Fly Girls
A Sailor Moon fan-fiction
Premise:
Okay, so I have decided to write this out of sheer stress relief stemming from the fact that I am currently unemployed (crossing fingers for employment), Sailor Moon has been a small vice for me since I was sixteen, and it combines flying, Sailor Moon (sans for their powers; they're regular human beings) and my favorite airline, American Airlines.
PLEASE NOTE: This story is based in 1994-1995 Miami. Doing research for this is going to take a while, but it'll be worth it.
Disclaimer:
I do not own Sailor Moon or its characters. I also do not own American Airlines or AMR Corporation. I also do not own Boeing, McDonnell Douglas or Airbus. However, any original characters I do come up with are strictly MINE.
Also, I'd like to take this time to thank Jeffrey Anderson of TRSE (The Realm of Sailor Energy) for the inspirational pictures that he has agreed to draw of the girls and Darien in the American Airlines garb. If you wish to see these pictures, or read any of his great mini-Manga/Comics, please do so at: .
Chapter One: Seniority is a bitch
Serena Alisha Campbell had done it. She survived the rigorous six-week American Airlines flight training course in Dallas, Texas. Six weeks of learning everything from how to arm and disarm door slides, to serving First Class meals, to even saving passengers' lives in the event of a (hopefully non-existent) emergency. Here she is, on her first trip, excited-yet-nervous. It may have been only 8:00AM, but she had gone to bed extra early to ensure she was there for her 'show-time', especially since it was her first day on the job.
Serena was 24, blonde, blue-eyed, tanned, bubbly and fresh from California, having left her modest home in Inglewood to pursue her dream of becoming a flight attendant with American Airlines. She adored the glamor, the travel and especially the benefits: ten buddy passes, two weeks paid vacation after one year as well as her mother, father, younger brother and sister being able to fly free, standby of course, on American anywhere in the world? It sure beat flipping burgers at McDonald's throughout her high school years.
If luck didn't bless her enough with the job that many-a-woman would kill for, she was doubly blessed to be based out of the (then) junior hub of Miami, Florida: gateway to the Caribbean, Latin and South America. Her eyes twinkled with the prospect of flying to places like Brazil, Barbados, St. Thomas, Jamaica and Mexico. Her mouth watered over the various exotic dishes she would sample while on the layovers she dreamed of. Her heart fluttered at the thought of bronzed, muscle-clad men on the beaches of some tropical paradise far, far away.
"Serena Campbell?" A voice called out, disturbing the fantasy that Serena was having about the bronze muscle-clad men.
"Yes?" She returned to the real world: the Flight Attendant's Briefing Center at the Miami airport.
A middle-aged, decent-looking woman, no younger than forty, her hair a reddish-grey, her eyes somewhat sunken, extended her hand out. "I'm Quinn Beryl. I'll be the Lead Flight Attendant today on flight nine-ninety. That is the flight you've been assigned to, correct?"
Serena rustled into her overnight bag. Makeup? No. Hair brush? No. Change of clothes? No. She could see Quinn's face grow slightly displeased with her disorganized, frantic search for her schedule. A-ha! Found it.
"Yes, ma'am. American flight nine-ninety from Miami to…" Serena let out a dejected sigh. "Cleveland. How fun."
Quinn smirked and patted Serena on the shoulder. "Yes, I know, it sucks that the junior girls get all the crappy assignments. I was just like you twenty years ago. Instead of flying to places like Paris or Rome, I was hauling the mail from Dallas to Memphis and back every day for a week." Quinn motioned towards the hallway leading towards the terminal.
"Come on, dear. We have to go meet the airplane."
Serena sighed as she towed her overnight bag behind her, following Quinn to the gate. Cleveland? What is there to do in Cleveland?
The one damning thing about Miami International Airport is that it takes forever to walk from the Flight Attendant's Briefing Room to the gates. Huffing and puffing along, she followed Quinn through the security checkpoint at Concourse "D", walking in quick stride to catch up to Quinn. Gate D22 would be where American flight nine-ninety would depart out of, heading up to Cleveland at exactly 9:30AM. The timetable was not to be trifled with, and as the Lead Flight Attendant, Quinn, with Serena in tow, was expected to be there at 8:50AM to prepare the cabin for departure.
"I am going to give you the speech, darling, and I have given it to every new flight attendant I have worked with the past fifteen years, so please listen up," Quinn said semi-sternly as they walked swiftly towards their gate. "You now represent American Airlines, one of the best companies to work for in the entire industry. Take pride in your appearance, take pride in your job and be damn sure not to cross passengers. If someone says that their nuts are too stale, you grab them a new pack of nuts. If their Coke has no ice, run to the galley and get ice. If a passenger complains it's too cold, bitch at the pilots to warm the cabin up, and don't forget to smile, dear!" Quinn said cheerfully as she turned her head to see Serena's lips straight. "You have to remember to smile. It makes the trip go by a lot faster if you're happy, not to mention that you have a great job, even if you are flying to Cleveland for your first trip."
Serena was making mental notes as they trotted gracefully towards the gate. As Quinn continued to give her speech, Serena accidentally clipped her right foot with her left shoe, tripping over her own two feet. God, I hope no one saw that. She looked around and, to her surprise, only Quinn noticed. The Lead Flight Attendant looked down, smiled warmly and extended her hand. Serena gratefully accepted the assistance as Quinn brought her back up on her feet.
"Happened to me the first time I wore heels too, dear. Smacked my face right into a concrete pole," Quinn assured in a motherly tone. "Come on, our gate's over there." Quinn pointed to the gate sign that read in giant letters:
AMERICAN AIRLINES FLIGHT 990
MIAMI-CLEVELAND
BOARDING 9:05AM
Parked at the gate was a Boeing 727-200, one of the workhorses of the American Airlines fleet. All Miami flight attendants had (or will) fly in a 727 at least once in their careers. Many longed for the 757/767, A300 or DC-10 international flights, but only the lucky few got them. Women like Quinn had earned the right to work those flights, she had explained to Serena, by hard work and determination. Serena eagerly hoped the hard work and crappy destinations during her first weeks would pay off in the end.
"Good morning, girls!" Quinn exclaimed cheerfully as Serena followed her into the airplane. "How are we, today?"
"Good," the three other women said in content unison. Serena never had time to admire how graceful the uniform looked on herself or the other attendants.
The American Airlines flight attendant uniforms were dark blue blazers, accented with gold diagonal stripes running from the bottom of the cuff to roughly the wrist. Blue neck scarves were wrapped around at the collar, the top button of the white dress shirt undone to facilitate this. The dark blue skirts came down to just above the knee, and the black polished high-heeled shoes were comfortable, yet awkward for somebody who wasn't used to them, as Serena learned in the concourse.
"Girls, this is our new attendant, fresh from boot. Her name is Serena Campbell. Serena, I'd like you to meet…" Quinn pointed her hand towards the three women standing in front of her.
"Rei Marshall," she pointed to a blue-eyed woman whose raven-black hair was tied into a tight bun.
"Mina Andrews," the other blonde, blue-eyed Californian (Serena would soon learn) that was gracing flight nine-ninety. Her bleach blonde hair was tied into a similar hairstyle, the 'ox-horns' style Serena wore. It was almost as if she was looking at her clone.
"And of course, our resident basketball player, Lita Hamilton." Lita was tall in comparison to the other women at five-foot-eleven. (The others were between five-foot-five and five-foot-seven) Her wavy chocolate hair was tied into a neat ponytail.
Each of the women shook Serena's hand and were in generally good spirits, despite it being only 8:50AM. Each of the women looked no older than Serena, probably 25 or 26, no older. Mina even looked only old enough to be a High School graduate.
As soon as the introductions were made, Mina, Lita, Rei, Serena and Quinn began their pre-boarding preparations for the two-and-a-half hour flight to Cleveland, Ohio. The practice of preparing the cabin was simple yet complex: lay newspapers for the First Class passengers, check the emergency equipment, make sure both the forward and aft galleys were stocked appropriately and adequately and ensure the onboard snacks and meals were ready to be served. The flight was scheduled to depart at 9:30, and even though the flight attendants were aboard, the pilots had yet to be seen. They were still in the terminal, walking towards the gate.
Amy Anderson had been a First Officer on the 727 for almost two years now with American Airlines. She couldn't think of any other job she'd wish to do more than fly the Boeing powerhouse. She was thirty, her original uniform still fit her after seven years, and she was due for her bi-annual check-up sometime within the next two months. The sapphire-eyed, jet-black-haired aviatrix had been flying airplanes since she was sixteen, originally getting lessons from her father, a former DC-10 instructor pilot with American Airlines, on the family's Piper Cub. She didn't stop there. Five years, thirty-five thousand dollars and nearly four thousand hours later, Amy was in her dark blue uniform, her three rank stripes indicating that she was, in fact, a First Officer.
Flying with her today would be Captain Andrew McClane, the thirty-nine year old commander of flight nine-ninety to Cleveland. McClane came from an Air Force background, having paid his dues to the country, flying F-15 'Eagle' fighter aircraft for almost eight years before retiring from active duty and moving into a 'cushy' job at American flying the 727-200. He still flew with the Air Force Reserves out of Homestead Air Force Base south of Miami, flying the F-16 on top of the 727. He preferred the F-16 part-time and 727 full-time as opposed to the F-15 full-time, as it offers variety. He often says 'he plays bus driver by day, but by night, I'm your fighter pilot superhero!'
The Flight Engineer, a soft-spoken man by the name of Jared Lee, would be in the 'sideways seat', playing technical expert and systems operator for the flight. It was his job to give both pilots suggestions on troubleshooting, keeping the aircraft working properly and handling passenger comfort.
All three pilots were dressed in their American Airlines pilot uniforms: blue blazer jackets with three or four rank stripes, a white dress shirt with matching epaulet stripes on their shoulders, dark blue dress pants, polished shoes and their American Airlines pilot caps, proudly representing that they flew for said airline.
"Here it is," Andrew said in his cheerful, chipper 'morning' voice. "Gate D22."
"Why the hell are we going to Cleveland, of all places?" Jared whined. "Thank God it's just a turn around and not a layover. God, I cannot wait for St. Thomas tomorrow."
"Blame seniority," Amy said nonchalantly as they walked down the jet-bridge to the airplane. They arrived to the smiling faces of Quinn, Lita, Mina, Rei and Serena.
A/N: Okay, so what did everyone think? Like so far? Don't like? Read and review! I intend to update as quickly as possible! Who knows what adventures await us onboard American Airlines flight nine-ninety from Miami to Cleveland!