Security

Sighing, the Fates stepped out of line, submitted to the full TSA body scan, and waited at the far end of the conveyor for their things. "The items are antiques; we have papers," Clotho said, producing the documents. "And ... uh ... this is?" the TSA agent responded. "An ancient spinner ... for thread," Clotho explained. "Okay; and this?" the agent inquired, grabbing the measuring rod. Lachesis breathed through her teeth, not liking his roughness one bit. "An ancient ruler," she whispered hoarsely, feeling a tightness in her gut. "The shears are yours, Ma'am?" the TSA agent asked, looking at Atropos with suspicion. "They are," she answered coldly. "I'm going to need to check with my supervisor; we typically do not allow sharps in the cabin. I understand that you have papers; we may need you to repackage these to travel in the cargo hold." Atropos' eyes narrowed to slits as he walked away briefly. "Snip, snip, you little shit," she hissed, and Clotho patted her hand.