Blueshift

Blueshift Chapter Thirty Four (NC-17)
Disclaimers Apply

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… *chews nails nervously * InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink and Dracena are loverly and wondermous for archiving/hosting. :) ProPhile: Are you caught up yet? ;) Morgan: *GLOMP * How goes the dance? Readers/Reviewers: I’m going to try and get out one more MP chapter before I go for a week and like I said before, there will be only a handful of updates between the 25th and 28th… so yeah. Forewarned is forearmed and all that. *glomp *Thanks for reading/reviewing!



Lance groaned and opened first one eye, then the other. He was still in the restroom. Mostly. As he regained orientation, he realized his legs were sticking out into the aisle and his head was wedged somehow between the toilet and the cabinet. “Oh, ew…” He sat up as carefully and hurriedly as he could only to find a dour looking flight attendant standing next to his feet. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Must’ve fainted.”
“You’re blocking the aisle,” she sniped. “Please return to your seat immediately.” She stepped back as Lance struggled to his feet.
He winced and ignored the distasteful gaze she swept over him, knowing full well what she was thinking, that he had gone in there to smoke some weed or maybe get drunk or do some other drug, then just passed out from it. “Can I get some ice for my eye?” he asked, walking backwards a few steps. “I’m getting a shiner…” He returned her glare measure for measure, not letting her intimidate him. Behind her, he could see the drink cart being pushed up the aisle. “Never mind, I’ll get it myself,” he said, starting forward again.
“No,” Amara’s voice behind him was soft but cutting.
Lance turned away from the flight attendant, who had apparently decided he needed to be helped to his seat and was motioning for her male coworker to come help. “Princess, you look like shit,” he said kindly, reaching for a stray hank of hair that had escaped her barrette.
She ducked away from his grasp and shook her head slightly. “Please, Lance,” she whispered, barely audible over the cabin sounds. She turned her back and walked slowly back towards their seats.
“Sir,” the male attendant said sharply, cutting through Lance’s thoughts. “Return to your seat immediately or…”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” Lance snapped, taking some slight pleasure in seeing the man deflate, not being allowed to finish his spiel. Lance followed Amara up the narrow aisle, his eyes scanning the other passengers for the man who hit him. He did not see anyone out of place, no one in a saffron colored robe. He sank into the seat next to Amara and waited for several long moments before giving into the urge and asking the inevitable. “What’s going on?”
She shook her head and did not look at him, her fingers spread on the tray before her. They were only halfway into the last leg of the flight and she was feeling less and less certain of this trip with each passing second. “I need to get off of here,” she said suddenly. “Lance, tell them I need off of here.”
He snorted, his eye smarting and head swimming. He was keenly aware of the scrutiny of the flight crew as he leaned close to Amara and whispered, “Ain’t happenin’, babe. They can’t just land the plane for one person who’s having a freak out. Look, we have a problem. Your little friend is on this plane.”
Amara nodded. “I know… I need off. Now.” She was shaking and, he saw belatedly, her fingers were bare of her rings that she almost never removed. She stood in the narrow space between the rows of seats and looked around almost desperately, waving off Lance’s grasping fingers. The flight attendants were spread out, glancing her way now and again. The other Nova Roman was nowhere to be seen. “I need off,” she muttered again, her mind racing. She knew there was no way off, not until they landed, and then it would be too late. Her breath came faster in her chest and throat and she thought she was starting to choke on her own tongue and saliva. “Lance, I need off,” she panted, her fingers curling into fists at her side. “Now!”
Lance grabbed her wrist and tried to pull her back down into the seat. She was panicking, clearly, and he was already on the short list for the flight staff. “Amara, siddown!” He knew it was no use, though, and braced himself for the worst. He did not have a long wait. A few seconds later, Amara opened her mouth and shrieked. There was no better word for it… it was a sound that seemed torn from her soul, a ragged and shrill noise, filling the surprisingly small space inside the plane, setting off a chain reaction of panic among the passengers. Lance sank down in his seat, willing himself invisible, but it did not work. He found himself pulled roughly into the aisle by the male flight attendant, shoved aside as he tried to reach Amara. A flash of orange caught the teenager’s eye and he scrambled back, out of the way of feet and hands, and tried to zero in on the flutter of robe he had seen. _We’re in a fucking plane! It’s not like he has a ton of places to hide! _ He got to his feet amidst people suddenly crowding the aisles and tried to get back to Amara’s side, only to find his way blocked by staff and what could only be an air martial. “Shit,” he muttered, finding himself effectively trapped. The flash of orange caught his eye again and he could not help the “A HA!” that escaped his lips as he finally zeroed in on the Nova Roman. He was several rows back, watching the entire scene placidly. “Son of a bitch,” he hissed.
“Sit down!” the same flight attendant snapped at him. “When we get to Cartagena, you’re both under arrest!”