First-Class Smugglers

Switching Clients

     Behind the first-class cabin was a small kitchen area, where stewardesses prepared the food before it was served. Wendy had been hiding in this room for some time while dessert warmed, giving her face a break from the constant smile she'd been wearing since they took off. Her guests certainly didn't make it easy to keep up appearances; his majesty talked as if she wasn't in the room and complained about everything from the temperature and cabin size to the facets on the chandelier, while his escort fretted and micromanaged Wendy within an inch of her patience. Alone in the kitchen Wendy closed her eyes to rest from it all. She was tired after being up late and waking up early getting ready for this flight. This flight, this last— Wendy groaned internally when the microwave dinged, and she stared at it maliciously for ending her excuse for a nap. But she had a job to do—this one last job—so when dessert was plated and Wendy's best customer-service face once again in place, she went out holding a tray with two plates of chocolate tiramisu.

     The scene she saw before her immediately stripped the smile from her face. Jase was being all but thrown out the door by one of the guards, leaving behind him an overturned table, food and silverware and flower petals all over the ground, and a frantic Sir Escort rummaging around on the floor.

     Wendy quickly put her tray on the buffet and went up to the Prince, who was standing amidst the mess with eyes fixed on where Jase had exited. Guessing the source of his irritation, Wendy only stayed long enough to set the table right, sweep up the mess, and give Sir Escort the gold cufflink she found in the process— which he hastily attached to his Prince's still clenched wrist— apologizing all the while. All this Wendy finished in record time, then she quickly bowed out the door to go find Jase. She didn't have to look long, when she reached the door Jase was a little beyond it down the hallway, talking with Rita.

     Wendy marched over to him in time to hear him tell Rita, "...steadiest mind I've ever met. If he realizes we're heading back he might try to order his goons to take the plane by force."

     "I'll take care of it." Rita answered.

     "Take care of what?!" Wendy glared at Jase, "He's furious! What were you doing? What were you thinking?!"

     "That I'd see how princey plans on running his kingdom after this coup d'état he's planning." Jase replied, "Spoiler-alert, segregated class system with a buffer of the privileged educated between the royal snoots and illiterate farm men, all brought together by some war he's got planned with a neighbouring country. Conscripted service really draws a nation together in his books. My guess we're taking him to meet with a weapon's dealer or something."

     "I. Don't. Care!" Wendy hissed at him, "Jase! I asked you to make sure nothing went wrong on this flight and you promised—"

     "It's a CYP Wendy." Rita interrupted, "We're not going anywhere."

     "We, what?" Wendy's hands dropped from their strangling position, and her face fell. "Seriously?" she breathed, "After all that? Ughhh..." She buried her face in her hands and rubbed her eyes. "I can't believe I stayed up all night for this." She muttered.

     "Hey now..." Jase put his hands on her shoulders and shook her good-naturedly, "I get it, it sucks. But the clock's not ticking anymore, and we're not getting paid anyways. So, how's about you relax?"

     Wendy looked up and laughed humourlessly, "That's how you relax? Annoying people?"

     "Pushing a person's beliefs up in their face until I've spurred an existential crisis actually." Jase grinned, "I live for that kind of malignantly monovalent mental mayhem."