Hardly a lie detector, but accustomed to the white lies of the film industry, Heather was used to taking a rather sceptical view of things, especially in the presence of strangers, like she was now. Ready to judge the authenticity of the flight attendant’s imminent story, she set her eyes on the young woman, like watching a play, allowed her to relive a snapshot from the past, and a not so innocent recollection at that as time would soon prove. It wouldn’t have surprised Heather really, had she got to learn that a sinful soul lurked beneath Connie’s cheerful smile.<br/><br/>Although she would have personally preferred the quite enchanting small town to the west of it, it indeed was a beautiful city, Prague. She had eaten one of the best ducks she ever had while gazing upon the ornate symbols on the astronomical clock. If she was allowed, she had to argue with the hospitality of the people though. Safer than Budapest, more dangerous than Vienna, the city had a rather active nightlife if she recalled correctly. If she were to delve into it, the darling stewardess could have surely unfolded an entertainment of cabaret.<br/><br/>The point of the game was to doubt the stories of the night. And Heather was, of course, ready to search the flight attendant’s story for small hints of suspicion. That aside, she had to give it to Connie though, it was quite a gripping narrative what she listened to. The well-depicted story of the woman could have easily filled a page in an amorous novel, or a few pages in this case. Since the raconteur’s profession was not about writing stories, but the comfort of passengers during a flight, it admittedly strengthened the believability of the woman’s tale for Heather.<br/><br/>Not in disagreement, but Heather shook her head, brown strands of hair swaying behind her shoulders. While the stewardess’ narrative progressed into a little mischief, the woman twisted her hair to wear it in a quick bun. “Lena, you mean.” Her arms still raised, she couldn’t help but point out how the dancer’s name changed throughout the story. Surely, not something that would make her deem the story faux as she guessed the flight attendant must have been more interested in things other than her partner’s stage name at the time.<br/><br/>A thrill-seeking fish out of water, or rather, a venturesome bird left the skies in the storyteller’s case, being seduced into a one-off stage performer; the summery of the flight attendant’s story Heather thought. Considering the night in question, there must have been many eyewitnesses who could verify the foreigner-turned-stripper, if they had been looking at her face that is. Too bad, they must have been several thousands of miles away from the hotel room to attest to Connie’s spontaneous show. Far away from home, had the charming flight attendant really given a rather detailed presentation of herself to an unfamiliar audience? Had she let a skilled stripper turn her into an unpaid entertainer for the amusement of a crowd? Heather could only guess, really. Thinking if the gleeful stewardess indeed had what it would take to double an already joyful crowd’s amusement as the story implied, she eyed the storyteller, her half-closed eyes gazing up the woman’s stocking-clad legs, examining the appeal of her protruding chest, for the sake of seeking the truth, of course. And she didn’t fail to come to a conclusion, which she chose to keep to herself for the time being. However, it wasn’t enough to make an educated guess.<br/><br/>It would have been easier for Heather to make a decision if she had played a stripper in a film. On the other hand, if the woman’s stirring depiction of events could actually manage to make the actress imagine a pair of pink knickers flying in her direction, Connie must have been telling the truth, right? “Lovely.” Only, instead of following her instincts, Heather decided to listen to the voice of her logic, which told her that the best time to fabricate a story should be when one had the most to wear. In other words, the very beginning of the game. Considering her expressiveness, she made herself believe that the young woman couldn’t have made it all up. Yeah, there could have been indeed a devilish stripper that had taken her breath away, and possibly, more than that. However, she also thought the events might have been altered to some degree. Only one thing was certain though, the flight attendant surely entertained her with her rather striking storytelling.<br/><br/>Tilting her head a little, squinting her eyes some, Heather eventually made up her mind. “I’m afraid I would call Bull.”