07-02-2014, 07:50 AM
Within hours of being released from jail, Dane had returned to his hotel, bathed himself, and checked out. The lawyer, whom Dane still could not remember his name nor cared enough to ask, accompanied him to the airport and saw to it that he was personally placed on a plane out of the CCD.
The only available flight that Dane would allow was a twenty-one hour trip from Moscow to Mexico City by way of London. The lawyer remained at his side like a police escort up until the very moment Dane boarded the connecting flight.
The flight itself was atrocious, even for first class. He attempted to sleep while listening to his own personal music station, but the horrid woman seated against the window next to him kept attempting to talk. She wore a suit skirt and silky blouse, and despite the appearance of a quiet businesswoman, she seemed to suffer under the impression that Dane wanted to hear about every new story to pop up on her Clog. Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, Dane could take no more of it and swat her on the side of the head with a fist of Air. Her face slammed into the wall of the plane with a pleasing thud, and Dane covered her with the blanket she had been using. When the flight attendant came by to check, he assured the woman was sleeping soundly and nobody thought the difference. The woman was quiet the rest of the flight. Although she made sure to describe the pounding headache she experienced upon waking. Dane shoved his way as quick as he could off the plane.
He was going to take yet a third flight to a nice beach destination somewhere on the Pacific: he was tired of cold weather and people that wouldn't leave him alone. When a news story suddenly overtook the terminal screens. Chaos in Mexico City erupted again. Two-hundred dead. The face of the long-haired American male held responsible scrolled by. Long-faced, like a giraffe, and ill-kept hair, Dane sneered at every facet of the man, especially his gaudy attire.
Such was when Dane realized two things. One, he was dressed for a Moscow winter and was likely to be quite uncomfortably warm. Two, Mexico City had yet to see real chaos.
He checked his pocket and smiled to himself. His sketchpad and pencil were safe and sound.
Whistling, he hailed a taxicab.
The only available flight that Dane would allow was a twenty-one hour trip from Moscow to Mexico City by way of London. The lawyer remained at his side like a police escort up until the very moment Dane boarded the connecting flight.
The flight itself was atrocious, even for first class. He attempted to sleep while listening to his own personal music station, but the horrid woman seated against the window next to him kept attempting to talk. She wore a suit skirt and silky blouse, and despite the appearance of a quiet businesswoman, she seemed to suffer under the impression that Dane wanted to hear about every new story to pop up on her Clog. Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, Dane could take no more of it and swat her on the side of the head with a fist of Air. Her face slammed into the wall of the plane with a pleasing thud, and Dane covered her with the blanket she had been using. When the flight attendant came by to check, he assured the woman was sleeping soundly and nobody thought the difference. The woman was quiet the rest of the flight. Although she made sure to describe the pounding headache she experienced upon waking. Dane shoved his way as quick as he could off the plane.
He was going to take yet a third flight to a nice beach destination somewhere on the Pacific: he was tired of cold weather and people that wouldn't leave him alone. When a news story suddenly overtook the terminal screens. Chaos in Mexico City erupted again. Two-hundred dead. The face of the long-haired American male held responsible scrolled by. Long-faced, like a giraffe, and ill-kept hair, Dane sneered at every facet of the man, especially his gaudy attire.
Such was when Dane realized two things. One, he was dressed for a Moscow winter and was likely to be quite uncomfortably warm. Two, Mexico City had yet to see real chaos.
He checked his pocket and smiled to himself. His sketchpad and pencil were safe and sound.
Whistling, he hailed a taxicab.