Yes. She would be spectacularly grateful for another one. She eats her second ice cream bar reasonably slowly, enough so for it to drip a little.

Jackson wipes up the first drip and puts a saucer under it.

This weird thing where Jackson pretends to be a servant is really endearing. Admittedly he's doing very light work but nobody else is doing really hard work right now either. Since they don't share enough of a language for her to tell him he's the best rich guy she's ever met, and also he might feel bad about having it acknowledged that he's not just any servant, she sticks to just grinning sunnily.

He gives her a quick smile back and then goes back to his standard occupation, Fawning Over Brian.

That’s cute. She wants a rich fake servant.

After ice cream she lounges on the couch and pets it. She’s not not bored but she can stand to be bored for a while. It’s much better than the non-boring things that were happening before she came here, and probably better than whatever happens when she leaves for her new job.

There is plenty of TV and some intermittent English lessons and then she and her variously color coded index cards to show people are on the way to the airport in Brian's car!

Brian's car is awesome. Cars are so cool. Cars are the best. She wants a car to go with her rich servant.

Then it's a pity she's moving to New York City!

Isabella's directions get her more or less smoothly through security and the gate and onto the cramped seat in the unpleasant smelling airplane where she is served beverages and pretzels.

Beverages! Pretzels! And it smells better than the capital of Sesat, which is really all she can ask for from someplace this cramped.

It's - physically comfortable, amazingly so, but mentally very not. She has the sense that she's cargo, which a little too close to being property, and it's all closed and the windows are so small.

- And then it's much, much cooler than Brian's car, the coolest thing that has ever happened to her, and she stares and stares and stares out the window until she manages to get bored of looking down at clouds. (It turns out it looks a lot like looking up at them.)

Planes suck and she wants to jump out of one and count in her head until she hits the ground except she doesn't want to be dead after. And the doors are closed. And she doesn't know where she is. And she's cargo.

She's just staring vacantly straight ahead by the time the plane lands, but she manages to get up when everyone else does and follow the crowd, head down, heart beating like it's taken a personal dislike to her ribs, until she's somewhere a little roomier. She forgets to take the initiative to go look for Ms. Wright.

The crowd leads her to the baggage claim, where Ms. Wright spots her. "Fere! Is that you?"

"Yes, my... Ms. Wright." She waves.

Wave! "Thisaway - unless you checked a bag?"

"I don't have any bags."

"Then just thisaway. How was your flight?"

"Are they always like - do they always kind of treat you like they're tossing bags of lentils onto a wagon, except the bags will go seat themselves?"

"Oh, you can pay for a better customer service experience but it's hundreds of dollars."

"That sounds like a lot."

"Yeah, even pretty wealthy people often don't bother unless they can bill their companies or it's a special occasion or something. And Isabella got your ticket via a particular program that doesn't let you upgrade."

"...Huh. Okay."

"Hopefully you like taxis better!"

"Are they like cars?"

"They're exactly like cars. Except yellow."

"I like cars."

"Oh good." She hails a cab and speaks to the driver in, first English, then Persian, to get them going where they're going.

Cars are still nice. Fere can't really tell the difference between two languages she doesn't speak.

She gawks at the scenery.