Girl Master of Disguises (Lesbian Story, GirlxGirl)

Chapter Five - "Oh, come on!"

Being very used to getting up when her clock's going off at the same time year after year for the last five, Buggy finds it odd--yet not surprising--having her eyes open at six a.m. Lifting the covers off of her, she slowly gets up off the bed. She groans before making herself crack some parts of her to feel less stiff. 

     "Didn't think it was possible to be still exhausted," she says aloud. "Note to self: find disguises for granny." Buggy pauses, before adding, "Might need a wheelchair, just in case."

     She waits for too long until she dresses out of the pajamas and gets into her next disguise. In goes the conductor's outfit, and out comes the red braided wig, stereotypical geeky glasses (complete with tape on the bridge), loafers, and overalls. Buggy sticks to a large long-sleeved pink shirt to go with the overalls. 

     By the time she's adjusting the wig, someone bangs on the worn door. Confused, Buggy gets the door. A pimply teenager looks anxious by how she looks. "Um, there was a, uh, someone at the front desk, wantin' this to get to ya," he stammers. He shoves a note into Buggy's hands.

     "Oh! Um, thanks." Buggy takes a little step back to avoid his spittle. "Did you happen to see what they looked like?" she asks before the boy takes a chance to walk away. 

     He stops to think. "I didn't get a chance to see the face," he says. "It was real odd; they were wearing a black cloak-type thing. They were actin' like they didn't wanta be seen."

     Oddly effecting, Buggy thinks. "Thanks," she says. "For both the note and what you told me."

     The boy blushes, causing his pimples to turn several shades darker than the rest of his skin. "You're welcome, miss," he says. He glances at her for a second before going away for good.

     Buggy closes the door, looking at the note. "What could it be this time?" she asks. "If it's another destination with another transportation--" she stops mid-sentence to open the paper and read the message. She groans. "Oh, come on!" 

NICE TO KNOW YOU FOLLOW DIRECTIONS.  
NEXT STOP: SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
TONIGHT, 6:30 PM

     "Nice to know I follow directions?" Buggy repeats. "You wanted a lapdog?! You couldn't just ask me? 'Hey Buggy, I want you to go on a stupid mission and I don't want you to know a lot about me, but I need to know if you can follow orders like a good girl'?" 

     She hasn't realized her tone has gotten louder until one of the junkies in the next room bangs on the wall. "Shaddup! Unless you got some crack with you!"

     Rolling her eyes, Buggy keeps quiet as she grabs her things. She mumbles some curses under her breath as she heads to the front desk for check-out. And she plans to find this person pissing her off with the notes and smack them across the face hard enough they'll be seeing stars for a week.

     As soon as she finds yummy food. 

     Buggy's not going to miss breakfast. 

     When she walks outside the building, she notices that food isn't going to miss her either. There are several food chains within a half-mile, and there are some individual restaurants as well. The morning people like her are entering the places or exiting them. And she can see every one of them looking at most cheerful, at least tolerant. 

      There won't be trouble relaxing with reading a newspaper and eating a croissant. 

___________

Buggy has been proven wrong by several accounts. The croissant she requested was burnt to beyond consuming. The newspaper is yet again filled with news about Malik. (Buggy is seriously considering buying several newspaper companies just so they'd stop with the now-old news.) And relaxing? Forget it. 

     As far as she knows, there's probably fifteen customers at the area. And yet somehow they've managed to give her a massive headache, with their loud talking and rambling their complicated orders. Buggy doubts the word 'quiet' means anything to them. 

     She gives up on her breakfast and throws them away in the nearby trashcan. Buggy leaves the place without a single glance at anyone else . . . at least until she's forgotten to take her luggage. A barista has kindly reminded her, resulting in a now red-faced Buggy with her suitcase in hand.

     She quickens the pace as more people are out on the streets. To her satisfaction, none of them are the talkative type, so Buggy would be able to slip by and be on her way to find where ever the airport could be. 

     A fruitless search later, Buggy resigns to a place to avoid the biting cold that's arrived suddenly. Dropping her suitcase on the floor so she can rub her hands together, she hasn't bothered to see where she's in. However, it takes Buggy a bit to realize the place is warm. (Which makes the hand-warming a moot point.) Several heaters are placed everywhere, and every one of them is blasting hot air.

     The second thing Buggy notices now is the reason the heaters are on and going. Unfortunately, the reason can't talk, walk, or listen to complaints people would have about why the plants get to have warmth all day while they suffered from walking outside wearing nothing warmer than threadbare sweaters. 

     It sounds like something James would do if he was here with Buggy.

     A tap goes on her shoulder. Buggy turns around to find an elderly woman. "Do you work here, missy?" she warbles. She keeps speaking, not letting Buggy explain herself, "I need some chrysanthemums for this weekend, and I can't seem to find any." 

     Eh, what the hell? Buggy thinks. More time with the heaters. "Let's look around again," she suggests. She's got her voice altered so it comes out with a squeak. 

     She and the woman slowly walk through the place, looking for the flowers. Buggy has no clue what they look like, but it doesn't seem to matter to the woman. She just mutters, "No, not this one," to every flower they pass over and over. 

     When they can't find the flower, the woman settles for a couple of lotuses. "You know every flower symbolizes something, don't you?" she asks Buggy.

     "As in a rose is for romance?"

     "Passion," the elder corrects. "And only with the red rose. Every year, I give a dear friend a bouquet of chrysanthemums, meaning 'a wonderful friend' or 'cheerful'. Either one works well with her." She smiles a little. "I guess I'll have to give her a little mystery." 

     The woman pauses before reaching for a purse. Counting out some money, she then hands it to Buggy. "I wish you luck coming home tonight," she says. "Everyone knows how cold it can get here."

     Buggy holds the money around until she finds a cash register, without someone beside it. She deposits it next to the machine before going back towards the door. The woman wasn't wrong about the weather; Buggy swears it's worsened since she entered the flower shop. 

     "Ready to go find a plane that'll take you to a city you've never been for barely any reason?" she asks herself. She pauses for dramatic effect. "Yeah, me neither. Let's go."