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***
The lift doors slid open. Being an airport elevator up to departures, it was sizable, plenty of room to swing a scourge. And yet, despite only two people occupying it, there was no room for Nicte, Tally and Sarah. This was due to a balding, middle-aged civilian who had positioned his luggage trolley and ski kit directly down the centreline of the lift.
Nicte spread her stance, folder her arms and stared into the depths of his idiotic soul.
Sarah forcefully exhaled through her nostrils, extending her wheel-case handle to full height with a snap – as if it could be the man’s neck.
“Oh! Sorry!” Tally squeaked, “we’ll catch the next one!”
As the doors drew closed, Nicte deliberately pressed the ‘call’ button as she passed, causing them to open again. She smirked at Sarah, who rolled her eyes in response but wasn’t altogether displeased.
“Sorry!” Tally repeated, elbowing Nicte in the side.
“What, he’s clearly a knob,” Nicte informed her.
Tally’s eyes widened as she indicated towards the still-open doors.
Nicte shrugged, clearly unaffected by the guarantee she had been overhead.
Tally had been the instigator of this ‘big’ holiday to Europe. She had slowly whittled down Sarah and Nicte’s resolve and, finally, after months of negotiation, they were here. Now she just needed to get them through the airport without any casualties.
We can do this… right?
*
Sarah clicked her tongue periodically throughout the bag-drop queue. Nicte had her rucksack slung carelessly over her shoulder but secured in an ever-tightening death grip. ‘Baldy’, their nemesis from the lift, was back, and this time he was taking out every automatic check-in machine that failed him. It got to the stage where he had each of his three bags at three different checkpoints. It was at this point that Nicte snapped.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she remarked through teeth so gritted they might need imminent replacing.
Sarah stared pointedly at each of the offending luggage items in turn, then bore her eyes into the back of his head. He began to visibly sweat, not that Tally could blame him, it did feel warmer all of a sudden. Sarah was decked out in tight fitting dark denim jeans, CAT boots that read ‘I will stamp on your face no probs babe’ and a white, fitted, long-sleeve top pulled up to her elbows. She had finished the look with a pair of reflective Ray-Bans. Tally knew her goal was to remain inconspicuous and, while a rare occurrence, Sarah was failing miserably. Her eyes flitted to the fancy watch which glinted dollar bills at every twitch.
“I still don’t understand why we didn’t take my jet,” Sarah remarked in an obnoxiously loud voice.
Tally looked pained. Nicte was too busy squaring up to the woman behind her who had gotten a little too close in the queue, bumping into her invisible mammoth-sized ego.
“We talked about this,” Tally’s whisper was strained, not wanting to draw attention to their disagreement. Tally hated public conflict. Heck, Tally hated conflict, full stop.
“Remind me,” Sarah’s eyes trailed after ‘Baldy’ as an assistant led him to a manual check-in desk. Tally would forever wonder if that assistant knew they had saved a life that day.
The three shuffled up the line and Tally took the opportunity amongst the rustling of bags and cases to turn to Sarah. “You both agreed,” Tally murmured, “a normal holiday like normal people.”
Nicte scoffed behind them, “cause we’re oh so normal.”
Tally issued her a warning look before they were summoned by the attendant and Baldy’s saviour. They dragged their kit up and began the usual rigmarole.
“Any explosives, flammable liquids, weapons…” they began listing off, monotone as if this loop of hell that was their job would never end.
“Glass jars…” Sarah breathed into the list.
Nicte threw her body away from Sarah in exaggerated horror. The rotation of Tally’s head grinded slowly around, as if giving Sarah time to erase that moment from history.
“Excuse me?” the attendant interrupted, perplexed.
“Nothing,” Tally hurried to respond while the other two snickered like teenagers.
They had completed the handover of appropriately sized luggage bar Tally’s boots.
“And does your daughter have any additional luggage to check-in?” the woman smiled innocently at Tally.
Oh shit.
“Our…?” Sarah’s confusion quickly bubbled into a furious boil.
“Oh no she didn’t,” Nicte drew herself up to full, albeit still Sarah’s shoulder-level, height.
Tally had a decision to make, Nicte or Sarah, she couldn’t diffuse both. She elected to pull Nicte away, blabbering something about getting a head-start on oversized baggage drop-off. This left Sarah to exercise restraint with the poor civilian. Tally was relying on her years of managing Wade and countless other American Presidents. She glanced back warily, observing Sarah lean over the desk, hands planted firmly on the counter. She could have sworn she overheard Sarah start with something like “now that you’ve offended my wives and I...”
*
If Sarah’s pot was boiling, Nicte’s had since boiled, emptied and had the arse burnt out of it. She threw her snowboard kit onto the conveyor as if the machine had offended her beyond forgiveness. The check-in dude opened his mouth, clearly preparing to protest the blatant lack of respect for airport equipment. Tally had visions of his unconscious body getting stuck awkwardly in the x-ray downstream. She desperately tried to engage him in a non-verbal exchange that screamed ‘handle with care.’ Luckily, he both received and heeded her warning.
Nicte was such a boarder. Where Sarah’s clothes were tight and revealing, Nicte was the perfect level of baggy and intriguing. Her unexpectedly joyous tie-dye sweater was tempered by a black slouch hat that read ‘ wasted .’ Her cargo pants ended tucked into her loudly patterned socks and her feet were nestled in a thick set of all-black Vans. Headphones clung to her neck, the not-so-faint roar of heavy metal singing from the open ends.
“Boarding pass?” the oversized baggage attendant queried Tally.
“Oh,” Tally nearly suffered whiplash as she immediately ceased drooling over Nicte, “here you go.”
They reconvened with Sarah at the entrance to fast-track security. Her chin seemed higher than earlier, a clear indication of a battle won. “We can’t go through here, we need to go to the other one at the end of the terminal,” Tally informed her.
“No, no,” Sarah waved her hands, “it’s all sorted.”
Once Tally had shown both of them how to deactivate auto-rotation and turn up the brightness on their phones, they finally managed to get into security. This whole embarrassing process was not without commentary from both Sarah and Nicte, reminiscing over the good old days of classic paper boarding passes while the queues behind them built.
“Remove any laptops,” the security guide advised.
“Don’t have any,” Nicte was deadpan.
“Any liquids,” they continued.
“Wish I had some,” Sarah quipped.
Tally listened intently to the guidelines and accordingly set out her possessions like she was out for the sainthood of airport security. Sarah bulldozed her way through the metal detector only for it to buzz true. She rolled her eyes, as if berating the inanimate object for having the gall to perform its function on her .
“Would you please stand aside, ma’am,” a male officer instructed her, reaching for a handheld detector. Sarah considered his plastic gloves. “My female counterpart can handle this if you’d rather,” he stammered.
“Indeed, she will,” Sarah towered over him as if threatening a change of state, perhaps a puddle on the floor or a vaporised mist in the air - both options seemed available to any man that dared touch her without consent.
Nicte pranced through with glee as Sarah was frisked by the random woman. The marked increase in whispering-chatter and swivelling heads implied Sarah’s celebrity status was starting to raise its head. Nicte’s joy in Sarah’s torture was interrupted by Tally’s sharp elbow. That elbow was becoming a feature of this trip. The pair watched as their hand luggage took a different route to the majority.
“What’s that about,” Nicte frowned at Tally.
Tally’s anxiety reached a peak when the scanner tapped her bag.
“Whose is this?” they called.
Tally shuffled along sheepishly and raised her hand as if she were admitting to first degree murder.
“Random explosives swab,” the tester informed her, tearing open her bag.
Tally’s fear was instantly replaced by mortification at the sight of the head of a purple dildo peeking out between her socks and underwear. Nicte, who had planted the object earlier that day, belly laughed, gripping the security treadmill for support.
“Explosive potential alright,” Nicte choked while Tally stood by like an advertisement for a blushing helpline.
“Is this yours ma’am?” the other employee inquired at Nicte, her tattered army rucksack before him.
“Yep,” Nicte remarked, “but I’m not packing,” she risked a glance at Tally.
“You mean you did not pack this bag yourself, ma’am?” his tone changes.
“No, no,” she waved her hands, “I packed it, calm your testicles.”
Tally’s swab came back negative. She looked to Nicte seeking celebration but instead found her darkening eyes occupied with murdering the man inspecting her luggage. As he pushed aside her underwear, Nicte audibly growled. He stiffened, but otherwise pretended not to notice his life was in jeopardy. Tally laughed lightly in an attempt to calm the situation, placing a soothing hand over Nicte’s.
“Aha!” he announced, pulling free Nicte’s special, engraved lighter. It was as if he was relieved his hands hadn’t been severed by a wild beast hidden among Nicte’s smalls. “This lighter -you can’t carry this type of lighter with you ma’am.”
“You just made that rule up,” Nicte informed him.
“No I…,” they paused, spaced, his eyes glazed over, “I just made that rule up, apologies Ma’am, have a nice day.”
Nicte smiled politely and stuffed the lighter back into her bag before stalking off with her tray. Tally followed her, suspicion turning to horror, then judgement.
“Tell me you did not just do that…” she begged quietly but with a sharpness.
“Okay, I won’t,” Nicte took in Tally’s raised eyebrow, “tell you, that is.”
“Nicte, you can’t just control civilians when you don’t like what they’re telling you,” Tally’s voice was low but clearly irritated.
“Tally, I think you’ll find I can,” Nicte faked her voice back to her.
“What are you two arguing about?” Sarah interrupted, sitting down and refitting her boots that had caused all the trouble.
“Nicte pushed the bag inspector into letting her keep her lighter!” Tally informed Sarah, smug in anticipation of the reinforcing support inbound.
“What?” Sarah looked up from her laces, “that’s a stupid rule, what, you’re going to burn down the flame-retardant internals of the plane with a lighter?” She scoffed, ending her opinion on the matter. Nicte beamed at an affronted Tally, victory smeared across her face.
Once laced up, Sarah stalked off through duty-free without another word, leaving the other pair to catch up. She was clearly on a mission of her own.
“Anyway,” Nicte grinned darky, “if I wanted to bring the plane down I can think of a million more creative…”
“Nicte!” Tally barked, shocked. She turned on her heel and chased after Sarah, fearing she’d be associated with Nicte’s ill-humoured terrorist chat and end up in an episode of Border Security: Salem Edition.
*
Tally caught up to Sarah as she nearly took out a poor man trying to offer her a perfume sample. “Where are you going so fast?” Tally stooped over, catching her breath.
Sarah glanced around seriously, as if looking to identify the next grave threat to the witching race. Tally followed her gaze, as if trying to get a clue as to what had Sarah so preoccupied. Eventually Nicte rocked up, arms laden with a small army of toblerones, her mouth noisily chewing on a particularly ambitious segment.
“Where is it?” Sarah’s tone was steeped in impatience.
“Whegh ih wha?” Nicte managed around her mouthful.
Sarah’s considered Nicte with pure disgust.
“Where is what, Sarah?” Tally shuffled to bring Sarah’s attention back to her.
“The bar,” Sarah announced, catching sight of an airport lounge sign and taking off in a flash.
Tally didn’t even have a chance to pick up her jaw before Nicte made to disappear in the opposite direction, “gonu goe waj duh plah-uhns,” she garbled.
Tally stood there, speechless.
Forget it. I’m going to Burger King.
*
Tally felt a bead of sweat roll down her brow as the check-in desk attendants fussed about their papers, clearly wanting to close the flight. She looked down at her phone, a series of unanswered messages sent to Sarah, Nicte and their family group chat. “Please,” she begged, first at her phone and a second time at the flight staff, “please, just one more minute.”
At last, the long form of General Alder came into view. Much to Tally’s bottomless frustration, Sarah looked more relaxed than Tally had seen her since stepping foot in the airport. She pinched the bridge of her nose, turning away only to jump two feet backwards at the proximity of Nicte to her face, gazing up at her expectantly.
“Goddess! Nicte!” Tally shrieked.
“What’s got you all wound up?” Nicte shared a coy smile.
“Final call for flight XB405 to London Heathrow,” the staff announced on the intercom, staring blatantly at the three of them.
“Good timing,” Sarah announced, never fully stopping but hanging a right between Tally and Nicte to board the plane.
“Where have you even been?” Tally growled at Nicte as they fell into step behind Sarah, passports at the ready.
“Oh you know, just sat at the next gate,” Nicte pointed out for Tally, grinning, “front row seats to the critcially acclaimed showing of Tally’s big gay panic.”
Tally made an inhumane sound that petrified her check-in agent. She trembled with rage as Nicte proceeded to the desk beside her, cool as a cucumber, “don’t mind her,” she winked, “nervous flyer.”
When they finally caught up to Sarah, she was just about to step onto the plane, “what took you two?” she asked, eyebrows raised.
Tally grumbled as Sarah liaised on the subject of seating with the flight attendants.
“Excellent ma’am, if you and your party could take a left and proceed towards the front of the cabin, my colleagues will look after you there,” she smiled with excess.
Tally was so caught up in her own rage, that she didn’t even notice the wider seats, the excessive legroom and the sheer lack of people. It wasn’t until she was offered a glass of champagne, accepted it, sat down and took a sip, did reality check in with her. “Wait,” she glanced around the edge of her seat then at her glass, “this can’t be right.”
Sarah rested a steadying hand on her forearm, “oh, but it is Tally, it is perfect.”
“Sarah,” Tally argued, instinctively sipping her champagne before being appalled with herself, “I told you I wanted us to travel like normal people!”
“Well, Tally, do you think you could meet me halfway on our canyon-gapped views on ‘normal’?
Tally folded her arms loosely and considered Sarah’s perspective. Before them, Nicte was struggling with the overhead baggage compartment. Her bag hovered precariously above her head as she stretched, on her toes, attempting to load it into the space above her seat. Sarah snorted and Tally slapped her leg playfully while doing a poor job at stifling her own laughter. Nicte looked demonic. When the six-foot attendant asked if she needed a hand, Nicte stood up on the fancy first class seat and fired her bag into the back of the storage.
“No thanks,” she smacked her hands together, dropping into the seat across the aisle from the other two. “You know,” she remarked, grabbing Tally’s champagne to supplement her own, “this civilian flying gig isn’t the worst.”
Tally rolled her eyes and slumped back into her chair.
Now she had to survive 7 hours with these two.
***