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You are getting ready, although you’re not the most keen on it. You’ve had to put on warm clothes, because it’s always cold anywhere that’s not 80 degrees (at least, it is to this particular native Texan), but you’ve got enough layers that you don’t melt once you’re inside again.
You got a flight no problem, because it’s never a problem to fly first-class when you’re Dahl Strider. You spend the whole time fucking around on your cherry-red laptop, trying and failing to write anything worthwhile. So instead, you make another comic and call it a day as the flight touches down.
You’ve got an overnight bag, a hotel reservation, and that’s really it. You’ve always been a light packer, and today’s no different. You smirk at the people taking your picture, ducking and flashstepping away as soon as you can. You get tired pretty damn fast of that shit, but you try to play nice for the fans. They deserve something to look up to.
It’s easy to catch a cab when you’re short, blonde, and busty. You’re at the bowling alley in no time flat, overnight bag still with you because fuck checking into a hotel right away. You’re Dahl Strider, and you can do whatever the fuck you want.
Now it’s just a waiting game as you tie on your ridiculously colored rented shoes, your mind quietly ticking away the seconds it takes Johnny to arrive.
