Vox Mentis

How many sets' attention words do you know?

If you're halfway there, you have at least seven hours to find someone you could get a grip on, and try the basics. Commanding them to forget interactions with you, to cover your tracks.

If you talk to the people sitting beside you, this also lets you get your story straight whether or not you can do wizardy-horseshit on them.

It will also probably be absolutely vital to stay in practice.

You chat a few people up over the course of the rest of the trip. While you don't know any command words, you do know a great many attention words, which, combined with your natural sleight-of-hand talents, enable you to misdirect enough to procure a few items. A purse, a wallet, a digital camera, and a long coat, which conceals your school uniform.

Visiting for a funeral would explain why you had to arrive on such short notice. If you claim to have relatives that are picking you up outside of the airport, you can even justifiably not know the exact address of where you're staying. Furthermore, you will have at least a few months before your stay becomes questionable and you need to respond to inquiries about why you haven't left the country. By then, you'll be a bit more established and can decide if it's worth remaining as Emily and coming up with an excuse for your extended stay or finding another way home.

Your lack of carry-on luggage, clothes and cash (who even prints their return ticket in advance anymore?) can be explained away by someone having stolen your baggage back in Los((t)) Angeles, but you having to catch this flight to make it to the funeral.

Good thing you had your passport along with your ticket in your pocket! And your relatives (or the driver sent by your relatives? You're not sure.) are waiting outside so you'll be able to figure things out after you head home with them.

Edit: The fact that we were sobbing on the plane is an asset for this story. See if we can keep our eyes red and puffy. Make sure that others that were near us on the plane are also nearby when we go through immigration, though odds are that this will be the case naturally.

As the plane begins its descent, you go to the bathroom and work on looking upset. You rub some soap in your eyes; it stings, but the effect on your face is quite convincing. You look as upset as you feel now.

You leave the plane with those around you who might have seen you crying, and follow the crowd briskly towards Customs, your new coat flapping around your ankles. The lines are short, not at all like in Los Angeles, and you're able to take your pick of Immigration officials. His name is Mark, and he's a 114 or 118, good-natured and reasonably intelligent, but resigned in his job, which he considers important but dull. This you can tell right away. No glasses, no beard, a simple hair-style but not a severe one, so no overt arrogance or vanity. No cross or religious markings. Wedding ring. 110 through 120 usually have an increased emphasis on the importance of family, so you can lean on that.

"Hi," you say. "Just straight up, I don't have a return ticket. I'm sorry, I know that means you have to give me the third degree. I'm here for a funeral. Unexpected." You let a tremor creep into your voice.

Two hours later, they release you from the interview room. They'd asked a lot of questions, but you never felt in real danger, not from the moment Mark's face relaxed into your opening statement. You'd lied a great deal, inventing a doting aunt on your mother's side that had provided so much for you over the years. She was always there for you to talk to, when you felt like nobody else would listen. When she passed so suddenly, you dropped everything and booked the first flight you could (You understand that, right, Mark? The importance of family?) You were charming and forthright and understood more about how the brain reaches decisions than those guys did about anything, so that was that.

You're through Immigration. Now what?