Final Call [One Direction]

Two

AN: I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT FLIGHT ATTENDANTS AND AIRLINE CREWS I AM MAKING THIS ENTIRE THING UP AS I GO ALONG PLEASE DON'T KILL ME

✈

"Oh man, I love this song!" Maisie cries, waving her hands frantically in the taxi driver's face. "Turn it up, please!"

The guy - early twenties, with straw coloured hair and a face full of freckles - blanches and obligingly leans over to turn up the volume, and the sound of OneRepublic fills the car. Maisie grins in triumph.

"Lately, I've been, I've been losing sleep - " She sings loudly. 

I stare at the ceiling. "Please don't."

"Dreaming about the things that we could beee!"

The taxi driver gives me a look of sympathy, and her one of utmost terror. He's probably new, I think. Maisie's practically famous with the taxi drivers around here - one of the guys took one look at us after a night out, with Maisie singing the My Little Pony theme song and me trying desperately to stop her from yelling at random citizens out the window about Bronies, and said "Jesus Christ, not you two." 

Maise wraps an arm around my neck, beaming. "Said no more counting dollars, we'll counting stars. Yeah we'll be counting -" She waves a hand in front of my face with a flourish to demonstrate. "Stars," She whispers dramatically.

"Is she drunk?" The driver asks.

I sigh, untangling myself from her grip. "No." 

"High?" 

I try not to laugh at the thought of Maisie being high at 8 o'clock in the morning on her first day on her new job, and instead push her away gently. "Only on sugar. Additives do funny things to her, and she was over-excited already," I tell him seriously.

"Take that money, watch it burn -"

He nods, understanding. "I had a friend like that. His parents forbid him from eating Poptarts and Haribos until he was seventeen."

"What happened then?" I ask. 

The guy shrugs. "He got addicted to heroin, I think," He tells me, frowning. 

"Oh," I shrug. "Fair enough."

From beside me, Maisie cackles loudly and accidentally hits me in the side of the face. 

✈

Maisie's pounding on the toilet door, and I sigh, loudly. (And maybe slightly more exaggerated than it should have been, but shh.)

"Are you dead?" She yells. "Please don't be dead, that would totally suck. Especially on our first day on the job. Shit, imagine what they'd have to do, they couldn't exactly cancel the flight would they? So they'd get another crew member - but that would take forever. We're very sorry for the delay ladies and gentlemen, but one of our flight attendant died in the toilets half an hour ago for  no apparent reason -"

"I'm not dead," I say tiredly.

There's a pause. "Are you dying?"

"No."

"Feeling ill?" 

"No, I'm fine -"

"Wardrobe malfunction?" She guesses again. 

I stare at myself again in the full length mirror nailed to the wall in the staff toilets, attempting to tug my red tube skirt further down my legs. The tight zip means it gets stuck at my hips, slowly rising back up again. "Yahuh," I sigh.