Coming home (Stephie/Jude/Ry)
Dec. 29th, 2006 05:40 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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darker_londonStephie had spent the drive back to Toronto arguing happily with Lars about movies and seeing how long she could hold her hand out the window before the cold became unbearable. Her record was eight minutes, and it took about that long for her to defrost her fingers under her arm before she could try again. Lars dropped her off at the airport, and, buzzing with nervous flying solo nerves, Stephie went to check in her luggage only to find that her plane was having issues and was going to take a while before it could get off the ground.
This wouldn't have been too bad if it wasn't trying to get off the ground in Russia, and would take god knows how long to even arrive in Toronto.
Whee, thought Stephie, and occupied herself with airport grade croissants and coffee, watching delayed slide across the screen next to her flight number. It was only forty minutes later when a heavily accented Canadian voice announced over the loudspeaker that that flight had, indeed, been canceled, but if passengers would make their way to one of the information desks alternative arrangements may be able to be arranged. Trying to think like Deirdre, because Deirdre was good at this kind of thing, she went to be organisational.
There were a dozen seats on a 747 leaving at nine pm, and she'd have to change planes in Ottawa. It was either that or let the airport put her up in a hotel for the night and catch the same flight tomorrow. The second option was not going to happen; she was going to see Ry today, damnit, if she had to throw a tantrum to get it. She told the brunette organising the flights this, too, although she said it politely because everyone was being nice about this and there was no point in causing a scene if you didn't have to. Especially when there were security guards around.
So by the time nine thirty rolled around Stephie was nestled behind the wing of her plane, grinning victoriously and ordering another coffee. The plane was due to land in Heathrow just under an hour earlier than her original flight, because the stopover in Ottawa was much shorter than her original stopover in Amsterdam (and that was sad, that she didn't get to explore Amsterdam a little, but getting home on time was worth it. She missed Ry with avengeance.)
It was ten to two in the afternoon when Stephie arrived in London (which looked welcomingly foggy and grey from the air, the fog just thick enough for her to be sure it was London and not quite thick enough to stop the plane landing. She would have thrown her on flight magazine at the pilot if they had to land someone else and wait some more.) Although Stephie felt like she'd been up all night drinking coffee, since it was (by her scribbled calculations on the back of her itinerary) about five in the morning, Stephie time.
Thank god for coffee. And London. Crappy as it could be sometimes, Stephie really didn't think she could live anywhere else. The clean air of the commune had given her oxygen highs after breathing smog for so many years. It was in her blood, and she completely and utterly blamed the jetlag for making her get so sentimental about it all.
Till she saw Jude, that was. Then she forgot about London because Jude was heading towards a departure lounge and the man walking next to her was her father. Stephie stiffened, and dug her palms into her eyes to make sure she wasn't seeing things.
Nope, still Jude. Still the waste of space that was her father. Stephie stiffened, shouldered her pack and dodged through the crowds till she caught up with her. "Jude!" she called, slowing to walking speed, her fingers holding the straps of her pack. "Um, hey."
This wouldn't have been too bad if it wasn't trying to get off the ground in Russia, and would take god knows how long to even arrive in Toronto.
Whee, thought Stephie, and occupied herself with airport grade croissants and coffee, watching delayed slide across the screen next to her flight number. It was only forty minutes later when a heavily accented Canadian voice announced over the loudspeaker that that flight had, indeed, been canceled, but if passengers would make their way to one of the information desks alternative arrangements may be able to be arranged. Trying to think like Deirdre, because Deirdre was good at this kind of thing, she went to be organisational.
There were a dozen seats on a 747 leaving at nine pm, and she'd have to change planes in Ottawa. It was either that or let the airport put her up in a hotel for the night and catch the same flight tomorrow. The second option was not going to happen; she was going to see Ry today, damnit, if she had to throw a tantrum to get it. She told the brunette organising the flights this, too, although she said it politely because everyone was being nice about this and there was no point in causing a scene if you didn't have to. Especially when there were security guards around.
So by the time nine thirty rolled around Stephie was nestled behind the wing of her plane, grinning victoriously and ordering another coffee. The plane was due to land in Heathrow just under an hour earlier than her original flight, because the stopover in Ottawa was much shorter than her original stopover in Amsterdam (and that was sad, that she didn't get to explore Amsterdam a little, but getting home on time was worth it. She missed Ry with avengeance.)
It was ten to two in the afternoon when Stephie arrived in London (which looked welcomingly foggy and grey from the air, the fog just thick enough for her to be sure it was London and not quite thick enough to stop the plane landing. She would have thrown her on flight magazine at the pilot if they had to land someone else and wait some more.) Although Stephie felt like she'd been up all night drinking coffee, since it was (by her scribbled calculations on the back of her itinerary) about five in the morning, Stephie time.
Thank god for coffee. And London. Crappy as it could be sometimes, Stephie really didn't think she could live anywhere else. The clean air of the commune had given her oxygen highs after breathing smog for so many years. It was in her blood, and she completely and utterly blamed the jetlag for making her get so sentimental about it all.
Till she saw Jude, that was. Then she forgot about London because Jude was heading towards a departure lounge and the man walking next to her was her father. Stephie stiffened, and dug her palms into her eyes to make sure she wasn't seeing things.
Nope, still Jude. Still the waste of space that was her father. Stephie stiffened, shouldered her pack and dodged through the crowds till she caught up with her. "Jude!" she called, slowing to walking speed, her fingers holding the straps of her pack. "Um, hey."
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