Chapter Two: A very short chapter in which Dorothea buys a Box of Tissues.
Well, I guess public toilets are the same everywhere, thought Dorothea, wiping her hands on her cords. As in public toilets everywhere, there was a severe lack of hand- or paper-towels in the vicinity and the air-blasting-hand-dryer thing was Out of Order. She scuffed her way through the door, sniffing. Good posture be damned; no one should have to sit with a ramrod back at this hour.
Eleven o'clock at night, according to the clock on the wall. Dorothea started to check her watch. Discovering that she had already reset her watch to Irish time, she pretended that she had been scratching her wrist and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. No one was looking at her except a spotty porter on the late shift. Realizing that her tummy was writing her an official letter of complaint, she made her way over to the airport café.
A few unfamiliar coins- 'Euros'- supplied Dorothea with a steaming cup of hot chocolate, a warm double-chocolate muffin doused in chocolate sauce and (At last!) a box of tissues. She walked back to her seat, with better posture now that she had chocolate to eat.
Where were her hosts? This was past plagues of butterflies in her stomach; this was man-eating locusts buzzing through her gut. Something was sticking into her head. Dorothea reached around to the back of her head- oh. A bobby pin had come loose from her military ponytail and was trying to perform acupuncture on her head.
She scratched her head. Ooh, that was better. Several more pins came loose and a tuft of Dorothea's hair fluffed out of its bindings.
"Excuse me." A boy spoke scornfully from somewhere above her left ear. "Are you Dorothea Smith?"
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24.04.06 Again, copy-pasted to a blank Web page instead of normal page, and all is fixified.