“Someone’s gonna be pissed at what they've done to this place.” said Trout as he navigated the crowd milling about the concourse of the airport. “And if they’re not already, they should be.” The little man sniffed in disapproval as he stepped from the weird canvas and steel concertina tunnel that led from the aircraft to the main body of the airport, and his eyebrows beetled as he looked out on the overdeveloped, jammed, crammed, noisy, and completely packed concourse at the Liberty International Aero-Course.

“When I first came to the States, I thought my eyes would water and burn forever. Too many petrochemicals floating about in the air. Everyone just HAD to have a car and everyone just HAD to drive everywhere…they still do here, fewer than before, but still too many; they just have cleaner cars now, but still…you thought it was bad over in Britain? This is just inside the building, wait till we get outside! Stench is what this humanity has made of their great cities. Not one day goes by in the world where I don’t worry for my lungs. And trust me when I say, most of South Eastern Asia is just as bad, if not worse. No, scratch that, it IS worse. Though, I will say it has gotten better in the last few fifty years, but humans work harder to stink than they…”

The sliding rock tones of ‘Ker’s response was as short as Trout himself. “Do you whine this much all the time, or is this just for special guests?” The tall nurse and her erstwhile former patient stopped abruptly as the little man spun on his heels.

“NO! And your accent stinks like this airport! Speak English, or Tj’Shea, but lay off the H’Aghrami, BIG-MAN! I spent the last year and a half trying to break you out of that hospital without using more than basic charms; I wanted to just come up from under the basement but the boss said no! Too much magical noise, and too many of the wrong type watching….anyway, If I need to vent my frustrations on pettiness and spleen, I will.” His voice had dropped to a hiss.

Looking up from under the shade offered by his ruddy brows at the two following him, Trout was now in an even worse mood. He had tried to get Ellen to leave them at Heathrow, but she was adamant about not separating from her patient. She absolutely had refused any of Alvin's attempts to leave her ample behind... behind.

Now they, as a group, had a roughly 205 centimeters of flaming red-headed flag poll letting everyone in the terminal know where they were at all times. And with the humidity we’ve had, her head looks like a burning hedge…sure, NO one will notice THAT…ach…nice and ample in the heinie, though…that’s one broad …broad…thank the Mother for putting my head at this height! His thoughts were undisciplined. Stress did that to Alvin. It was a failing of his, he knew. It was still vexing.

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Security may have been tight up to this point, but the slipper 'TjShea had more ability with charms and glamour than anyone Trutt had ever seen, short of Elgin Stark himself. And trouble might not drop into his little lap while rushing to the next gate. Maybe. They may be able to make the transfer to the next flight, which would take them to their last stop, but he doubted it. Trutt knew his luck was always bad, and the first idea had been to get a nonstop flight was not to be. A non-starter, in fact. Richmond's Areo-Course, the Governor Kraise Aero-Course had stopped being a hub for international flights at least thirty years ago, possibly more. Trutt could look it up on his datpad, but didn't want to.

He just wanted to get home.

He knew it could have been worse. This had been the last flight of the day, from New York down to Philadelphia. Now just one more short, 380-ish kilometer, hop for them from Philadelphia down to Richmond to go. Just once more into the ridiculous notion of several tons of flying metal, and his "package" was delivered. His job done. The deal he had made with Stark paid for and finished. He was home free.

He knew he had best check in with Stark; besides, maybe he could get rid of “Miss-Completely-Besotted-And -I-Look-Like-A-Towering-Inferno” in the confusion of the airport. And mayhap, a snack. Oooooooh…cinnamon! The air about him had turned cloyingly thick with the oily, buttery, spicy scent of bear-claws, and related pastries. And there it was, less than twenty metes from where the three stood; the Cinna-Bear stand. Oh, he thought, it's right there! I love those pastries! They smell much better than they ever taste, and they taste fantastic…who doesn’t love cinnamon bear claws? Freaks, that’s who…, most likely Miss “I’m a Nurse and know better’n you” will tell me how bad they are for me…butter…sugar…gluten…poly-hydro-something-or-other such and such… gods, I miss m’wife…

With that, Trutt smiled, and made a grand gesture towards the façade of the little pastry kiosk. He mad a dramatic exhale, and said, with an only slightly contrite air, "Please, we haven't eaten in too long. My treat."

He then led his party to what he occasionally thought of as culinary heaven, passing a darkly handsome and well dressed man whom none of the three noticed had been staring at them from his seat at the gate they were now passing in the concourse. He had been waiting for his own flight, and now couldn't believe his luck.

A sly, and predatory smile slid across the man's handsome face as he watched the three wander toward the Cinna-Bear counter.