#amwriter

What I imagine the Crope mountains to look like. Home to Acamik, wild sheep and goats, and the Centipede King.

He'd barely made his flight. He'd been rushing through as quickly as he could, and despite arriving early to LAX, he was not even close to where he'd needed to be when the gate called it's last call. He'd ran the whole way, huffing and puffing despite his pristine health -- after about a solid ten minutes or running, he’d made it to the gate, and nearly stumbled over his dress shoes. Still one of those people to dress up for travel, he’d regretted it immensely. Why couldn’t he be one of those people who bought food and their own pillow on a damned flight? He handed the stewardess his passport and plane ticket at once, noticing he was the very last to arrive, and hurriedly unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt. He was going to give himself heat stroke if he didn't.

He braced himself against the counter at the entrance of the boarding area, and took a few deep breaths. She scanned it, smiled a sly smile at the slight appearance of chest hair as he tried to slow his breathing. If he was a little more sexually precocious, he would've winked at her. Winded as he was, he was just glad he'd made it, ignored her smile, and told himself he needed to push himself more often at the gym.

After a rather disastrous divorce, "irreconcilable differences", they'd agreed; along with a handful of painfully awkward dates, he decided it wouldn't hurt to travel somewhere exotic for a couple of weeks. Charlene, Charlie he'd called her, and him had simply come apart at the seams. They'd been together for six years, but around the sixth year, he felt them staying together moreso as pretense insisted, and their friends' circle had combined so much, he was unsure how they'd ever shed one another from one another's lives entirely.

He was headed to Paris. He'd never been, and his high school French was all he had going for him, but some supine relaxation with no people to talk to or impress would help immensely. Just a change of scenery. New foods. A change of pace, and they always said, travel was good for the soul.

As he boarded down the tunnel leading to the plane, feeling moreso than hearing his footing echo across the hollow but carpeted hallway, he was glad he'd splurged for the first class ticket. A little more space, better food, and a couple of doubles would allow him to zone out and watch whatever movies, or read his book.

He does up one of the buttons of his shirt, and wipes his brow with the sleeve of his suit jacket. He was fit and tall, but he was no Armani model. The suit was well-tailored, but not meant for running in, and definitely had him overheated. He'd remove the jacket as soon as he could and roll up the sleeves. Itching at the two day scruff across his jaw, he sighs as he finally reaches the end of the tunnel, and again, hands his passport and boarding pass to the next stewardess.

Another woman. She smiled at him, also sweetly, although whether she was flirting, or just doing her job, he couldn't tell anymore. He'd been out of the game too long. She hesitated longer than necessary, and in French directed him with her hands to go to the left of the entrance. He understood at least that much. The hesitation might've been his dishevelled appearance, or flirtation. It was anyone's guess which. As promptly as he enters the plane, he removes his jacket, and wanders down the aisle towards the front. B2. That's where he was supposed to sit. Not a window seat, but he didn't mind. The extra leg room would help him relax.

First class. Totally worth it. Every goddamned penny. And damnit, he deserved a break. Anything to get away from the mess that was his life right now. As he wanders down the aisle he was gestured to, he looked above the seats for his seat number. B2. Perfect. Two seats to a row, wide seats with plenty of leg room, cup holders in the arm rests, with chairs that would relax back further, and with bigger screens for the in-flight movies. As he opens the luggage bin, and pushes in his carry-on and jacket, not caring if he wrinkled the damned thing, he heard a startled gasp, and a voice he recognize oh-too-well,

"Oh, fuck no." His eyes widen, and with his hands still in the luggage compartment, he glances down to his seatmate. No. Fucking. Way.

"Charlie?" he knows he looks as surprised as his voice sounds. He nearly chokes out her name as his brows reached his hairline in earnest shock.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" She hisses, looking aghast, and leaning forward. Her pencil skirt rode up high on her thighs, and he caught himself glancing down despite himself. She'd always had amazing legs. He's frozen entirely, completely unaware of his staring at her legs until she hissed again, "What the fuck are you doing here, Steph?"

He looks at his baggage, and now wrinkled jacket, all squished together, looking around the plane like some dreaming person, as the mantra, this isn't happening, this isn't happening, this isn't happening, rounds again and again through his head. He blinks rapidly, and it clears his mind enough to bring him into the now, and he looks back at her. Her red hair was up in a messy bun with pieces falling down, framing her face, her amber eyes glowering at him like he was some kind of sociopathic stalker, and he realizes all within an instant what had happened. They'd both talked about wanting to see Paris. They'd both talked about doing it together. But they had worked so much, and been apart so much, they'd never gotten around to it. It had just become talk of a future plan that would never come to fruition. And now, through some sick twist of fate, they'd decided to do the same thing. At the same time. And somehow, they’d ended up on the same damned flight, right next to one another with the same plan. To go to Paris.

“Over the hills and under the way

I met a girl by a pool one day

The water was cool and the day hot

She invited me over to share her spot

I asked her name and she gave me a smile

She asked me if I would stay a while

I sat there beside her enjoying the pool

The days rolled by as she played me the fool

I noticed no time, I noticed no green

Even though time changed never did our scene

One day I looked up and my horse was gone

I looked at the girl and she was looking beyond

I asked her the day and she gave me a shrug

When I went to rise she gave my hand a tug

She pulled me into the water

And there I did drown

In the pool of the Water Witch

My bones can be found.”