First Class was supposed to be this awesome journey. It was meant to be relaxing and destressing and luxurious. At least that's what Sarah had always thought.
She didn't routinely fly, she was much more suited to just hitching rides or snagging a train or getting a bus. You got to see more than if you flew. But With Rachel it was fine to get there sooner rather than later, and Sarah figured why not when she'd been offered the plane ticket.
So she'd tidied herself up for the journey, wrapped her pinky like it was meant to be wrapped so that Rachel didn't freak the ever loving fuck out over that and got on her plane.
But oh-my-God, she was ready to punch something when they finally let her disembark. She only had her carry-on, so that was a blessing, and working through the airport she was glad that she hadn't just packed a case of the stuff she'd found/got/stolen and took it with her. The sooner she got out to the arrivals bay the better.
Weaving around the other passengers, Sarah pushed that urge to punch something back down as she escaped from the throng of people into the open area of the airport, glancing around for her borderline surrogate big sister.