Grasping The Fragility of Obduration (GTFO)
Chapter One.
Of Old Men and Juicy Asses.
(Aka: Keeping it assy, keeping it classy)
*~xGTFO~*
I despise planes. They are small, stuffy, and the stench of sweat, alcohol, and God knew what else was enough to make me want to vomit. It made me feel like an elephant stuffed inside a can of tuna. Walls on all sides, keeping me prisoner, making me clench my jaw and sweat for prolonged amounts of time. There are people in front of me, people beside me, and unfailingly, one of them is a small child bitching about God knows what.
"Aw geez, d-do you think this thing is safe?" I hear him say no. Like all small children before him, he has a whingy, sappy, if-you-tell-me-otherwise-I'll-cry-my-eyes-out kind of voice. The kind of voice that makes me wince. It's not dissimilar to nails on a chalkboard. Actually, I might prefer the latter over whatever this snivelly kid was whining about.
I hear someone, presumably a parent or guardian, sigh. "Of course it's safe, Morty," they snip. They burp, and suddenly the cabin is filled with the stench of alcohol. Cheap brew, by the smell of it. Instantly my stomach shrivels up a little and dies inside. I can't stand the smell of alcohol. Instinctively I clench my jaw and hope that the smell passes. "You-you've been all across the galaxy and you're worried about THIS? Christ. Get a hold of yourself."
"Dad!" I hear someone else protest. I roll my eyes and bury myself deeper in my perpetual cocoon of obsoleteness.
"What?" Came the snarky reply. "Don't act like it isn't true, Beth. We've all encountered much worse. Morty's just being a little bitch."
"Someone will hear you," the woman I assume is Beth pleads. What she gets is a hearty burp in return.
Great. As if the travel experience could be any worse, I had to be seated behind what sounded like the family from hell. I could sympathise at least a little with the grandfather.
All children are little bitches. They're snivelling little creatures who get their way by ways of visual and auditory extortion. They want something? They'll wail and cry (or complain, in Morty's case), until somebody placates them just to shut them up. They whore out their mucus-infested nostrils and tweak their appalling vocal cords until you get either one of two reactions; what they wanted, or, as old mate had just demonstrated, verbal abuse.
It's simple enough, really. I'd make mother of the year, clearly.
I turned on my phone and gave myself a once-over. Truly, I had no idea whether I fit into what the Federation called 'normality'; I'd done my best to look pretty, say all the right things, and ensured that my underwear snugly covered my lady parts. My instructions had been clear: to 'fit in'- though, as I discovered, I looked more like an upper-class hooker than 'normal'.
How the hell was I going to assassinate Rich Sanchez if I couldn't run in heels? Dumb, dumb, dumb, I cursed myself, turning my phone off and throwing it in my handbag in disgust. Surely they could have gotten any other woman on this planet to do this job? Why did they have to pick one of earth's biggest assholes to do it?
"Damn it all to hell anyway," I grumbled aloud now, plugging my headphones into the jack on my arm rest and tuning into whatever shit movie was playing. As predicted, it was horrible, and one I'd already seen at least a dozen times. Inevitably, I found myself focusing less on my assassination attempt and more on my dress code. Such a girly thing to worry about, I know- but when you've worn nothing but the Federation's uniform for years, you forget how to look like you're 'climbing the social ladder'.
I call it being a whore. Not in the sexual sense- although I don't doubt there are some who use sexual means to climb their ladders- but in the sense that you say the right things, do the right things, look the right way, and inevitably you go upwards. Life is literally handed to you on a big shiny fucking platter, and it's an easy life. One without any trouble, and one that promises delight after delight.
I lean back into my seat, closing my eyes. It's sure to be a long flight, and I can't make a move on Sanchez anytime soon.
*~xGTFOx~*
"Excuse me, Miss?"
I jerk out of my seat, heart pounding, to see a concerned-looking air hostess staring at me. She takes in my breathless face, the swipe I have to do to tug my red hair out of my mouth, and she smirks a little. Whore. "Can I get you anything?" she asks now. I struggle for words, now tearing at the sleep crusted in my eyes.
"Uh, a coffee would be great, thanks," I reply. That was nice enough, wasn't it? Surely. The hostess nods and goes to retrieve a coffee for me. Inevitably, I can hear the family in front of me arguing. Just as unsurprisingly, I can hear the kid, Morty, complaining.
"Wh-why are we going on this trip, anyway?" he asks. Christ, his voice is like nails on a chalkboard to my ears.
"Because," a new voice intervenes, possibly the father, "your mother and I thought that it would be…nice…to go on a family trip."
"But what about school?" came the impossibly whiny reply.
"Yeah, what about school, Jerry?" the grandfather parroted. You could hear the sarcasm dripping from his tongue a million miles away. I began to appreciate his humour more.
"Your coffee, Miss," the hostess said, and as we both reached for each other, somehow, someway, the cup toppled from her hands, missed mine, and landed flat on my lap. Instantly my thighs and lady bits were covered in scalding coffee.
"God damn it," I hissed, jerking upwards. I patted at my skirt frantically- but it was a lost cause. Originally white, it was now shit-brown. I tried tugging it down my thighs, to no avail. It was like a second skin; if a second skin could be up around your waist, ensuring that what should be covered was most certainly not.
The woman's face went as red as my hair. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry!' she cried, grabbing some napkins and trying to pat my legs dry. It didn't work, of course. "I'm so, so sorry! This wasn't expensive, was it?"
"Yeah, it was," I said quietly, still trying to pull my skirt down. It was a lost cause. Trying not to let loose on the woman (for that wouldn't do me a bit of good), I said, "You wouldn't happen to have some...spare clothes, would you?"
She flushed. "Um, let me check for you," she said, and she was gone in a flash. I sat there in my puddle of coffee, not sure what to do with my life now. So much for trying to be incognito. She comes back moments later with what had to be one of the most hideous garments I had ever seen. Grey sweatpants with 'JUICY' in bright pink lettering right across the ass.
Classy.
"Um, this is all we have, sorry," she said, sounding like she felt genuinely sorry for me, "You can use the restrooms to get changed. Um…I am really sorry I did this to you."
"That's okay," I said, feeling like a fish out of water, "Thanks."
So, burning with humiliation and with soaking thighs, I took the sweatpants, eased out of my seat, and began what felt like the most shameful walk of shames. As I hurriedly tried to cover my ass and lady bits with my sodden skirt, I hear a guffaw behind me. Unsurprised, I glanced behind me, to see a smirk playing on an older gentleman's lips. He met my gaze evenly, and he didn't seem the slightest bit perturbed that I'd caught him. I was the first to look away, and I marched to the restroom, knowing full well that his gaze wasn't the only one watching me march away.
It was heaven to shuck my wet skirt. It fell with a plop on the ground, and I patted my thighs dry with paper towel. This was definitely one of my classier moments. The pants were comfortable, though- they were thick and woollen, and despite 'JUICY' being written on my ass, I wasa far more comfortable than I'd been before.
The walk leaving the restroom was almost as shameful as the one to it. Truthfully, my bits were covered, and it went better with my shirt, anyway. I settled back into my seat, thankful that the writing wasn't visible when I sat down.
I got a coffee on the house, though, and thankfully this time it didn't spill out all over myself, so that was always good.
And I didn't catch any old men staring at me, so that was also good. Somehow I managed to nod off, embarrassed but content that the situation had been sufficiently band-aided for the time being.
*~xGTFOx~*
I was woken by what sounded like whining. High-pitched whining. No, that wasn't whining- it was screaming.
The people around me were screaming. Dazed, I glanced out my window, to see that we weren't flying up, or straight; we were heading, very definitely, downwards. I screamed myself.
We were crashing.
I'm going to die, oh my god, I'm going to fucking die, I screamed internally, unbuckling my seatbelt and toppling to the floor. My bag and all of its contents went everywhere.
"Oh my god!" Morty screamed. His voice was very distinctive, even over the screams. "What are we gonna do?!"
"I dunno!" someone hollered back. "Just-just give me a second!"
"We don't have a second!"
"Shut the hell up, Morty! I got this!"
"Oh, God! We're going to die!"
"Shut up, Jerry!"
All of this occurred in a matter of seconds, and I was being thrown around like a rag doll. People, bags, and laptops went flying as the plane cascaded towards the earth.
I mean, I'd always hated being on a plane, but this was something ridiculous.
As the earth rushed towards me and I began to get comfortable with the fact that I was going to die, and horribly, something weird happened. There was a distinct popping noise, and suddenly, there was a green portal below me.
"What the-" were the only words I could utter, before I quite literally fell into it, and came out in a different world entirely.