London Heathrow, Sunday Afternoon-ish
One thing Arthur was starting to find about airplanes was that they left far too early in the morning and then arrived at places when it was already nearly dark, which was bizarre and made him feel disconnected; at least riding places had the good sense of taking several days during which time continued in a nice, linear manner.
But not flying, no.
If that meant that the... luggage... thing at number... 33? He'd had to squint to read the numbers, what with the horrible lights and all-- saw a prince who was not entirely at his best, well, clearly the modern age was to be blamed, and he was going to glare a hole in the conveyer belt while blinking repeatedly.
"I despise airplanes."
[[ for the manservant ]]
But not flying, no.
If that meant that the... luggage... thing at number... 33? He'd had to squint to read the numbers, what with the horrible lights and all-- saw a prince who was not entirely at his best, well, clearly the modern age was to be blamed, and he was going to glare a hole in the conveyer belt while blinking repeatedly.
"I despise airplanes."
[[ for the manservant ]]