((Still set before Halloween. I'll get my butt in gear on solos eventually.))
“I don't want to be here.” Jada told the flight attendant absently when she came to check on them as the plane prepared for landing in Destiny City. “It is a dying place.” the woman- barely older than Jada herself- stared for a moment and then smiled and told her to enjoy her stay. The passenger across the cabin from her- Jada had flown First Class on the way back from Switzerland so there were only a few seats in her area anyway- gave them both a wry smile. Circling above DC, Jada could see her hometown spread out and sparkling, a perfect gem. The flaw was on the inside. Around and around the plane circled, finally coming to a grinding halt on the airway. The other passengers slipped off first, followed by Vic.
Jada remained seated.
It was five minutes before she was asked again to go ahead and disembark the plane, and she shuffled off with the rest of the horde, sliding into the crowd. She was alone again; the guard had vanished into the mass of people. Vic had claimed the luggage. Jada shoved it in the taxi herself. Back in DC, she texted everyone on her phone list. Pictures and trinkets for all who want them. She sent the message and tucked her phone away in her pocket, listening to the radio as the cabbie shot off towards the address she provided him.
No one had been there to greet her as she got off the airplane, to tell her 'Welcome Home!' Nobody had known when she had left, and no one had known when she would be returning- or, in fact, if she would be returning. That was fine for her. The taxi driver was quiet when she didn't say anything in reply to his curious inquiries. A positive boost to her day- a cabbie who knew when to be quiet. He took his time not to jostle or throw her bags around in the trunk, and it gave her time to think, staring out the window as fixedly as though what she was looking at was the key to the Bigger Picture. It wasn't, of coure, and all she was able to see was the usual urban scenery.
The drive home was quick; the cabbie didn't like her antisocial silence anymore than she liked the annoying banjo music he had playing. The gates that barred her driveway opened as she pushed the button on her keys, and he drove in, admiring the wrapping driveway. The garage door was closed and all of her drapes were pulled shut. There were chalk drawings on the sidewalk, in blues and reds and greens. She pulled her bags from the taxi with the driver's aid, setting them on the wraparound porch, and sent him on his way. The door opened quietly, and inside was silence. No lights, and the air was almost stale.
Castor mewed at her, ribbons decorating his form. Windows were flung open, every drape on all floors pulled aside to let in the cool breeze. The cat was glued to her legs, trying to trip her constantly until she picked him up. Clothing was tossed in the hamper for washing, or labeled for dry cleaning. The maid would take care of that all; she organized her shoe collection to include her new purchases, tossing clothing that no longer struck her fancy into a bag for delivery to a goodwill.
Two hours later she checked her phone; it was still dark. No replies. How lonely.
Jada remained seated.
It was five minutes before she was asked again to go ahead and disembark the plane, and she shuffled off with the rest of the horde, sliding into the crowd. She was alone again; the guard had vanished into the mass of people. Vic had claimed the luggage. Jada shoved it in the taxi herself. Back in DC, she texted everyone on her phone list. Pictures and trinkets for all who want them. She sent the message and tucked her phone away in her pocket, listening to the radio as the cabbie shot off towards the address she provided him.
No one had been there to greet her as she got off the airplane, to tell her 'Welcome Home!' Nobody had known when she had left, and no one had known when she would be returning- or, in fact, if she would be returning. That was fine for her. The taxi driver was quiet when she didn't say anything in reply to his curious inquiries. A positive boost to her day- a cabbie who knew when to be quiet. He took his time not to jostle or throw her bags around in the trunk, and it gave her time to think, staring out the window as fixedly as though what she was looking at was the key to the Bigger Picture. It wasn't, of coure, and all she was able to see was the usual urban scenery.
The drive home was quick; the cabbie didn't like her antisocial silence anymore than she liked the annoying banjo music he had playing. The gates that barred her driveway opened as she pushed the button on her keys, and he drove in, admiring the wrapping driveway. The garage door was closed and all of her drapes were pulled shut. There were chalk drawings on the sidewalk, in blues and reds and greens. She pulled her bags from the taxi with the driver's aid, setting them on the wraparound porch, and sent him on his way. The door opened quietly, and inside was silence. No lights, and the air was almost stale.
Castor mewed at her, ribbons decorating his form. Windows were flung open, every drape on all floors pulled aside to let in the cool breeze. The cat was glued to her legs, trying to trip her constantly until she picked him up. Clothing was tossed in the hamper for washing, or labeled for dry cleaning. The maid would take care of that all; she organized her shoe collection to include her new purchases, tossing clothing that no longer struck her fancy into a bag for delivery to a goodwill.
Two hours later she checked her phone; it was still dark. No replies. How lonely.
