No flight for now, just fuck with the reception girl

"Sir, have you registered a flight with us?" She asks because she can tell you haven't.

"Hello, Gemma, no, I haven't. That's okay, though." You approach her counter with casual confidence, knowing you can get yourself out of any trouble you might get yourself in, just with a question or two. "Would you rather explain this place to me, in a quiet whisper, so that I know how to manipulate my way onto a jet, or go get your supervisor over here so I can go all Karen on your ass?" It's so close to an acceptable question that the poor reception girl just chalks it up to rich guy privilege, not yet realising the magical **** you've just subjected her to.

At first it's a surprise, but when you consider the 'clientele' here, you realise she probably has normie, non-magical people actually say things like that to her every day.

"Okay, pardon me, sir," she whispers. "I just know everyone who's filed plans with us today, by name and face, and you're not one of them, and not a single one of them has registered a guest... so, you clearly don't belong here." She leans forward, conspiratorially. "What's more, I'm not the only one in here who can see that. Honestly, anyone who's spotted you already can tell too. Bring luggage or wear a suit, next time, yeah? But as for today..." The pretty blonde looks around the terminal again before typing a few strokes on her keyboard, redacting, and smiling. "Yeah today there are basically two options for you." She snickers, and continues. "I can add you as a guest to most of these flights... but as soon as you go to board, our actual clients will definitely call security, who will remove you. Other than that, you'd have to outright steal a plane, or buy it. It's not like you need a ticket, you just gotta get on board somehow."

As soon as she finishes explaining, she puts her hand over her mouth, as if something unknowable and lewd just popped out of it. She just explained something she definitely wouldn't have without ****, but she's still not sure why she'd have done that.

You press on with another seemingly standard rich guy question. "Alright, Gemma, lets say I wanted to buy a plane. Which plane here is the nicest?"

"Hah!" she guffaws so loudly that anyone in the terminal not protected by earbuds or headphones turns to stare. Then she lowers her voice, happy to respond to your ludicrous question, condescendingly, without any ****. Or maybe she's still required to explain. "Well, sir, if you want pure class and style, all wood, high-tech amenities, it's the Globo 4E. Dr. Galna's got one refueling now, ready to go soon. If you want a glitzy party jet, though, pure nouveau riche trash, you can spring for the Luxaline 32k. There's a 6-person hot tub in the center of the main cabin, so..." she raises her eyebrows, still mocking you with the elitist smile in her eyes.

"Alright Gemma, where are those two headed?" How far can you take this?

"Uhhuh! As if." Gemma's laugh is haughty and confident. "Of course I can't reveal client information, and the FAA doesn't even require filing a plan at all, so try again... sir."

You try again.

"Alright, Gemma, would you rather add me onto every plane's guest list you got, or announce your dirtiest secrets over the PA for the whole place to hear?"

Gemma scowls, unsure exactly what you're doing to her here, but then, as always seems to happen when you ask people, she answers. "I'll go ahead and add you on now, sir. Please, please don't tell anyone about this."

"Heh, I won't, but you might. Would you rather resign tomorrow, with a letter saying you comprised the entire private airport's security and go get a job as a stripper, or offer one of your clients a blowjob in their planes before takeoff each day?"

Her face falls as she blinks, realizing she has to choose. You don't even wait to hear her answer. You're already head to the plane.