Ding dong! Final boarding call for Flight 230 for San Diego!
"That's our flight!" Tucking his shoes, which are now hopelessly oversized for his new feet, under his arm, he sets off across the departure lounge, his sinuous head tentacles swishing along with the sway of his broad hips. You hurry after him. "Do you have the boarding passes?" he calls back to you.
You pat the pocket of your hand luggage containing the passports, plane tickets, currency, and Comic-Con passes that you're in charge of. More curious heads turn to stare at the teenage boy and his Twi'lek slave girl as they race past.
A stewardess is waiting at the boarding terminal, checking boarding documents and greeting each of the passengers as they arrive with a cheery "Thank you for flying with Angel Airways! Have a nice flight!" She has the usual heavily makeupped, spray-tanned skin of an stewardess, with flowing silver hair, and a pair of large, pure white, dove wings protruding from her back through holes in her stewardess uniform, which move and twitch in a realistic way. She flashes the two of you a pearly white smile as you reach her, cooing, "Welcome to Angel Airways. Don't worry, security called ahead and informed us about the delay."
"Are we the last ones?" you ask, a little out of breath.
"Oh, no, there's one more." She checks your tickets, ushering the two of you onto the plane with a sweep of one perfumed wing.
The interior of the plane continues the heavenly theme, at least in terms of decor, which soft seats of creamy leather, though the screaming kids and havok of people elbowing each other in the face as they struggle to fit their luggage into the overhead compartments is still like a scene from hell. You shuffle down the narrow aisle looking for your seat. Dad yelps when a toddler grabs one of his head tentacles as he passes, and it's a few moments before the mother notices and can extract the appendage from the child's eager and evidently painful grip. You'd no idea the suit's tentacles were even relaying sensory information, let alone that they were so sensitive. Dad is still rubbing it sorely when you find your seats, right at the rear of the plane. You throw yourself into the window seat before he can object. Smoothing his tentacles the front of his body so as not to sit on them, he lowers himself next to you. The aisle seat remains empty.
Gradually the noise diminishes as the passengers find their seats, becoming restless muttering as time drags on. Finally, the fattest woman you've ever seen in your life looms into view, lumbering down the aisle, her massive belly scraping against the seats (and seated passengers) either side of her. Dad's face collapses into a vision of horror as the land whale approaches the last remaining seat on the plane.
"But I specifically requested two seats," the woman says petulantly.
"We're very sorry," an angelic air hostess hidden behind the woman's girth apologises. "We can only make allowances for two seats if they're available, and I'm afraid the flight is fully booked."
With a hurrumph, the woman slides herself into the seat beside dad. It's a tight fit. Her rolls of fat bulge over the arm rest, invading his side and squashing him into the remaining third. As she wiggles herself comfortable, a long, wet fart ripples from her massive backside.
"Sorry, deary," she blushes. "Travelling always makes me gassy. It's the cabin pressure."
"But we haven't even taken off yet," dad whispers to you in horror, his eyes streaming from the smell. He glances skyward, as I'd looking for help from above, ideally in the form of an oxygen mask. "Let's swap seats. I can barely breath enough in this suit as it is, let alone with this tub of lard crushing me."
You're saved by the timing of the Seatbelts light, which lights up above your head as the plane begins to taxi slowly down the runway. "Too late," you reply. His response is a look of pure venom.
As the plane rumbles down the Tarmac, you listen absently to the pilot patter, then sit up for the safety demonstration as the winged stewardesses step into the aisle, running through the locations of the exits and crash positions, the usual stuff except for one exception. As they get to the part about life jackets, it diverges from the script you've experienced before. The stewardess holds up a wrinkled, bright orange life vest before equipping it with practiced motions over her arms and wings.
"Here at Angel Airways, your safety is paramount. That's why we use only the latest technology to protect our passengers even in the worst case scenarios. In the event of an emergency, you will find underneath your seat the Aegis Life Jacket. To equip the Aegis Life Jacket, simply slip it over your shoulders. To activate the Aegis Life Jacket's Life-Form function, simply pull once on the cord to inflate."
The stewardess tugs on the cord. To your surprise, there is a hiss of air, but it isn't the life jacket inflating, but the stewardess. In a matter of moments, her skin swells, becoming taut and glossy, and she transforms into an animated, rubberised form, like a pool toy in the shape of an angel. The passengers crane forward as she does a little spin to show of the fullness of her transformation, flexing and flapping her rubber wings. Her face looks flat and lifeless like that of a sex doll, fixed into a fake, pearly smile. "The Aegis Life-Form is the latest in safety, transforming you and your family into durable, vulcanised forms! In the event of a crash, your air-filled bodies will float on water, and wont require food, water, or even oxygen. On top of that, while in the Aegis Life-Form, your bodies are safe from injury, up to and including high-impact trauma, penetration, blood loss, hypothermia, dismemberment, even decapitation!"
They really don't mince words. You don't know whether to feel reassured or terrified.
"Each Life-Form lasts indefinitely, keeping you safe and secure until help arrives, and can be deactivated by simply tugging on the lifejacket chord." The stewardess does so, and promptly deflates back to her regular-ish body of flesh.
The safety demonstration concludes, the stewards strap themselves in, and the plane accelerates along the runway and soars into the air. The fat woman stays true to her word - while your ears pop, her body appears to adjust to the change I pressure by letting rip a series of horrific farts. Dad turns a sickly pale shade of baby blue, squirming away from the woman with such disgust that he almost climbs into your lap.
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