; then two, then three. At some point the crew dimmed the lights and she turned the glow of the wallet off. Covers were drawn over the windows, and it had been dark by the time they departed; by now it had to be the early hours. Given the stiffness in her legs they had been in the air for some time, and with the volume turned low she couldn't even hear a murmur of conversation.
The coffee had worn off. It was peaceful quiet. The music lulled as much as the hint of soft breathing, beckoning sleep. But she didn't want to drift off amongst a cabin full of strangers. How long until they landed for their connection? There wasn't room to stretch her legs without disturbing others, though at least she was in an isle. Her leg bounced, stopped. The weight felt like lead in her eyes.
The next thing she knew, Natalie jerked awake, and found herself tethered.
The passenger beside her snored gently, undisturbed. She gripped the back of the seat in front while her disjointed panic gathered in context, at least until she realised her body wasn't finished with its violent reaction. She slipped the offending seatbelt free in haste and managed to pull the door closed before she threw up in the toilet. Memories of the dream sucked out with the vacuum when she pulled the flush, her heart still skittering.
She washed her face, swilled her mouth out twice in the sink before she pressed her forehead against the mirror. That was worse than normal; but then she didn't normally wake from nightmares caught in any sort of restraint. Worse was the knowledge they were only halfway through the journey on a fucking red-eye. "Shit." She breathed the obscenity out on a cloud. Her eyes blurred with fatigue. She stumbled back to sit on the closed lid. It smelled like cheap sanitiser in here, hardly the most pleasant of refuges. But she wondered how long she could conceivably sit in here before one of the stewards roused her back to her seat.