Someone Set Us Up the Bomb [IC, Closed]

[Ainin]

OOC thread

A subway train
Approaching Terminal 1
7:32 am

Maurice stared blankly at the few inches of luminous glass in his lap, impulsively swiping up to refresh the messaging app. The phone sputtered, struggling to link up with the cell tower from underneath forty metres of earth and concrete. Several long seconds later, it caught onto a few of the high-powered waves and transmitted its ever-so-important request to a distant server at a fraction of the speed of light. The screen went blank for a fraction of a second, then flashed back to its previous state. No updates.

The subway car's lighting, too blue for comfortable reading, made his eyes sore, but he did not care. Sitting in a row of uncomfortable plastic seats, he blended in perfectly with the dozens of other phone-gazing folks with whom he had the displeasure of sharing a sweltering metal box as it zig-zagged its way between terminals.

At least he would have if he wasn't wearing a pilot's uniform.

Almost every passenger examined him with their sight as they got on the tightly-packed train. Some quickly turned away, embarassed, when his glance met theirs, while others continued staring. Even frequent flyers, for whom crew sightings came a dime a dozen, occasionally shot him a glance. One pair of Namorese teenage girls took a particular interest in him, not-so-discreetly attempting to capture a selfie with the handsome young aviator. At age thirty-four, with a well-built physique and milky-brown hair, there was no denying that Maurice Félicien was a fairly photogenic pilot.

He briefly put down his phone, taking a sip of coffee from the thermos he carried in his travel bag. He would need to be wide awake in the coming hours; after all, he was about to embark on a fourteen-hour flight to Daecon as first officer.

The infernal sound of metal grinding against metal filled the train as it abruptly slowed down. Several riders who neglected to hold onto a pole or handle were sent scrambling to keep from falling over. A two-tone chime rung out from the intercom, briskly followed by the canned voice of a woman.

"Attention ladies and gentlemen, this is Terminal 1 station. All passengers for domestic and Esquarian Community flights, please get off now. Watch the gap as you step off the train."

Along with almost all of his fellow riders, he stepped off the train onto the platform, making sure to watch the gap on the way off. As this was the eighth time in two weeks that he made this trip, he intuitively took a left and headed down a garishly-decorated hallway ― the brightly-coloured billboards on the wall clashing with the checkered white-and-crimson ceramic tiles ― towards the security checkpoint. Of course, as he was crew, he would get to skip the serpentine line of frustrated travellers and head straight for the VIP lane.

---

Terminal 1 parking lot
7:27 am

Maria d'Antonio shot a glance at the the pavement underneath her parking spot as she locked her car. An austere five was imprinted in white paint on the asphalt. Taking her phone out, she made a quick note of the zone that she parked in. She wouldn't forget her parking spot and spend an hour searching for her sedan like last time... and the time before that. One would be excused to think that the chief flight attendant onboard an airliner carrying three hundred and fifty souls would be less forgetful.

After grabbing her bags out of the trunk, she grabbed a luggage cart and headed across the underground parking structure towards the elevator that would take her to the concourse. Once there, she tapped the button, summoning an elevator. Naturally, it was already full. She waved her hand to decline an offer to squeeze into the car by the man who held down the 'Door open' button. Five minutes and two full elevators later, she finally made her way to the second floor, where the flux of people coming from the metro station and the parking garage merged onto a massive hall filled to the brim with queuing crowds, armed security guards and crowd control barriers: the security checkpoint.

As she lined up in the VIP line, she noticed Maurice two spots ahead of her.

She called out to him. "Maurice!" A tall figure clad in a first officer's uniform turned back, his face quickly lighting up.

"How are you today, Maria? How's the family?"

"Everything's pretty good right now. So listen, I heard that you..."

Before she could finish her train of thought, a booming voice from a few metres in front interrupted their conversation. "NEXT!"

Excusing himself with an apologetic smile, Maurice turned away and walked up to the desk, fiddling in his pocket to dislodge his pilot ID from his wallet.

---

Frederick's Fries
7:40 am

Captain Caroline Noël sat at a stick-proof plastic table inside the burger joint, sipping on a large iced latté while inattentively reading the morning issue of République. Unlike the rest of her crew, who were probably just arriving at the airport for the 9:30 flight, she had been waiting in the terminal for a good portion of the night. She had just gotten back after a six-hour flight from Da Hegner, Geadland, when she was asked to take command of a flight to Daecon after the regular captain got a nasty stomach bug. Never one to turn down extra pay, she accepted.

Thankfully, she would get to sleep on the first leg of the transcontinental journey as the backup crew would fly the heavy airliner over the East Namor Sea, the Chorean isthmus and the Haddock Sea. Only when the plane approached the North Pole would she have to take over, and even then autopilot would do most of the flying. It was a fairly laid-back trip, especially as she wasn't one to easily suffer from jet lag.

As she glanced with disinterest over an article about Lecistani paramilitaries, a voice from behind the broadsheet disturbed her. "Excuse me."

She put down the paper and glanced up. An elderly gentleman in a navy blue suit, a businessman from the look, stood by her table. "Is that seat occupied?" he asked while gesturing at the plastic seat across the small table from hers. She gave a slight shake of the head to indicate no, before diving back into her reading. She had no interest in the day's news, but she hoped that the man wouldn't attempt to make small talk if she looked preoccupied.

"So, where are you headed?"

Hope dashed.

"Waterwitt," she replied tersely.

The man quickly took a glance at her uniform, upon which a silver set of wings was pinned, then at her flight bag, upon which was perched her captain's cap. "So you a flight attendant or something?"

She dove back into her reading, acting like she didn't hear the question. 'Fucking retard,' she thought to herself.

[Qianrong]

7:48 AM

Talon, Ainin

Jón-Paweł Rzeski looked behind him to make sure all eight of his compatriots had followed him off the bus, ticking off their names as they stepped off. Olszewski, Szczypir, Tomôszki, Lùtórowski, Młodski, Biélawski, Jaszdzewski, and Zëdewski. Good. It would have been a slight issue, to say the least, if any of them had gotten off at the wrong terminal.

"Alright," he said to the group. "Stay with me. Don't speak unless spoken to-" Władësłôw Tomôszki laughed. "Most of us don't speak French," he noted. "What are we going to say, anyways, that they'll pick up? They won't speak Lec." Rzeski merely glared in response. Tomôszki scoffed. "Fine, fine, continue."

Rzeski turned back to the group. "Keep calm, and don't act suspiciously. We've done our planning, and our research. Everything should be fine. Just... keep calm and stay in order. I'll get our tickets, we can get the checked baggage checked, and then we'll just have to get through security and to the gate. Alright?" The members of the group nodded in syncopation. "Alright," Rzeski repeated, before turning and heading into the airport.

---

Tomôszki sighed and headed to the back of the group- with Jerzy Zëdewski, Mikòłôj Jaszdzewski, and Bògùsłôw Olszewski- as Rzeski turned and headed into the airport. Adóm Szczypir and stayed close to Rzeski. Jigór Lùtórowski, Aleksander Młodski, and Kazimierz Biélawski found themselves in the middle of the group as they headed into the airport. All together, they formed a motley gaggle of eight Lecistanis.

"He's a little domineering," Tomôszki muttered to Zëdewski, Jaszdzewski, and Olszewski. Olszewski shrugged. "I mean, he is the leader. And the oldest of us." "Yeah, but he's not the only one of us with experience," Tomôszki retorted. "And how much experience do you have?" Jaszdzewski quipped. "Last I recalled, you weren't a member of the Republican Armed For-" "That's because I was in a Nevan jail cell," Tomôszki snarled. "And trust me, that was-" "Alright, alright," Jaszdzewski replied. "Sorry. Now, let's not draw attention to ourselves, shall we?" For the second time in a few minutes, Tomôszki scoffed. "Fine," he growled.

Tomôszki looked silently at the group. He knew most of them were from Ricérzów, or nearby towns, and that most of them were in their twenties, though Rzeski was thirty or so and Młodski was a teenager at the most. And he knew they were all members of the Workers' Army of Lecistan. Within the group, they were all members of the Brygada Kãszobùski- the section of the group handled with conducting operations.

Rumors circulated within the group that their plan had been formulated by "Eloranta" and "Antelope" themselves, as a demonstration of the group's power, and as an attempt to force Nevanmaa to face its crimes, and possibly the wrath of the world. Whether or not that was the case, Tomôszki didn't know and didn't care. For him, this was a way- however roundabout- to get back at Nevanmaa. That was what it was for all of them, he supposed. Even domineering Rzeski and naive little Młodski and insufferable Jaszdzewski.

They were going to hijack a plane and use its passengers to bargain for the future of Lecistan.

---

Rzeski turned away from the ticketing counter, holding several boarding passes, each of them bearing the names (minus all accents) of those they were intended for. Aleksander Młodski- the youngest member of the group, at only eighteen years old- grabbed his eagerly. "Alright," Rzeski said quietly, "next is security. Just have your documents, keep calm, and don't act suspicious." Młodski and a few other members of the group nodded. Presumably satisfied, Rzeski turned away and began leading the group towards security.

Młodski kept close to Jigór Lùtórowski. Lùtórowski was eight years older than him, and had taken care of him since 2015; Lùtórowski had found him on the streets, not long after he had participated in an anti-government demostration at his school- a prestigious private school in Ricérzów. The school had expelled Młodski and the other participants, and shortly thereafter Młodski's mother and father had driven him from their home. Lùtórowski had found him shortly thereafter, and taken him in.

"Hey, it'll be okay," Lùtórowski said, noticing Młodski standing close to him. Młodski nodded mutely. "It shouldn't be hard to get through security. There shouldn't be any problems. Just stay calm and act normal, alright? Oh- and make sure you've got your documents ready, just in case." "Thanks, Jigór," Młodski said quietly. "No problem," he replied.

Now came the moment of truth. Rzeski, leading the group, approached the security checkpoint...

[Ainin]

Security checkpoint
8:07 am

The line inched forward slowly but steadily. Almost twenty minutes later, it was finally their turn. Standing quietly in a single-file line, they approached the security agent one by one. The first of the group, hiding his nervousness behind a stoic appearance, placed his Lecistani passport on the desk and stared straight into the webcam. He didn't say a word. The agent appeared totally unconcerned, reflexively scanning the biometric document and checking it against crime and terror databases. No hits. However, a minor inconsistency between the date of birth on the document and the one on his digital record piqued her curiosity.

She decided to ask him about it. "Tu parles français?"

No answer.

"Français? Fran-çais?"

A blank stare.

The security officer sighed. Why did she always end up with the tourists that don't bother to learn French before coming to Ainin? This was the third time in twenty minutes that she was faced with this kind of uncouth traveller. Deciding that the discrepancy was minor, she stamped the passport. She had more important things to take care of than a minor typo on some papers issued by a third-world country. Realising that the next eight passengers were all from the same group and all probably illiterate idiots, she stamped their passports after a cursory check without as much as a glance at their faces.

The entire group had made it through passport control. Now came the hard part. The nine men stared uneasily at their carry-on baggage, which they knew contained all sorts of firearms and knives. A trusted contact had promised them that the weapons were well-concealed and would fool the airport metal detectors. They were further reassured after searching online and realising that airport security usually had a 95% failure rate. But now came the moment of truth.

They placed their compact suitcases and jackets onto the conveyor belt, making sure to remove their laptop computers from their bags. They then walked through the metal detector gates in a single file, one by one. The security guards manning the X-ray machine were too busy chatting about yesterday's Talon FC game to look at the screens. Even if they did, they would likely have seen nothing, as the machine was fooled by little more than some gel and heavy lining. The patdowns they received was sorely lacking, with none of the agents even thinking about feeling their socks, in which were concealed some switchblades.

After a few minutes that felt like an eternity, they were all through. Just as the Lecs thought themselves to be in the clear, walking away from the checkpoint with their hearts still working overtime, a booming voice came from behind them. "STOP!"

They froze dead in their tracks, overcome by fear. Not like this. Not when they had come so far. Any second now, heavily-armed gendarmes would lock down the terminal and surround them at gunpoint, ordering them to drop their bags and lay on the ground with their hands behind their back. They would fail in their glorious task before ever getting off the ground.

Except they didn't. Five seconds passed, then another five. Then ten. No one came to arrest the group of ill-intentioned Lecs. The ringleader, obviously confused, glanced behind his back and breathed out a deep sigh of relief. The gendarmes were not coming for him or his men, they had instead snatched the Arabic gentleman behind them in line and were preparing to give him a public strip search. The humiliated businessman had no choice but to comply, reluctantly undoing his tie as a burly police officer inserted his gloved hand into the man's pants, searching god-knows-where.

The group, elated but shaken by the near-miss, headed towards a nearby bistro. They needed a drink to calm their nerves.

---

Luggage processing
8:32 am

Martin yawned.

He was supervisor that morning at Terminal 1's luggage processing centre, the cavernous room filled with conveyor belts where checked bags were directed from airline check-in counters to plane cargo holds. Part of his team's job was to check the suitcases for any possible dangers by feeding them into a giant machine that scanned them for potential threats. After three weeks of squeaking and abnormal noises, that machine finally broke today, just as Martin's shift started. While annoyed, he was also silently thankful, as security was the most boring aspect of his job. The only things that godforsaken machine ever find are cocaine and ivory, and they had to spend dozens of man-hours each day waiting for it to complete its useless scans.

Thankfully, the scanner was out of order today. This meant that the baggage handlers would be manually scanning the suitcases by passing a handheld device over them, a much faster process. Granted, it was also much less effective, as their scanners use technology that was older than most people in the room. A small label engraved on the back of each scanner confirmed the fact. They read "MADE IN EAST LUZIYCA" in a retro font that instantly dated the machines to the 1970s.

Martin lazily waved his device over a handful of Waterwitt-bound brown suitcases. The wand hummed ever-so-slightly, the sound completely drowned out by the warehouse's industrial air conditioning system. Satisfied that the row of baggage posed no danger, he moved on to the next row.

[Luziyca]

That was the end of his one-week trip to Ainin.

Igor Myagkov, wearing the tackiest Hawaiian shirt, and carrying a small suitcase containing his clothes and everything he had ever needed, had just entered the airport after taking a bus from his hotel. He was 57 years of age, and had decided to travel the globe in order to recapture his youth, and to right the misstep that he took of not travelling the world before he got the job at the firm.

Myagkov decided to retire early from the firm, and travel the world when he was 55. He had visited many countries across the world, and was now on his way to Daecon. And of course, during his week in Ainin, he visited all the tourist stops.

He had a quick meal at Frederick's Fries, and was now heading towards the security checkpoint.

"Soon," he thought, "I will be on my way to Waterwitt. Maybe head up to Nordania from there or so."

Within a matter of thirty minutes or so, he reached the checkpoint. First, he got his passport stamped, which was quickly done. He put his suitcase on the conveyor belt, and walked through the metal detector. And of course, the patdowns that he had received were just as lacking as the Lecs.

Now, he headed to the gate and sat down.

[Aleia]

Staff Office at Terminal 2
08:25

While the other flight attendants were probably relaxing at some posh hotel near the airport, Varya Karova had stuck herself on a chair in a one-desk office with her husband waiting outside.

She sat, back bent forwards, looking at the man behind the desk. "The plane could have taken off."

The flight dispatcher continued writing down on his paper, not even lifting his head. He sighed and rolled his eyes. "An engine detached from the aircraft, and almost killed some poor Revontuli technician. The passengers will sue us if we tell them to board that plane. If you don't think that's enough to cancel your flight, you're insane."

"Still, I wish to get home. My husband and I don't have a single centième left. We've been here for a week." Varya cursed low enough for the words to not reach the dispatcher. "You know what, I'm tired of speaking French all day!"

"Unfortunately, I can't do anything about that if there are no other flights for you. Besides, the personal part of your problem is not my problem, and you're not the first person to come here and complain.." he replied, before finally lifting his head, "...you speak French?"

Varya thought about that question. She had been in Ainin a few times, and attended all those classes in Aininian back home. No Aininians seemed to complain, or even question her accent, so she figured the answer.

"Oui, je parle le français."

"Ah, you should have told me earlier," the dispatcher said. He turned his eyes to his computer, and clicked his mouse a only few times, though it was enough to worry Varya.
"Right, go to the nearest staff-room, find an Aininien uniform and whatever nameplate that has your name on it. You'll be on a flight to Waterwitt, 14 hours. The flight attendants will be happy to have an addition to their crew. He inspected Varya. "The passengers might too. Anyways, in Daecon you'll hook up with an Aleiair flight to Erzebeta. 26 hours, and you're home in Aleia. Your husband may have an aisle seat in economy, not far from a merry and friendly band of Lecs."

Dear God, fourteen hours?, Varya thought, but came to a better thought. "Fine. Fine."

"Alright then." The dispatcher looked at the computer before going to the clicking printer and back. "Here's your staff identification and a boarding pass. The flight is at Terminal 1, and it leaves in one hour. So you should hurry. As they say in French: Bon et bonné voyage!"

He pointed at the exit behind Varya.

Bonné. Gosse.
----
Pavel relaxed on his seat. He looked at his watch. 15 minutes, but he didn't mind. He had gotten used to waiting. After Varya was put on a flight seven days after Pavel's trip to that upscale Aininian restaurant, there was little he could be surprised over. The first four days were filled with sightseeing, but as they started to run out of lourés, and places, it went over to sitting and sleeping at the airport, with cheap meals he'd rather forget. Oh, the look on Varya when they heard the cancellation of Aleiair Flight 782 to Erzebeta, a look which he knew would bring him to the corridor he was in now. At least it was a nice corridor: empty, clean, and away from the commotion at the actual terminal. The sounds in his ear calmed him down, especially since it all came from his techno-stuffed MP3 player.

Crash to present. Varya rushed out of the office, with two pieces of paper in her hands. Pavel jolted himself up.

"We're heading for Terminal 1, but I need to fetch something first." She handed the boarding pass in her hand to him. "The gate's on the pass!"

"What's this?" He looked at the card, "Waterwitt? Daera!?"

No answer. Varya was already sprinting down the lane, trying to take off her Aleiair uniform.

Right. No choice. He flung both bags over his shoulders.
I swear, if that flight doesn't have any alcohol. He started his run to the Terminal.

[Pisdara]

Usseli coughed. Of course he would get a cold mere days before travelling to the conference. He rationalized that it wasn't his fault, the weather here in Talon was significantly colder then what it was currently in Ashuragar. "Fuck, why is it so cold?" He thought to himself. Grabbing his luggage, he began to walk towards the ticketing counter.

He had made a conscious effort about how he dressed today. Gone were his loose-fitting shirts and khaki pants. Those were fine back home in Pisdara, but he felt like he was being watched closely even now, layered in a thick sweater and jeans. Reaching the ticketing counter and watching a large group of Lecs struggle to check-in, he walked up and nodded at the attendant.

"Bonjour monsieur."
"Bon-JOUR!" He sneezed a bit while responding.

Usseli liked when he was able to speak French. Spending so much time at the university in Talon attending classes and conferences, speaking with other professors, and generally just meandering around the city on his weekend trips allowed him to speak relatively decent French with only a slight accent. He also internally admitted it was fun to see the look on others' faces when they expect him to speak so poorly. After a check of his passport, the attendant confirmed his flight to Waterwitt.

"Enjoy your flight...Monsieur..." The attendant looked back at the passport for a second glance. "Nammahani".

Walking to the security checkpoint, Usseli got slightly more cautious. Normally he fared relatively well at airports in Ainin, but recent events over the past year have beefed up airport security, who seemingly had become more strict over searching passengers of specifically Nautasian and Arabic appearance. Just two weeks back, he remembered his sister-in-law complaining of a layover in Bethlehem where her hijab was almost torn off by one of the security guards. But that was Luziyca, not Ainin. If anything, today would be uneventful.

Usseli quickly went through security. He luckily had been slow enough to be out of the room when the Arabic businessman had gotten his shameful strip-search, and he himself didn't raise any suspicion. One of the guards looked at his carry-on, complete with a little Pisdari flag acting as a luggage tag.

"Pisdarois?" The guard commented.
"Oui."
The guard nodded, and wished him luck on his flight. Usseli returned the offer.

Successfully exiting security, Usseli turned on his phone. 8:15. A fourteen-hour flight to Waterwitt, followed by a drive to the hotel, and then meeting with Elaine Comers for dinner. He never really liked her. She was the one with a celebrated (albeit very poorly sourced) book on Pisdari history without even visiting the islands, and any criticism at her was deflected as "diminishing her work". But she was a colleague, and Usseli swallowed the fact that, at least to non-academics, she was the biggest name in Pisdari history currently and the head speaker at the conference. "Today's a good day." He thought to himself. "Maybe she'll get sick and cancel for the entire weekend."

[Qianrong]

8:07

Tomôszki couldn't help but chuckle internally as they watched the poor Arab man who had been in line behind them get a strip-search. Man, if that doesn't say something about this society, I don't know what does, he thought mirthfully.

In front of him, Rzeski signaled to the group. "Let's get something to drink," he said, leading them towards a small airport bistro, its menu boasting a variety of coffees and coffee-related beverages. The gaggle looked at the menu for several seconds, before relaying their orders to Rzeski- who, alongside Młodski and Lùtórowski- was one of the few members of the group to actually speak French. Rzeski placed the group's orders, then led them to a large table.

The group attempted to make small talk as they waited, though their nerves hampered their ability. Talking about home inevitably led to the relatives that they'd lost in Nevan bombing runs, or the torture they'd endured in Lecistani prisons. None of them knew, or cared, much about their supposed destination. And even though they highly doubted that anyone at the airport would speak Lec, talking about their plan was deemed too risky. Talking politics was inadvisable, and talking about their civilian jobs and careers was depressing.

Finally, Rzeski found a topic of conversation for the group. "Alright, I suppose I might as well give you all your boarding passes. Adóm, you'll be sitting in first class with me," he said, handing a ticket to Szczypir. "What a lucky boy," Tomôszki noted acerbically. "Sitting in bourgeois class with our fearless leader." "Be quiet," Rzeski retorted. "You know perfectly well we can't all sit in the back of the plane. A few of us need to be in the front." "Yeah, yeah, I know," Tomôszki replied, rolling his eyes. "Continue, o leader."

"Bògùsłôw, Jigór, and Aleksander, you're in business class," he continued, handing passes to Olszewski, Lùtórowski, and Młodski. "Kazimierz, Mikòłôj, Jerzy, and Władësłôw, you're going to be in economy class," he concluded, handing boarding passes to Biélawski, Jaszdzewski, Zëdewski and Tomôszki. Tomôszki could feel Rzeski's glare as he handed over the pass. "Great. Economy class. Really looking out for us, eh?" Zëdewski and Jaszdzewski snickered slightly. "If you don't want to sit in economy class, you can stay here in Ainin," Rzeski replied. "Is that more appealing to you?"

Tomôszki did not respond.

After a few more awkward minutes, they heard a voice from behind the bistro's counter attempting to pronounce a Lec name. "Dz- Dzhan- Dzhan-Pau- Dzhan-Pav?" Tomôszki knew the befuddled barista was attempting and failing to say Rzeski's given name of Jón-Paweł, and Rzeski- undoubtedly knowing this too- stood up and headed towards the counter. He graciously took the beverages- in a set of cardboard containers- from her and brought them back to the table, handing them out to the groups.

Tomôszki took his- a simple, black coffee- and sipped from it. After several more seconds of silence, broken primarily by the sound of sipping, Jaszdzewski stood up. "I'm going to check the departures board," he said. "Make sure the flight's still on time." Rzeski nodded silently, sipping from an iced coffee beverage the color of caramel. After a minute or so, Jaszdzewski returned. "It's still on time," he said matter-of-factually. There were a few more silent nods from the group.

One-by-one the members of the group finished their drinks. "Should we head to the gate now?" Młodski piped up. "Is everyone finished?" Rzeski asked. The members of the group nodded. "Alright, let's head to the gate, then," he said.

---

8:22

Itirou Tanaka couldn't help but smile as he walked through the airport. He had a week of free time ahead of him, and he'd been waiting for it for some time. Getting to study at the University of Beaurepaire as part of a study abroad program it conducted alongside the University of Keisi was fantastic, of course, but it was still all the work of college.

He'd also somehow convinced his parents that he wouldn't be able to make it back to Senria for a few days, which gave him time to actually go on vacation. He was planning to spend it in Nordania, a location that was quite exotic for someone from Lahudica. After that, though, he'd head back to Senria for an obligatory visit to his parents and his younger brother, who were still back in Keisi.

Too distracted in thoughts of the beautiful old cities of Nordania, Tanaka didn't notice the person standing motionless in front of him, looking out the concourse window, until they had collided and fallen onto the floor. "Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry," Tanaka began, attempting to speak in French despite being more than slightly embarrassed by his lack of attentiveness. Noticing that the individual he had run into had dropped a passport and several pieces of paper onto the floor in front of them, Tanaka rushed to pick them up. "Let me pick these up for you. Once again, I'm so terribly sorry. Please accept my humblest-" Tanaka paused as he realized the individual's passport had a stylized four-petaled flower emblem embossed on it, under the words "Senryuu Kyouwakoku" written in the familiar Goimon script of his home country.

"Well, I suppose I don't have to speak with you in French," he said, switching back into Senrian. The person he had run into- a male, a little taller than him- laughed. "No, you don't. My name's Akira Yukimura," the stranger said. "Itirou Tanaka," Tanaka replied. "Once again, please accept my deepest apologies for my incons-" "Really, it's okay," Yukimura replied.

"Where are you headed?" Yukimura asked. "Waterwitt," Tanaka replied. "Going to spend a few days in Nordania before I head back home to see family over break." "Well that's curious," Yukimura replied, bemused. "I'm heading to Waterwitt too." "Really? Why?" Tanaka queried. "I'm with a group called Green Senria. Environmental activism," Yukimura responded. "I was in Ainin to show solidarity with their efforts to preserve old-growth forests here in Ainin, and I'll be heading to Aucuria to speak about conditions in Senria at a meeting of leaders in their green party."

"I'm just here because I'm studying here," Tanaka replied. "University of Beaurepaire. Well, I go to the University of Keisi, but I'm spending a semester abroad." "I went to Tesigawara University," Yukimura replied. Tanaka nodded, then asked, "So you're from Okasuu?" Yukimura nodded. "Really the only part of Senria with any environment left, unfortunately."

Before continuing, though, Yukimura paused. "Maybe we should sit down at the gate and continue this conversation there?" "That sounds fine to me," Tanaka replied.

[Pisdara]

8:18 AM
Usseli shuffled through his bag. Papers, a book for reading on the plane, more papers, even more papers. He silently cursed himself for taking that part-time faculty position at the university. It really was a pain, spending every few months in Talon, plus having to fly over on a moments notice. The only plus was it paid enough for it to be reliable work, and he knew for certain the one-storey six-room museum in Ashuragar couldn't pay that much. However, the cons outweighed the pros at that moment as he looked at the papers he had to grade.

"Remind me to never teach a course on Nautasia again", he silently mumbled to himself.

Switching over to his phone, he scrolled through his news app. Something about the end of the general strike back home, yet another opinion piece on the nomadic memorial, that rat Kal Simpsen being elected in Pavonistade. Nothing too interesting. Spotting a bistro across the terminal, he debated over getting something. "I'm going to be waiting here for a while, and I need something to starve off this cold." Picking up his bag, he moved his way towards the bistro.

"A hot chocolate, please." Usseli never got a taste for coffee. It was always to strong for him.

While waiting, he looked around the room. The large group of Lecistanis were still in the terminal, staying to themselves. The room itself was starting to fill up as passengers arrived for their flights.

"Monsieur? Your hot chocolate."

Grabbing his drink, Usseli made his way back towards his seat. "If I'm productive, I may be able to mark some of those papers before I get on the plane."

Suddenly, the man in front of him had smacked into the person in front of them, with Usseli narrowly avoiding the collision. Luckily, his hot beverage didn't spill. Thinking to say something, he decided against it, choosing to continue his walk to his seat in silence. People can be clumsy in crowded areas, and he for one would be a hypocrite if he got angry at it. Sitting back down, he wiggled his butt into the groove of the plastic seat, sipped his hot chocolate, and grabbed the first paper in his pile. "The Corsair War and Why Ainin Was Right". It was going to be a long day.

[North Daecon]

Talonee, Ainin
8:20 am

Home. That is all that she could think about at this current time. Especially after visiting Talon at this time of year.

Siobhan was just sitting at one of the many chairs in the passengers only area at Terminal One at Talon International Airport, eating a beef and salad sandwich she had bought from one of the many airport food stores and while doing so, she was reading a copy of the Waterwitt Leader, whose front page contained a news story relating to events back home, mostly in regards to domestic politics and the international incidents that had popped up. She had checked her DFRT News app just a few minutes ago, and nothing much came up, other the Namorese corruption scandal, something about the Pavonstadian elections turning into a full blown whack riot and Bohemia finally ditching their monarchy after so long. "At least another monarchy has now been gone and dusted, despite the communists....." Siobhan quietly thought to herself as she continued reading the newspaper.

Her travel bag contained the essentials that were needed for a dizzying 14 hour flight. Daeconese passport, her boarding pass, sleeping gear, her smartphone, headphones and other miscellaneous stuff. She would have gotten on a International Daeconese Airlines flight if she could, but due to the booming travel season at this time of year and the fact that her money supply had nearly went below 2000, she could only afford a economy class international flight on Aininian, the Aininian national flag carrier. She was sort of irked, but pushed it back out of her head and thought of the future.

She was heading back to Waterwitt to complete her studies at the University of Waterwitt, which were primarily about majoring in music, particularly in songwriting and in instruments. She couldn't wait to get back, especially considering the university term starts in a weeks time and wanted to study hard before the term started and the first uni assignment was assigned to their record. The Daeconese university was renowned across the country for producing the best of many professions out of ordinary people, music included, but its most famous graduates have been directly linked to the Daeconese military. It didn't really bother her though, as much as it should have been. She had went through the same reputation barrier before and had came out just fine.

Besides, Siobhan Kennedy had come from a large Daeconese military family and was used to the presence of the Daeconese Federal Armed Forces in her life. Her father is a Captain in the Federal Army, her older brother a Lance Corporal within the Federal Militia and her two cousins from her dad's side of the family were pilots within the Federal Air Force, one flying fighter jets and the other flying a lumbering LRS-17 Eagle reconnaissance & search plane. She was told it was hard and tiring military work, but it was all worth it to protect the one and only home on the Nordanian continent that she ever had and serve Daecon well and with all their pride. She understood that point, unlike the anti-war, Marxist hippies living out in Glennon Province that had set out a commune that one time before the Glennon Provincial Police bashed down the door and arrested them all.

As the events of the other passengers happened around her, with the two Senrians talking to each other, the Pisdari university writer that was writing papers, the Luziycan retiree executive that was walking like a lost person and the friendly group of Lecistani youths at the bistro, she just sat down and waited for the call to board Aininian Flight 303 back home.

[FreYhill]

Terminal One,
Talon International Airport

After arriving in Talon from a lengthy plane trip from Borneung International Airport, the Shinawatra family began to disembark off the Toksanese Airlines Azimut 73 Invidia. After walking up the bridge to the terminal, the family of four (two adults and two children) were welcomed by an intercom alerting people that the gates have closed for the next flight to Namo on Aininian. The Shinawatras were more than tired after their trip from the northern province of Chunbun to Borneung, but they are still as motivated as ever to visit Yupin's cousins in Waterwitt.

Because of a technical fault back at Borneung International Airport, the Shinawatra's had to exit the restricted area of the terminal after collecting their luggage to get onto their next flight to Waterwitt. "Uughh, what a pain. How are you all holding in?" After some gestures and nodding, the father of the Shinawatras Kitsakan went back to reading the Toksanese Herald on his phone. At the top was Prime Minister Namgung's constitutional reform to elect the Prime Minister by electoral college to the Presidential elections in Pavonistade. What a great man Kitsakan thought in his head, afterall, he is a One Nation supporter back in the Commonwealth.

After collecting their tickets to board Aininien Flight 303 to Benjamin Hollowood International in Waterwitt, the Shinawatras added themselves to the lengthy border control lines, where they would wait in the rather generic room for the next half an hour. Eventually, the Shinawatra's were before the border control officer, and Kitsakan began to talk on behalf of the family.

After making eye contact with the Toksanese family, the bold fat Aininian border enforcement officer began to mutter under his breath "why do I get the Monics?" before he asked Kitsakan "Français?".

Getting out his Banana phone, Kitsakan translated "we don't speak Aininian" to French to ease the communication difficulties between the pair.

"Documents de passeport ou d'identification" grunted the officer back.

After hearing "Passeport", Kitsakan saw the word on his diplomatic passport and passed over his red covered book. Moments later, Kitsakan's wife Yupin passed over three more blue passports to the table seperating the two parties.

"Diplomate?"

Knowing very basic terms of French, Kitsakan responded with "Oui".

After scanning the other three biometric passports, the border control officer responded with "Très bien. Amusez-vous à Waterwitt" and press the button to open the gates into terminal one of Talon International Airport.

The Shinawatras began to move on, and entered the next lobby room before being engulfed by the restricted area of the terminal. This was much faster and the Shinawatras left the room after walking through the scanners and being asked about Parama's blood pressure medication. Walking towards the gate, the family went at ease, as they were now one step closer to Waterwitt.

[Katranjiev]

Terminal One
Talon International Airport

They had a long day. Prince Andrei, his wife, Anna Vang, and their three-month old son had just arrived from a state visit in a Nautasian country that had lasted a week. But they were not going to stay long in Ainin: it was where they will catch their next flight to Ainin.

As they disembarked from their flight from Nautasia at seven o' clock in the morning, local time, Prince Andrei sighed. Why did Elis decide that they should fly on these flights and not on a private plane? It would be much quicker to get from Nautasia to Waterwitt.

Once they have arrived and followed the proper procedures, they had to allow at least ninety minutes to connect from the flight from Nautasia to the flight to Waterwitt, mainly to accommodate their three-month old son who was born on January 18th.

They headed towards the bistro to have a quick meal: Anna Vang ordered a hot chocolate, while Prince Andrei requested coffee: he will need it to stay awake while en route to Daecon. They also ordered some snacks to consume before heading to the gate. Anna and Andrei quickly scarfed it down, and then Anna breastfed Prince Igor, while she nervously glanced to see whether there were people taking pictures of them.

Now that the meal was finished, they can make their way towards the gate. After quickly glancing at the departures board, they began to meander towards the gate.

Anna Vang glanced towards Prince Andrei as she was carrying Prince Igor. "Sir?"

"What is it, mon ami?" Andrei responded.
"I am looking forward for these journeys to be over, and to be back home in Krasimir," Vang remarked.
"I know," he replied. "I want to return home and see my family again. And I promise that once we get that trade deal with Daecon done, we will return home."
Vang nodded. "I know. It is just that I miss my country so much: the beautiful Karpati and the majestic temples."
"I miss it as well," he stated. "Even in the parts of Nautasia that we have visited, it is not the same at all. They may look similar, but it is not... Katranjiev!"
"I agree," she remarked.

They proceeded the rest of the way to the gate in silence. Soon, he arrived at the gate: he, Vang, and their son sat down a young lady who appeared to be a university student.

Andrei quickly took out his phone to check Slevdovatel. He saw the news that there may be a regency imposed on his elder sister, Queen Elis, since the bill to do that was tabled in the National Assembly of Katranjiev.

"Good," he muttered under his breath. "Hopefully, Mariana would learn to not be a drama queen."

[Sjealand]

''And we have arrived at Talon International Airport, that will be 24 louré.'' The taxi driver looked back at Manfred and Idalina, his unhygienic stench bringing tears to Manfreds eyes. He nodded, handing the money to the driver, before exiting the vehicle, Idalina handing him their luggage. For a second he paused, brushing his tunic and taking in the sight of the city and the river. ''Do you have my ticket?'' he asked his colleague, who grinned, as she waved them in his head. ''Of course i do you dumbass, now lets get going, we shouldnt keep Kaspar waiting.'' She took off towards the security checkpoint, Manfred following in close behind. ''Over all i'd say this has been a succesful trip. Kaspar has certainly picked the right people to expand with.'' He thought to himself. He and his Idalina had been ecstatic when they were asked to conduct negotiations with the Ainian based tech company Airias on the matter of their acquisition by NordTalk. A months stay at a luxury hotel with all expenses paid was something he wished would occur more often, and with their rerouting to conduct further negotiations in Daecon, this was looking to be quite the spring.

A voice snapped him out of his thoughts, a young woman looked at him with annoyance. She talked to him again; ''Puis-je voir votre passeport?'', he looked at her, slightly embarrased. ''Oh désolé, voilà.'' he responded, handing her his passport along with his colleague's. They continued towards the security checkpoint, noticing a few stares. Sjealandian traditional tunics were sadly a dying sight outside of Artisia. They followed procedure, wasting their time as the security personell did their usual routines.

Slowly they entered the waiting area, Manfred parted with his colleague for a short while, approaching the post office where he took out some letters. From his pocket he took out a small bundle of wax, this was all he had left. Looking at the clerk he politely asked for a match. She looked at him weirdly before handing him one. The flame lit up, and the wax slowly began to melt, he finally pressed down his signet ring on the letters, letting the wax dry before he handed them over to the clerk.

Idalina approached him, ''Want to get a snack before we leave? I hate airline food.'', her colleague noded in silence, following her as they went over to the bistro. She noticed a group of Lecistanis all sitting huddled together, a Toksanese family and a couple Pisdarans. This seemed like a more international flight than usual.

[Saint Hadrian]

And so no longer yet, David...

Talon International Airport, Ainin
Today

Jacques Ioseb "Josef" Lapidus, a Hadriennois citizen of Haravani descent, walked to Terminal One. He has spent his time here for the trouble imposed by his profession as a journalist for PTH World - Orielle Bureau.

Interestingly, for a man who writes to live, does not take any particular interest in writing anything else other than the news - featured and trending. Anyways, who would enjoy writing less than 300 to 800 words in a format of who, what, where, when, and how?

Linda Dobrev, a woman he was tasked to cover, led him first to Risagne in his Aininian journey. He was supposed to be home by now, spending quality time with his boyfriend.

For some reason, he landed in Linaque. Apparently, after "some" became "so," the plane he rode that was bound for Saint-Hadrien experienced a mishap with "birds crashing into the left engine." He took note of this and every other detail worthy of the news - something that is yet to capture public eye because of three reasonable factors:

First of all, the plane belonged to "Hadriennois Airways" which is a budget airliner - popular at home but nowhere overseas. Second, the plane did not sustain too much damage and the only casualties were the birds whose avian sort has yet to be identified by the officials. Third and last, no drama involved. Nobody bothered about it except Lapidus at the least extent.

Yes, a lot of passengers expressed themselves but they were quietly handled by the airline's damage control before the issue took off, one thing that Jacques appreciated/or gained (whichever which, you know which anyways) from the flight.

In the end, he posted his article on what happened for the sake of keeping himself on track with his superiors and events that would hit when the eventual crossing would come for him to stop and report, as his superiors would expect wherever him and his colleagues would be.

All smiles here as it seems.

Today, not much of a smile.

"Go away." For a perverted, curious straight male of this country is bothering him, not that he would know this but he already expects that something like this would just happen.

As a man, he is quite feminine (okay, let's settle with effeminate) thanks to years of siting down on a desk to write short stories rather than doing anything else. Pale, 5'8, brown eyes, black hair, 24 years-old, and thin. His fly-away hairstyle does not have anything to do with it though, something he is proud of.

Except the fact that he looks like a teenager . Something he is ashamed of.

Something that had its downsides and upsides, as any other will utterly have. Mostly the latter, to be true, but he saw the former more than the other. Discrimination of course was not much of an issue thanks to the Egalitarian Society Movement back home but it's the sexual confusion that wrought him to just consider himself bisexual than being gay.

"Are you sure? I do not think you want me to." The Divine and human nature. Can he just fuck off?

And I thought Hadriennois men are the worst.

Jacques stood up from the bench, took his belongings with him, and rushed to Terminal One. Adding to this progressing, sour day is the fact that he now needs to go to Waterwitt to stand in for some stupid fool involved in a PTH documentary on the "Nationwide Security Sweep," orbiting around the alleged reports of xenophobia, Islamophobia, and racism.

The Aininian tried to follow Jacques until he lost interest upon the immediate sight of security checkpoint, thankfully and now hopeful for him to try his game on another foreigner regardless of gender.

Praise Saint Cyril for airport security. Passports were given and taken, inconsistencies checked, discrepancies being considered, baggage handled and left on conveyor belts, and other protocols followed.

Meanwhile Jacques had settled himself on another bench. This time he is in the terminal, went on to read "Into the Fire." I am certain that he is no fascist. He does not sympathize with anything Teutonian, especially Friedrich Ulrich. But I cannot be certain how Josef got the book in the first place.

On another hand, the book was bought out of curiosity for Jaccques' interest on the minds of dictators and madmen - as Lapidus would define people like Ulrich, that is. Trying to scratch the self-proclaimed story of "bravery and camaraderie" hoping to find anything along the lines of exciting and shocking.

It is another story, indeed, of where did Josef bought the book despite the overwhelming odds of it being on a shelf in the other side of the world.

[Qianrong]

8:24

Hikaru Tatibana strode quickly through the airport, not looking at the people around him, keeping his briefcase close to him, determined to get to his next flight. An employee of the Seiyuki Electronic Company- part of the Hosokawa keiretu- Tatibana was a regular business traveler, with no shortage of experience in airports and airplanes. Since getting his job with Seiyuki in 1999, he had flown hundreds of business flights, travelling to almost every major airport in Esquarium for a variety of dull business conferences, industry meetings, and negotiations.

At present, he was headed to a seminar on quality control in Waterwitt; Talon was merely a layover between Isikawa and his destination. It was hardly a thrilling outing, but Tatibana didn't much care. He showed all the tireless industriousness expected of a sarariiman- a Senrian term used to refer to those few lucky Senrians who held white-collar jobs that gave monthly salaries, in contrast to those who held blue-collar jobs that gave hourly wages. He'd once been a blue-collar worker, for an industrial subdivision of the Matuoka keiretu, but had managed to gain a white collar job from the Hosokawa keiretu, who were "impressed with his indomitable work ethic and intricate understanding of creating quality goods for the Esquarian consumer". As a result, he now worked as a quality control manager. A less than thrilling job, but it paid well and was less physically rigorous than his previous industrial work- though, of course, Tatibana often subjected himself to unnecessarily long hours and extra assignments in the name of serving his employer. Such behavior was expected of a sarariiman.

Ever focused on his flight, he paid little if any attention to the diverse crowd gathering at the gate. Checking the terminal clock, he saw that he would have a few minutes to spare before the flight began. Good, he thought. I may be able to check the business news before the plane takes off. Moving quickly, he took a seat near the jetbridge and pulled out his cell phone, opening the Keisi Sinbun app and quickly scrolling to the business session.

It is a shame this flight will be so long, he thought. I could have accomplished quite a lot of work in fourteen hours.

---

8:27

Astridė Lykraitė smiled as she walked towards the gate. After three weeks touring Luziyca, Namor, and Ainin, she would finally be going home. She'd managed to get three weeks away from the farm and the money to go out and see Esquarium, and while it was a thrill to explore so many places, she missed her parents and her siblings. After the flight to Waterwitt, she'd board a flight to Bendiktas Klimantis International in Kalnaspilis and then drive back to her family's farm in Antakalnis.

Finding the gate, she sat down and took out her cell phone. The pair of Monic young adults next to her were talking energetically in... whatever language they were speaking in, but she wanted to make sure she got a call to her family before the flight took off. She tapped in their home number, and waited.

After a few rings, she heard her older brother's voice. "Hello?" "Hey, Aleksandras," she said. "Are Mom and Dad not home?" "Nah, they went to Kalnaspilis today with Eleonora. Some event going on in the Old Town," he replied. "And where's Izoakas?" Astridė asked. "Oh, he's out on the fields. Weeding the barley crop or something," Aleksandras responded. "And you're not helping?" she asked. "Oh, you wouldn't know, would you? I broke my leg. Fell out of a tree. Can't put any pressure on it," he replied. "I have to stay in the house." "Geez," she replied. "I'm sorry." "Eh, it's okay," her brother said nonchalantly. "It'll heal."

"Anyways, I just wanted to tell you I'll be on the flight to Waterwitt soon, and from there I just have to make the connection to Kalnaspilis," she said. "So you'll be home soon?" Aleksandras asked, eliciting a bitter laugh from Astridė. "If you call fourteen hours 'soon'," she replied. "Well," her brother said, "call us when you land in Kalnaspilis so we can drive out to the airport, alright?" "I will," Astridė promised. "I love you. Send the rest of the family my love when they get back home." "I will. Bye." The brief farewell was followed by a faint "click".

She put her phone away and pulled out a book- a relatively low-quality romance- and began to read it, trying to ignore the continuing conversation between the two Monic men sitting next to her.

[West Cedarbrook]

8:27

Malka Flavion picked at her breakfast at Fredrick's Fries, intently paging through the messages from the Partner In Charge, Overseas Financial. Clicked through the directives regarding the latest Montecaran stock trading regulations, notices on recent changes in Lecistani commodity import rules, and an instant analysis in the impact of the Bohemian elections. She spent most of her time on the PIC's inquiry about her time at the Ainin operation. Last minute review of reporting requirements for listing NIL SQL/Hadoop offering to Ainin authorities shows good. Kudos to in-country staff getting this done on tight schedule, Steve, but I recommend upping the Huimont office by 6 or 7 associates. One or two can be recently admitted to the bar, but they'd better be well drilled in business French. The staff here is a little sloppy, too much sloughing back into Alsatiano to really wrap up major offerings. We can look forward to a successful NIL IPO offering here, concurrent with the other major markets. Looking forward to being back to work in Waterwitt soon. Malka. She continued through a few more messages, mostly involving municipal finance out of the Wrycova main office. She drilled into the latest message regarding clients in the Wrycova mayoral race: As you are aware, Sigal, Stone, Levy, Shemitz and Kurlansky are of counsel to Wrycova Power and Light, as well as Civic Alliance's Saelac Brewer. And we have ongoing contracts with Wrycova Municipality. So it is of the utmost importance for all partners to avoid any possible appearance of partisanship through the May primary through the General Election in Wrycova.... "How nice", she thought. "How nice I'm at the Waterwitt office."

She gobbled down the remainder of the breakfast, then chugged the last of her coffee. Switching over to messaging, she looked over the nightly update from Marcel, her husband. Malka frowned following up Denise's C on her last Chemistry test. And that slacker Oren - playing Real World States again until 3:15 AM! She shot off a reply to her husband Not acceptable! Prepare for discussion as soon as I touch Down at Holwood! Then she packed away the tablet, and hastened her way toward the boarding area,
trailing closely behind another lady, who presently sat next to a young, apparently Monic couple.

[Gibberan]

Talon International Airport
8:11 AM, Local Time

"What the hell do you mean you can't find a flight?!"

The petite young lady behind the counter seemed to be shaking in her boots. Ricardo Zamora-Samper didn't care. He had nothing against her, an innocent passenger agent obviously eager to get off her early morning shift who was just doing her job (albeit poorly). He didn't have anything against Talon International, which he had flown through countless times without issue, or even anything against Aininian Airlines. But he was annoyed. Past the point of appeasement. His friends said even the most bitter people would mellow as you aged, but Ricardo had come to understand that he was one of the people that went in the opposite direction; when not merely laconic or gruff he became annoyed, standoffish, even hot-tempered. He tried to be that kind of mellow person, he really did. But he found that, even being the intensely devout Catholic that he was, sometimes St. Luther threw you a curveball. The world seemed to have it out for you everywhere you turned, whether your international assignment was prolonged, your daughter went into labor without you, or your connecting flight back home to your family was delayed. Worst of all, nowadays you couldn't trust people to perform at a level of basic competence. When enough things don't go your way, no matter how hard you try, you tend to snap.

Especially when someone doesn't do their job right.

He was about to fire off an even louder tirade at the service agent, not caring what the people behind him in line would think, when her face shifted into relief as her eyes darted across the changing display.

"Sir, sir," she said in her distinctive accent, even peculiar to him, who had been taught Francesian French since primary school. "I'm sorry, sir, it looks like I missed something-' Ricardo suppressed an angry retort, he would have no time to pursue his argument if she had found a flight for him. "We can put you on a non-stop to Benjamin Hollowood International, in Waterwitt; it seems a connection with our partner Air Francilie should get you to Saint-François-Châteaunigray International, and then home to Santander International in Cortoguay..." Her face froze. "But it seems its boarding in a few minutes."

Then there was no question. Ricardo thanked the woman under his breath, grabbed his tickets and sped through security. He felt it was a little too fast for the guards' liking, but he simply could not afford to miss his connection back. He hadn't seen his family in months. His son Victor, daughter Daniela, his beautiful wife Cristina, and soon enough, his little grandson. This was racing through his mind as he sped to the gate at the far end of the terminal. While slow, no one who had met him ever would consider him frail, and his use of a cane, stemming from a knee-full of shrapnel fighting the Western communists in the San Andrés War of the '70s, was deceptively innocuous.

Luckily for him, the race had been worthwhile; the gate would not start boarding for a little more time. The old man checked his watch and then crossed the walkway, skipping the Frederick's Fries to a small nameless cafe opposite the gate. Ordering a small breakfast, the barista promptly came to him with his eggs and muffin (not his wife's arepas, but it would have to do), and he sat down at a table where he could see nearly the entire terminal. Taking an unsatisfactory bite of his banana (obviously not one grown in Cortoguay), he turned around to see a large group of decidedly Slavic-looking young men gathered around a table near him. Luziycans? No. Not Katranjian, either...Lecs, of course, that was it. He wasn't well versed in the Lec language, but he had done a few jobs in the country before the war, and so had picked up a little bit.

Of course, he sensed that the group would not be particularly happy to notice him eavesdropping, so, taking a sip of his strong black coffee, he turned back to his paper. Nothing too interesting; an election upset in Pavonistade, controversial bill in Namor (Ricardo mentally corrected himself from thinking Red Namor), and an abdication in Bohemia. Usual stuff, he thought. Another sip. Stocks in Cuyamel Fruit were up, apparently, so he'd probably be getting a raise sometime soon. Maybe even a promotion, one where he could stay home with his wife and kids instead of travelling across the globe month after month after month.

He looked up at some sort of commotion, as a Arab-colored man nearly spilled his coffee. His eyes wandered to the corner of the room, where a man and a woman, both vaguely familiar to him, sat with something in their arms. The woman was...what was she doing? Breastfeeding? The couple got up, and Ricardo averted his eyes. To each his own, he thought to himself.

He looked down at his cell phone. A text from his wife. ¿A qué hora regresas? Te estamos esperando...Daniela está inquieta. Te quiero mucho.

Ricardo moved to respond, but hesitated. Better surprise them when I get home, he thought. Another sip. But soon.

[North Daecon]

Talonee, Ainin
8:26 am

Daniel Lynch was sitting in the airport bistro in Terminal 1, drinking a cold bottle of water and eating a eggs and toast meal while reading a high grade history book on the Second Daeconese War, on the recommendation from the fine people at the Rockshore University library. He was just having a quick refreshment meal before he flew back to Waterwitt on the national flag carrier of Ainin, took a domestic flight to Rockshore and get a truck, drive by one of his colleagues and close friends, back to his house in rural farmland Dalshire and rest before he returned to work.

He had taken a long, 5 month break from teaching at Bensfield Senior High School, a high school of about 1800 students in the small, regional city of Caelkirk, Dalshire for personal reasons. The subjects he thought were mainly world and Daeconese history, but he also taught English and LOTE class a few times as a replacement teacher, although he mostly just followed what the replacement teacher's orders were and sticked to the textbook. In his History classes, however, he managed to go freeform and usually didn't stick to the script when it comes to Daeconese history classes. Despite his thick Daeconese accented English, at least the students liked the change of routine from their normal schedules and didn't mind that he also spoke Daeconese Gaelic some of the time. That is a comforting thought, at least.

Like most of the Daeconese nationals that were booken on Aininian Flight 303, he would have flown with International Daeconese Airlines out of Talonee if he had gotten the chance. As always, ticket prices and the general travel season prevented that from happening, so he chose Aininian instead unlike Air Namor, Avia Luziyca or any of the others. Especially the dreaded Nevan Nelly airline.

He looked up from the book that he has been reading to see the people around him. A group of Lecs of various ages. A old grizzly man that looked like a Cortoguayan at sight. A Katranjian couple (although his knowledge that was Prince Andrei was lacking). The Pisdari writer and professor. And many more.

At least there would be interesting people on here. That's for sure.

[Tuthina]

Since her arrival at the airport earlier today, Nyaklen Livangerhau had been relaxing herself in ailes.AI, the first class lounge of Aininien - after all, it was an early flight, and both her profession and self-consciousness as a female mandated her to take good care of her body. As a major air hub in Ainin, the airport lounge was quite spacious and well-staffed, if nothing exceptional. With a fine glass of Saltère sparkling wine following a brief nap, Nyaklan had figuratively recharged her body and spirit, and was ready for her journey towards another country.

Perhaps stereotypical for female of her country, she was a lady of negotiable virtue. While one of the more refined members among the rank, her relative young age in early twenties meant she was not experienced or skilled enough to be considered a top class. However, even a middling courtesan like herself received decent patronage from both the nascent middle class, and some of the less picky aristocrats of the Empire.

As such, apart from being able to afford first class service throughout her travel and tour across the globe, her body was adorned with gifts that, combined with her collected composure, offered an aura that made her stand out from the crowd. Being in the relatively rare position of well-learnt enough to know of foreign dress and not high-ranking enough to get into troubles of doing so, Nyaklan's body was attired in white shirt and a long black skirt. The white shirt was covered by a black short, elbow-length cape hold in place by a golden pin in the form of stylised flora, as well as and a black decorative cloth corset embellished with golden double-breasted buttons. It was clearly custom-made to conform to Nyaklan's refined curves, further emphasising her beauty through golden lines and dark blue frills.

Her luggage had been transferred to cargo hold for transport when she checked in, allowing her to simply leave the lounge for her destination with but a simple purse. Once arriving at the gate, she simply took a seat on the chair and awaits boarding, procuring a small book of Aininian poetry to kill time.

[Avstrosia]

Terminal 1
08:21

As a passer-by dropped their phone and, instinctively, started to curse even before the unfortunate device hit the ground, Lietwin Solinger's doze off came to an abrupt end. It took a handful of seconds for the memories to settle in as he looked around the terminal, piecing his ideas back together, and still visibly dazed off. This previous night hasn't been kind to him, as the recurring nightmares that has been plaguing him ever since he landed in Ainin struck anew, harder than ever. Even then, what troubled Lietwin the most wasn't the common theme of his bad dreams - aeroplanes accidents, however ominous under the circumstances - but their mere existence. He, a veteran of the Austrosian special forces, a man who has always been in control, a soldier trained in not letting his emotions get the better of him, couldn't wrap his head around such an absurd notion.I faced worse- actual dangers, I've put my life on the bloody line countless times, I shouldn't be afraid of a damned commercial flight! he repeated to himself, hopelessly searching for an explanation, if not a solution, to those incomprehensible, new-come thoughts. But alas it wasn't meant to be, and with every fruitless attempt to rationalise the irrational he grew more and more irritated.

His brooding would have lasted ad nauseam - with no progress of any kind to be seen anywhere down the line - were it not for a saving enquiry. "Oh, you're awake now?" asked a sweet voice on his left. "Didn't want to wake you up, we're not boarding yet anyway." continued Katarina, Lietwin's teenage daughter, before swiftly going back to her book, pretending not to have noticed her father's mood. As she turned the page, she stopped for a second to consider asking him what was wrong, but ultimately decided against. As much as she would have loved to finally get him to open and talk on his undisclosed issues, she knew better than to bother the greying man in this moment. How long's the flight anyway? Half a day or something? she wondered, visibly expressing discomfort at the prospect of spending the next twelve hours - or so she misremembered - stuck in a jetliner. Well if we don't find the time to talk then, I honestly don't know. she thought, before reaching the end of a chapter of her book and electing to save the rest of the intrigue for the upcoming lengthy flight.

As she put away the book back in her bag and nearly spilling its content while doing so, Lietwin - having snapped out of his earlier brooding - just finished methodically checking his pockets for anything missing to the amused look of his daughter. "Hey darling, everything's okay?" he asked her. "You missed the part where terrorists entered the terminal and started shooting randomly." she retorted, smiling. Her father wasn't amused in the slightest, and so she went back to answering the original question. "Of course all is fine, dad", she continued, before instinctively adding "Stop worrying so much." That last sentence struck a chord for Lietwin, who had been hearing those exact words countless times ever since he left the armed forces a few years ago. Katarina was quick to regret her words as soon as she realised what she just said, and apologised confusedly to her father, who was swift to accept her excuses. He felt guilt too for getting angry this fast - the man was already of an irascible nature and the lack of sleep was in no way helping things. The whole commotion lasted no more than a few instants, but had been long enough to make the atmosphere uneasy. When Lietwin offered to get coffee, he did not have to ask twice, and the pair set off to the nearby bistro for a much needed change of air.

Sitting down at an available table, Katarina contemplated the menu for a few seconds more than her father, already set on asking for the strongest coffee they had. They half-jokingly argued on who was to get up and place the orders, both insisting to go, ultimately ending in Lietwin's victory. After walking up to the counter and ordering, in a mostly correct albeit somewhat accented French, he enquired about workers' rights in Ainin. Waiting at the table, Katarina took the time to look at the other people in the bistro. A colourful sample of the world, she said to herself, and paid extra attention trying to determine their various national origins - to no avail. Lost in her little game, she didn't notice her father coming back until he passed right by her. "Here you go, Katia" he said as he handed her her drink. For the following minutes, they reminisced between two sips about the past week in Ainin as their holiday was nearing its end. To the homesick Lietwin, the thought of being home in a day was a much welcome one - not as much to his daughter, for whom it was the first time she travelled outside Austrosia, and who was already thinking of her next vacations.

[Ainin]

Gate 55, Terminal 1
9:10 am

By the time Captain Caroline Noël boarded her aircraft at 8:10, there were only a half-dozen passengers gathered at the gate, a handful of penny-pinchers who transferred from another flight and slept in the terminal all night to avoid the cost of a hotel room. All but one were soundly asleep on the sturdy plastic chairs, their heads uncomfortably perched on the stainless steel armrests. It was so early that not even the gate agents had arrived yet, with the captain forced to summon a security guard to unlock the door and let her onto her plane. Over the next hour, the crowd multiplied, the half-dozen becoming a dozen weary travellers, then two, then four, then thirty.

By boarding time, not a single seat at the gate remained unclaimed, and dozens of latecomers stood, while other sat on their suitcases. A cacophony of different languages, conversations and crying babies reigned in the departure hall. Finally, deliverance rung from the PA system.

"Attention ladies and gentlemen, Aininien Flight 303, with service to Waterwitt, is now boarding. Passengers with zone 1 tickets, please prepare to board."

While tourists and occasional travellers instantly formed a massive line, eager to board, veteran travellers knew better and remained in their seats. They knew that the plane had eight zones, and that it would be tens of minutes before those at the back could board. Meanwhile, onboard the plane, Caroline was sound asleep in the backup crew quarters.

---

Onboard the aircraft
Twenty minutes later

"Excuse me ma'am," Maria exclaimed at an elderly Monic-looking woman trying to stuff her economy class baggage into a business class bin. "You need a business class ticket to put your case here."

The grandmother stared blankly at the chief stewardess for several long seconds, before deciding that she had said nothing of importance and going back to stuffing her suitcase into the overhead bin.

Maria persisted, more forcefully. "Ma'am, I need you to listen to me."

"小姑娘，我听不懂你在说什么," came the decidedly unhelpful reply.

Maria sighed, with her forced smile still plastered on her face. With the number of times each day that she has to communicate with foreigners through grunts and gestures, she might very well be the world master of charades by now.

After three minutes, several gestures and the passenger's frustrated tirade, she finally persuaded her to return to her seat with her case. All in a day's work for a flight attendant. Just then, the first officer came on the cabin address system.

Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. This is your first officer speaking. On behalf of the entire cabin crew, welcome onboard Aininien Flight 303, with direct service from Talon to Waterwitt. Our flight time will be 14 hours and 36 minutes. We will be cruising along the sub-tropical currents at a cool 10 kilometres above the sea. For the northerners joining us today, that's 35,000 feet.

It is currently 9:36 and we are awaiting clearance for takeoff. Captain Bouchard tells me that we are second in line and awaiting the departure of a landing Air Luziyca jet from the runway.

At this moment, please recline your seats to an upright position, stow away your trays and power off all radio and electronic devices. If you have a mobile device, please switch it to airplane mode and disable all cellular, Bluetooth and other wireless connections. In accordance to Esquarian Community air safety regulations, you will not be allowed to use wireless functions at any time onboard this flight. Only inflight WiFi will be permitted for the duration of the flight. Please consult the in-flight magazine for pricing details. If you have any excessively large luggage with you, please store it in the overhead bin. Our crew will be going down the aisle shortly for a final inspection before takeoff.

Thank you for flying with Aininien, a member of Sapphire Alliance. Please watch the following safety presentation attentively, and have a nice day.

Captain Bouchard's voice then briefly came on the intercom. "Cabin crew, cross check."

As the crew went around making final preparations for departure, the screens on the back of every seat that usually played on-demand movies suddenly went pitch dark. A second later, they all began playing the same film, showing a mediocre and pixelated animation of an aircraft. It was the usual security announcement: put on your oxygen mask before helping others, don't inflate your life jacket, etc, etc.

At last, the jumbo jet finally began to move down the taxiway.

[Qianrong]

9:10 AM

One by one, the motley collection of passengers found their seats on the plane. The Lecs split up, taking their positions, spread out across the plane. Rzeski and Szczypir found their seats in first class; Olszewski, Lùtórowski, and Młodski headed to business class; Biélawski, Jaszdzewski, Zëdewski and Tomôszki made their way back to economy class, moving slowly as people struggled to fit clearly oversized bags into overhead storage bins.

Yukimura and Tanaka, through a total fluke, were sitting next to each other in economy class; Yukimura took the window seat, while Tanaka took the middle seat. Tatibana, meanwhile, found his seat in business and efficiently stowed his items under the seat in front of him. Lykraitė had decided to splurge on her way back home, and sat down in a window seat in first class.

[Luziyca]

9:12 am

Igor Myagkov breathed a sigh of relief as he boarded the plane and took his seat in economy right beside Tomôszki. While he had no carry on items, he was somewhat obese, and it showed as he took his seat on the plane: the rolls of fat spilled over the armrest that Tomôszki had put down. He felt that there was not a lot of room to put down the other armrest. At least it was an aisle seat.

He glanced towards Tomôszki.

"I bet it is a lovely morning. I hope that this trip to Waterwitt will have no problems at all!" he said in Luziycan in a chipper voice. He gave a friendly smile, not knowing his fate...

[Katranjiev]

Prince Andrei, Anna Vang, and their son were finally able to board the plane, knowing that at the very least, Elis allowed them to fly first class. Thus, as they headed towards their seats at Row 2, Andrei glanced at his wife, then his son, who was sleeping soundly after being fed.

Soon, they took their seats: Anna Vang took the window seat, and Andrei the middle seat. Their son, Prince Igor, was to be in their mother's lap.

After a few moments of silent contemplation, he looked towards his wife.

"We just need to make it to Waterwitt," he said to Anna Vang. "Then once I am done dealing with the Daeconese, we can then fly home to Krasimir."

Anna Vang nodded in reassurance while holding her son. It had been over a week since they have left for Nautasia, but to her, it felt like a lifetime: she seemed to have vividly remembered the giraffes, the architecture of the city, and even a ride on a steamship to visit another major town in the country.

Now, they were en route for a more boring reason: not to visit a country that they have had strong historic and cultural ties to, not to return home, but to negotiate some stuff with the Daeconese government. Thus, the two gazed boringly at the safety video... they've been there, done that.

[Gibberan]

Outside Talon International Airport
9:22 AM, Local Time

Click. Clack. Click. Clack

Ricardo's ratty brown cane tapped along the spacious aisles of the plane. Limping briskly through first-class, he briefly glanced at the couple he had seen in the bistro, huddling with their baby in the corner. Of course, he snorted to himself, they're in first class. He continued his walk. By now the plane was starting to fill up, and he could feel the sensation of impatient twenty-somethings slowly walking behind him burning into his shoulder. He made no attempt to speed up. His eyes glanced back down at his ticket, emblazoned with a bold, hard-to-miss 33H. He paid no attention as business class morphed into premium economy, and that to regular economy. Should he have been in business class? Yes. Did Cuyamel Fruit care? Not one bit. He shrugged this callousness off; he had been flying far too long to care, in any case.

He did notice the large group of Slavs at the bistro were not sitting together. Rather, it seemed they were scattered throughout the plane. Strange? Maybe. Maybe not. He had had his fair share of airport chance encounters. In any case, a blank but hard look from one of the Lecs deterred him from thinking of it further.

The lights seemed to dim as he went further and further into the belly of the giant metal flying beast. He was flying what they called "cattle class," not particularly presitigious, but then again, since his transport had been shot down by a surface-to-air missile over San Andrés, he hadn't particularly chosen to fly for its amenities. All he wanted to do was to get back to Cristina and the kids, maybe, just maybe be with his daughter when his grandson was born, and then take a peaceful desk job in the city until he passed on to the big boardroom in the sky.

31H, 32H, ah, here it is.

He turned to find two people with Monic-looking faces, not quite Namorese, something about them told him, more like from somewhere in Lahudica. Or Borea, perhaps. Besides the color of the skin, their features closely matched those of the Cortoguayan aborigines that had been assimilated by the Latin Republic to form the Mestizo people he belonged to hundreds of years ago. But that's not what surprised him. They were two men. LGBTs weren't discriminated in Cortoguay, no, and he bore no ill will towards them. He just had never met some before; it took him by surprise.

Not knowing quite how to handle the situation, as he probably spoke little if any of their languag, he gave them an awkward nod as he settled into his seat. Stuffing his suitcase under the seat in front of him, he stood up and looked around the compartment. He spotted another one of the Lecs on the other side of the fuselage, and two more in different places behind him. Otherwise, not many people yet near him, though a few spots behind him were empty. Sitting down, he glanced at his phone again. No more notifications.

He typed in the passcode, and with his calloused, wrinkled finger, put it into airplane mode.

[Saint-Hadrien]

Aininien Flight 303

"Attention ladies and gentlemen, Aininien Flight 303, with service to Waterwitt, is now boarding-"

There is Josef's cue, as it is to every person waiting with him in Gate 55, Terminal 1. He kept his book and raised his carry-on bag as he joined the crowd boarding the plane.

There were exchanges of "excuse me" and "sorry" as Josef felt appropriate, speaking in French however.

He has expected this as a journalist, squeezing in a sea of human bodies. Well, "moving along" in a sea would be appropriate.

After several more acts of politeness, with the same words, and as he passed by a few Slavs on the aisle he has found his seat. On row D, numbered 30 as I myself would put it. And perhaps he to.

He settled down and as he did he listened, "At this moment, please recline your seats to an upright position, stow away your trays and power off all radio and electronic devices-"

Of course, another cue.

From there, he switched to airplane mode and turned off his phone. Just to make sure. He looked into his back, "Drat." He left his Wi-Fi on his other bag, down below cargo.

Hopefully, as he hopes, it is turned off.

And it is, he just forgot it is so. He closed his eyes and thought of another issue, his boyfriend back in Saint-Hadrien in particular. Who has a rather curious occupation and an interesting alias, aliases to be right.

Here comes her thought on the matter, Tsk. I hope he is not on that stupid Twitter account of his.