Chapter Two – Flight 715
"Delta Air Lines announce the departure of their flight 715 to New York. All passengers to gate 2, please."
Brussels Airport was, to say the least, crowded. People seemed to be constantly bumping into other people, and then many of those people would turn and start yelling at the people who had bumped into them. But as for the majority, they couldn't have cared less unless someone nicked their wallet. This was the sort of crowd that Tintin and the Captain had been sitting within for half an hour. The two were seated on a bench in the middle of one of the airport's terminals, waiting patiently – sort of – for their companion. Snowy peeked out from his place underneath the bench, eying the passing pedestrians in the off chance that any one them would have a bone and accidentally leave it somewhere within reach.
The Captain shook his head once, shifting around on the bench uncomfortably. "Why do we have to bring her, laddie?" he uttered irritably. "A woman on a ship is considered bad luck, y'know."
"It's a good thing we're not on a boat, then, isn't it?" Tintin stood, and the Captain sprang at the opportunity, stretching himself out across the bench. "Besides, she's our friend. She can come to Chicago if she wants to."
"Fine," the Captain groaned after a moment of noise-infested silence. "You're supposed to be working, lad, so don't be getting too distracted..."
Of course, by then Tintin wasn't listening.
-x-
Somewhere within a crowd across the terminal, Ellie settled her bag back on her shoulder and took a glance down at her watch. 10:26 am. I should have been here nearly half an hour ago. Adjusting her bag slightly, she surveyed the inner terminal, trying to spot one head out of hundreds. They had decided on a rendezvous yesterday, just before she had left Marlinspike and gone home, but she couldn't seem to remember it at the moment, except for something about the east side of something. She shrugged to herself and followed her own vague directions for a minute or two. A man in a dark brown trench coat and flat cap brushed against her.
"Terribly sorry," he responded softly, tipping his cap to her in respect. He had a heavy Boston accent and looked like he hadn't eaten a square meal in days, maybe weeks.
Ellie half-smiled. "It's alright." She paused and watched him hurry off, then continued on her own wild goose chase.
"This is the last call for Delta Air Lines flight 715 to Chicago. All passengers go immediately to gate 2."
Just when Ellie was going to yell at the voice on the speakers to stop stating the obvious, she spotted something: just beyond one more line of people was a young man with ginger hair, the front end pointed up in the unmistakable mark of Tintin. He caught her eye and waved to her. She smiled and waved back, pushing through the wall of people and emerging beside the bench claimed for Tintin and company.
"Morning, Ellie," Tintin greeted her, reaching for his bag on the floor by his feet then looking back up at her.
Snowy, who had almost started pleasantly napping in his cozy spot under the bench. looked up at what all the commotion was about. Hey, look! It's the shadow-girl! He barked once in salutation.
Ellie looked down at Snowy and smiled broadly, scratching between his ears. "G'morning to you too, boy," she said to him. Then she stood, replying back to Tintin: "I'm sorry I didn't get here earlier. I always loose track of time in the morning." She looked over his shoulder in confusion. "Er, is the Captain alright back there?"
Tintin turned around. Sure enough, the Captain had fallen asleep and lay snoring across the bench, his hat covering most of his face. "Captain, wake up!" Tintin said in exasperation, shaking his friend's shoulder. "We don't want to miss our flight!"
"All sails to port!" The Captain woke with a start, violently spitting out the words before he even realized what was going on. "What? Where am I?" He took a good hard look around. "Oh...right."
Ellie held back a laugh. She glanced at Tintin, her glance saying, is he always like this?
Tintin smiled back. Yes, you should probably get used to it. "We need to get to the plane. We wouldn't want it leaving without us!" He started walking off toward gate 2, Ellie at one side, Snowy trotting happily between them.
"Good idea," the captain murmured, grabbing his bag and following after the two teenagers, watching them carefully. I need to keep an eye on those two. Who knows what they could be getting into...?
As the four walked away and nearly disappeared into the crowd around gate 2, two men sat down at a table in a nearby restaurant. One was the Bostonian whom had run into Ellie just minutes ago; the other was Mexican, with caramel-colored skin and dark brown eyes. Both were wearing trench coats and flat caps, effectively hiding their hair and identities.
"Is that them?" the Mexican asked quietly, as to not be overheard by anyone else in the restaurant. He scratched his chin subconsciously and placed a small camera on the table: unremarkable, with a scratched lens and an inconspicuous clouded-silver color.
"That's them," the Bostonian confirmed, taking off his hat and tiredly running a hand through his thinning brown hair. He stood and replaced his cap, grabbing the camera and saying before he fled the restaurant: "Call the boss. Tell him the pigeons are coming, and they're bringing a dove with them."
-x-
"How did you first become a reporter?"
It was about an hour later, and the plane was well in the sky, flying with ease over the majority of the mid-Atlantic. Tintin and Ellie had found a pair of empty seats toward the back of the plane. The Captain had claimed a seat just behind them and fallen asleep the moment after they had taken off. Naturally.
Tintin, who had been reading a book about some sort of British teenage spy trying to save the world for the nth time, looked up and turned to his companion. "What did you ask?"
Ellie looked back at him, ignoring Snowy, who was napping in her lap. "How did you first become a reporter?" she repeated. "After all, you're much younger than any reporters that I've ever heard of."
Tintin smiled slightly, closing his book and setting it aside. "It's a long story..."
"We have time." Snowy stirred slightly in Ellie's lap, and she scratched him between the ears. "It can't be too bad."
Tintin considered this for a moment, then sighed inwardly. "Alright." He turned slightly in his chair so he faced her and told his story from beginning to end – from his running away to France, to his working and mentoring with a big-name reporter, to his moving back to Belgium and starting his work for Le Petit Vingtième. He didn't stop there; he also briefly told about his first two international assignments to Soviet Russia and the Congo, two assignments that are spoken about very little.
Ellie leaned back in her seat, listening to his stories in silent awe. "...You're lucky," she said, after a moment of silence. "I'd have to say it's a miracle you weren't killed a long time ago."
Tintin arched an eyebrow. "Well, what abut you?"
"What about me?"
"You...You had said something in Marseille, about someone stealing black clothes from you. What was that about?"
Then, just for a moment, Tintin saw her eyes change: they suddenly looked darker, their naturally emerald color turning barely a shade darker. They lost their excited glint and went cold with emotionlessness. Tintin had seen that look somewhere before, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it... She obviously wasn't going to answer, so he set his original question aside. "Have you been to New York before?"
But then whatever it was disappeared as quickly as it came, and in no time Ellie was back to her old chipper self. "I've been once or twice, with my father. It's a beautiful city." She then kept the conversation going and started on a wild tangent about the best food in New York, then London, then the rain in London, with Tintin supplementing each individual fact. After a while they both forgot what his original question was.
Behind them, the Captain shut his eyes. He had been barely aware of their conversation, but miraculously heard it anyway, and had smiled stupidly in the half-consciousness that had come after his nap. He remembered something about New York and tacos, but it was forgotten in a flash as he settled down again for Nap: Part Two.
A/N: Yeah, I borrowed a few of 's ideas on Tintin's rise to being a reporter. I just have no idea myself and is good at making something out of nothing. I just couldn't put that in without giving a little credit there. If you didn't notice, good for you. If you did notice, good for you too. :)
By the way, this will be the last update I put up until mid-November. I don't want to deprive my readers of an update for a whole month, and since I have the third chapter complete already, I won't have to write another one. Thank you all for willingly putting up with me! :)
