thismaskiwear | Departures Level at BWI Airport, Thursday Midday

Doing the dance of Redeeming Airline Vouchers (bought on your last trip to Toronto and within, as it happened, days of expiring) at the airport ticket counter for a same-day flight was a gigantic pain in the ass for someone in a good mood, much less the mix of frantic, sick, and miserable that was Katchoo today. Several hours and some creative wrangling later she'd finally managed to book a ticket . . . on a flight that didn't leave until late afternoon.

With a sigh, Katchoo pocketed the little envelope containing her plane ticket, trudged away from the counter, and headed out over the shiny-slick white tile floor, through the automatic sliding doors, to the center island smoking area so she could . . . sit on her suitcase and smoke for a while. Maybe while she was at it she could call Francine -- except no, her phone was giving her a glorious zero bars of signal. Fabulous.

[OOC: NFI/NFB for distance. I totally have that signal problem at BWI. Post for . . . certain people-types what know who they are.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Well, that made one of them. A couple hours later after having walked the length of BWI twice, Wayne wasn't making this call without a scotch in him and another in front of him.

"...Mrs. Parker?"

Yeah, this was gonna go well.

"Yes, Mr. Digman?"

There was an air of expectancy there of, And you are calling me with good news, aren't you?

"Ma'am." There was an air of please don't kill me, I have no redeeming qualities whatsoever but I still don't wanna die. Or possibly that was just how he sounded to Darcy. "She, well. She got on a plane."

Because he'd scoured the airport for her three times and she wasn't there and nobody takes a suitcase to the airport, has a smoke, turns around and leaves.

Ice practically formed on the receiver at his words. "And why aren't you on the plane with her?"

"What, like they give standby seats to stalkers?" he muttered under his breath and away from the phone. Into it, he said, "Look, she disappeared. She must've made me; she's one of your girls, right? Not my fault she's good."

It was his best angle, much as he hated to grit out the words about the girl who'd beaten the crap out of him and lost him his job.

A long, dark pause, as Mrs. Parker considered, then said: "Which plane did she get on, Mr. Digman?"

And if he knew that... he might get to keep most of his skin.

"That's what I'm sayin'. ...Ma'am." He liked his skin where it was. "She ditched me in the airport. I didn't see what plane she got on."

An ominous silence.

"I am very, very disappointed in you, Mr. Digman. As I usually am in most of your gender. But you have achieved a new low."

Flaming crap on a stick. Flaming crap on a flaming stick. "Look, she had a round-trip ticket - I heard her at the check-in desk, just not where to. I can pick her up again when she gets back, find out then. I'll stake out the airport."

"You'd better catch her on the way back, Mr. Digman. You don't get another chance to screw up after this."

Darcy flipped the phone shut, tapping it against her hand.

Perhaps turning Mr. Digman over to Human Resources would motivate him better?

Perhaps Mr. Digman would like to keep his skin and really didn't need the motivation.

Perhaps Mr. Digman let out the shakiest breath ever when he heard that connection break.

Departures Level at BWI Airport, Thursday Midday

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