"Well, that's an issue."

For Charlie, the plane couldn't touch down soon enough.

Quite honest, flying wasn't her thing. She'd much prefer to have both feet on the ground, where she knew there was a solid structure beneath her. But even then, she never quite felt as safe as she did when wandering a dusty old bookshop.

Right now, she's very thankful that their landing had been smooth, to the point that she almost has realised they'd touched down. If it had been otherwise, she's pretty sure her lunch wouldn't have stayed down.

Her mother doesn't mind much though when she clutches her hand in a death grip, only poking fun at her for disliking flight despite having pure-blood pilot lineage in her veins. Even so, Charlie feels humiliated by her fear, and clutches onto the person who grounds her most in life.

With her red headphones blocking out all external noise with blast heavy rock and classical music, she's at peace, following her mother around like a dedicated little duckling. Even in a big city unlike any place she's ever lived, she feels completely calm. That being said, massive crowds are not her jam. Let her die before she ever gets lost in a group of the human species.

So she obediently follows through everything she's instructed to do, absently tapping a pencil to the beat of her music as she awaits the arrival of her dad. He had landed in New York a few days before them due to his work abroad and is supposed to pick them up from the busy airport in a rental car.

Charlie sifts through one of the pockets in her army-green jacket, tongue poking from the corner of her mouth as she searches for the object in mind. Her fingers graze the side of something wrapped in foil and she smiles in triumph, plucking the item from the large selection of odd ends. She pulls it from its emerald lining and plops it in her mouth, enjoying the minty taste as she chews the gum.

A nudge to her shoulder makes her look up at the face of her mother, the horrified expression of a wounded puppy marking out her features. She sighs quietly, chuckling to herself as she takes another piece of gum from her pocket and hands it to the woman.

"I can't believe you like this," her mother complains, making a face at the poorly flavoured gum.

Charlie laughs, kicking the cracks in the pavement with her red converse, "You didn't have to take it, you know."

"I don't have anything better," she claims, "It's better than nothing."

The girl hums in amusement, turning her gaze up to the distant skyscrapers and apartment buildings of New York. Her fingers itch for the pages of the sketchbook in her bag, but she knows she doesn't possess the skill required to give the view the perfect image it deserves. Yet she takes a mental picture of the sight, promising herself to draw it when she has practiced enough to be trusted with a graphite pencil.

She grimaces at a pungent smell that wafts into her nose and coughs, subtly hiding the lower part of her face in her red bandana. Her eyes water and she gags, more than thankful when it dissipates. But she shivers slightly as she looks up, her gaze meeting that of an old woman's.

Now, before telling you anything more about this trip, you must be duly informed of one very specific fact. There is no better way to describe this woman than as a wrinkled old hag. With two look-alikes beside her, they share a single difference: their eyes. Each holds a different expression within their blank gaze, the one on the left glares with accusatory fury, the one on the right watches on with mercy, while the one in the middle observes with undecided emotion. Certainly not a group of ladies you might want to knit you a pair of socks.

Then Charlie blinks, and the trio are gone. She glances around her to see if anyone is sharing a similar reaction to her own, but it appears as though she is the only person to have witnessed the bizarre occurrence. The girl shakes her head, rubbing her eyes with a quiet groan, supposing that it's just her body's way of telling her that flying does not have a particularly desirable effect.

"Gods I need sleep," she murmurs, catching the attention of her mother.

"What was that you said?"

"Hm?" Charlie looks up at her with strained eyes, "Oh. Just that I'm tired."

Her mother gives her a dubious expression, "It's only five o'clock."

"Yeah," she mumbles into her hand, "I know. Flying doesn't mix well with me."

The woman chuckles softly, amusement in her eyes, "How can it not? You've got two pilots for parents, Charlie."

She rolls her eyes, adjusting the collar of her jumper—courtesy of the University of Alberta and that kind kid in her grade ten English class—with an expression of slight discomfort. The hairs on the back of her neck rise and her eyes snap open, senses testing the waters of overdrive.

'What the hell,' is something she wants to say, feeling like she's having an out of body experience or astral projecting to some degree. But she's never believed in that kind of stuff, so what the actual hell is making her heart feel like it's about to flip.

The sensation vanishes almost as quickly as it comes, leaving her body feeling cold and wary. She feels ill, the bitter taste of bile rising in the back of her throat. A hand raises to her forehead, the warmth of her own fingers unexpected and alarming.

"I-I think I'm gonna go find the bathroom," Charlie mumbles, slipping off the stone bannister as her mum gives her a look of worry.

"You feeling good?" She asks with concern.

"Y-yeah," she sighs, adjusting the knapsack on her shoulder, "Just feel a bit off. Should be fine."

"If you say so," her mother hums. "Do you remember where it is?"

"'Course I do, mum," Charlie offers a small smile. "I'm not all that thick."

"No, just distant-minded..."

"Oi!" The girl calls, shooting a good-natured glare at her, "I heard that!"

"You were supposed to."

Cool water splashes in her face, feeling both refreshing and calming to the panicking girl. Her glasses are in one hand while the other just continuously cups the flowing water from the tap and wets her cheeks.

"Okay, okay," Charlie murmurs, finally turning off the water. "I'm alright. I'm not seeing things. I am not seeing things. I just zoned out. That's all."

She seals her lips as someone comes out of one of the stalls with a confused look on their face. She remains silent until after they've gone out the door.

"Charlie," she tells herself firmly, "you're not seeing things. Either your imagination got away with you again or you weren't paying attention. Yeah, that makes sense. You just let your imagination run wild. You aren't going nuts."

She straightens, leaning over the sink with her hands flat on the surface. A shudder runs down her spine as she exhales slowly.

"Just breathe," Charlie sucks in a shaky breath and holds it for a moment before releasing it again. She repeats the process several times until her mind clears.

Then she smiles weakly at her reflection in the mirror, her knuckles growing slightly less white to match her usual European tone. Her green eyes glint in the fluorescent light and she carefully places her glasses back on her nose.

"There we go," she praises herself. "See? Much better."

Charlie turns away from the sink and towards the door, swinging it open just to bump into someone.

"Sorry!" She squeaks, only to do a double take as she realises that nobody's there.

The girl blinks hard before shaking her head, writing it off as her overactive imagination. She scratches her chin absently and wanders back towards the airport doors where her mother awaits. Can't let herself get lost now, can she?