Superstition (advlit) | ic

xP

o:	100.0%	[ 58 ]
Total Votes:			[ 58 ]

[walikeheke]

A supernatural / paranormal adv. lit rp
To apply, see the ooc


Original Rp and Concept Mr. Apple Juice
Thread Owner and Creator walikeheke
Moderators YouGotFoodInMyHair
Picture from LiveScience
(please note: This is not based on the show Supernatural and was made before the show.)


Links

First Remake
Original
OOC
Skeleton
NPCs


Tentative Profile deadline May 31st
Get ahold of me faster? AIM: walikeheke
W A R N I N G Do not spam. Do not steal. Ask before using any ideas.

If this RP doesn't catch your interest, check out one of our affiliates listed in the ooc!

[walikeheke]

Dear [Recipient of Letter],

tab Have you ever been aware that there is simply more to the world in which you live in? Are you curious? It is only these vague questions that those of us here at the Nocturne Organization can pose to you as we invite you to a gala. These questions may or may not be answered but it is in our nature to be vague. Enclosed we have for you, a plane ticket to fly here to New York City, along with an address at which you will find us. It is in fact a black-tie affair, and all your expenses have been paid for. The date for the event is next month, January 4th, and it will be well worth your time. That is assured. Hotel will also be accounted for, as well as payment for any missed days of work, etc.

tab Enclosed you will find an object that is very near and dear to you. You may want to ask how we were able to obtain such a personal item. You may ask if we had to dig up your mother's grave for her necklace or rob someone for your old medical records, or buy out that lucky bottlecap. I cannot answer those questions for you now but simply, we have our ways. I hope to be able to meet you personally, and to answer at least some of your questions. While you may object to this now, please sit back, think, and then ask yourself. Do you have anything to lose? You know that answer well enough.

tab Until then, don't let the superstition get to you.

tab Sincerely yours,
tab The Nocturne Organization

[walikeheke]

To presume that human life is the only active element in the world is simply foolish. There always have been more planes of existence than we could even think imaginable and the most promiment plane that affects that is the spectral plane. The supernatural, the one that superstitions are borne of. Some people have just had a better look at this side of the world than others. And one of these is the international organization, Nocturne. Assembled in Egypt in the year 40 Common Era, it was done hand-in-hand with the recent death of Jesus of Nazareth. The Church, established by St. Peter, was unable to deal with those demons and vicious spectres that tried to take hold of the holy land. Always a superstitious and wary culture, they called upon ambassadors from Persia and the African Disapora to come together and decide on a plan.

What resulted was an International committee full of those shamans and medicine men who specialized in precisely that. An alliance between those who were thought to never get along, those pagans and those of the new faith, Christianity. Eventually adopting the name of 'Nocturne' during one of the English meetings in the early twentieth century during the establishing of Oxford College, the Nocturne Organization's purpose was twofold. To protect the safety of mortals from those vicious and active spirits who sought to break the planes, and to also keep them secret. The Church had been well aware that widespread knowledge of this dual and tenuous existence would strike fear into the hearts of many and cause chaos to reign.

The Nocturne Organization is able to continue its work by recruiting those who have often undergone some sort of positive or negative traumatic event that unlocks the capability to understand and percieve the layers of planes around them.This 'shock' to the sensory systems of the brain allows different areas to be accessed and powers to be unlocked in otherwise ordinary human beings. This manifests itself in some sort of ability, and the Nocturne Organization, through supernatural means and powers of their own, track down those who have become aware of this existence and recruit them for the organization. They go on missions to stop violent entities and restore calm and measure. And this is where our story begins.

It is the year 2012 and amidst cries that the world is ending in a worsening environment, the spectres are having an easier time penetrating the 'wall' that seperates mortals and the paranormal plane. The last thing the Church needs is this chaos and the Nocturne Organization is needed now more than ever. They are bringing in a new band of recruits from all over the world, bringing in all sorts of abilities and powers. This one group has been hand-picked and asked to assemble in New York City to begin their debriefing for a new mission. It is always difficult to assure those who have lay in a comfortable slumber of unawareness that their awakening is in fact an awakening and not an extension of their dream. Will they heed the call of the occult?

[walikeheke]

sienna | purple | firebrick | goldenrod
teal | darkblue | darkgreen | #27594E

[walikeheke]

[walikeheke]

[walikeheke]

JAN • FEB • MAR • APR • MAY • JUNE • JULY • AUG • SEP • OCT • NOV • DEC

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

Early Morning • Morning • Noon • Afternoon • Evening • Late Night

Sun • Rain • Thunder • Lightening • Wind • Snow • Hail • Storm • Overcast

Hot • Cold • Warm • Lukewarm • Brisk

WHEN
7:30 PM

WHERE
The 'gala', a semi-hidden mansion nestled in Brooklyn

WHAT
Guests are arriving at the formal event.

[walikeheke]

RAJESH • DAINA • ALEXEI

tab They were a very odd trio, but they moved with the ease of people who were friends, or at the very least, had been working together for a very long time. The eye was first drawn to the woman in the middle. She wore a flowing dress that matched her graceful, lyrical movements and her animated way of walking, as if she were more dancing. Her silver hair was a testament to her age, which was not all-together revealed in her face, the wrinkles and lines making themselves most apparent when she smiled (which was often). She seemed light, to glide. As if her silver hair gave off a glow like the moon, rather than reflecting thel ight of the many candles and fixtures in the impressive room. She looked to either side at the two handsome men besides her, each in very different ways but having like her, an air of something more than meets the eye. The man on her right was an East Indian man, with dark skin and a build on the smaller side. The twinkle in his eyes countered the woman's sparkle, as if he knew more than the onlooker. Dressed in a suit, he seemed right at home, a shot glass with amber liquid nestled in his left hand. The Russian man to her left had eyes with a hard glint, harboring many secrets behind them but revealing none, dressed in a gray-scale suit, the shuttered green eyes the only thing to break up the somber dress. His mouth was set in a straight line, unlike the woman's wide smile and the East Indian's secretive grin.

tab The house itself was grand, beautiful. It was the Herman Behr mansion in Brooklyn, New York. The entire downstairs had hardwood floors, richly decorated in earth tones, with several tables set up with food, and places for guests to sit. The open bar seemed to be the most popular, although the people that had arrived thus far seemed wary to do anything much. Daina, the silver-haired woman, laughed at them, joking around with the two men on her arm. She grabbed some of the fabric of her dress in her hands and twirled around, taking the Indian man - Rajesh's - hand. The Russian looked to her and then looked down, shaking his head. "Oh stop that silliness." The woman responded quickly, with an arched brow. "When you too are seventy and you too have seen what I've seen and gone through the trials I have endured, you will be able to appreciate my need to twirl like a schoolgirl and enjoy myself at the expense of you two fine gentlemen." "Touche." She smiled with the sort of satisfaction experienced by a woman who knows her way around a conversation. "Rajesh, how many are we to expect?" "Of the around two-hundred sixteen invitations we sent out, we expect around fifty or sixty to show." His voice was low and accented not with Hindi but with Afrikaans, being a native of Kenya. "Not the highest turnout, but an impressive accomplishment." "Indeed." Alexei simply nodded.

tab "I do hope the evening goes well." "It will." The three of them smiled. All three of them possessed in them uncanny abilities that would be either looked down upon or worshipped by natural society. In each of them something had been unlocked - an untapped wealth of ability in the human person that could only be unleashed by a certain type of trauma - and they were putting it to use. The three of them worked for the Nocturne Organization and had harnessed their abilities to be powerful and daunting. Daina could scry - she could look into water, mirrors, any sort of reflection and be able to communicate over vast differences. Rajesh could read auras - he could pick up the mood of a place, a person, or object. He could not manipulate them but auras could give off more information than may be desirable to a person. Alexei could tell the future. Precognitive visions that took years to train and turn into a valuable asset. "How is the room?" Addresses the airy, feminine voice. "Hesitant, but well. Good-natured enough, curiosity seems to be the name of the game." It would be a good night and the three of them bid each other farewell to mingle and mix before the procedures began.

[walikeheke]

Benji was extremely intelligent. Anyone who knew him well enough (and those were few and far between, and most of them were dead) would probably not disagree* with that statement. But the smart and the genius and the intelligence was all masked by the sheer amount of chemical imbalances in his head, enough to be a psychiatrist's wet dream. On paper, he had schizophrenia, with a combination of ADHD, antisocial disorder, and obsessive compulsive disorder. The therapist that had managed to see him for a couple sessions before he fell behind on payments and couldn't do anything more had a feeling that there were a couple more thrown in there, but there was nothing to be done about it, especially when Benji hated the medicine. He didn't mind the pills for OCD or ADHD, since they didn't have too bad side effects, but it was the schizophrenia pills that wreaked havoc with his head. It made him sluggish, slow, and completely incapable of functioning. Medicine for schizophrenia was also typically included in a two-for-one package with psychosis medication. On the Haldol or Clozapine, Geodon, Seroquel, Risperdal, Zyprexa, or Abilify, he didn't feel better. He just felt like he could function even less than the thirty or forty percent capacity he usually worked at, and was completely at prey to the voices. They spoke clearer, he could understand better. And it was worth the mild constant distress and the twitches and the compulsions to at least not be able to understand them.

In his hotel room, he got dressed and shaved. The Argentenian tried hard not to look in the mirror, his hazel eyes shifting around. Normally he left a bit of stubble on his face, but he figured for tonight and the formal event he should be clean. He sang to himself, because he found that sometimes singing could help ignore them, when they came. He didn't like the silence. If he paid too much attention he could hear the white noise of the fan going on in the room, of the murmurs of people outside in the hall in no sensible cacophany. White noise was worse. He was having a good week. But it always ended, Benji knew. One time there was a good month but then that ended right quick. In front of the mirror, being careful with the razor blade, the words escaped his lips. He wasn't very good, but he could carry enough of a tune. "No se entiende el menú pero la salsa abunda / Soy un gourmet que huele eternamente mal / Viejas compotas que no dan respiro/ al caníbal que hay en mi..." He missed the music back in Argentina. That was what he missed the most. The music, the dancing. It seemed like everyone in Argentina could tango, could salsa, could enjoy the rhythms. American music lacked the complex rhythms. But at least in America, he didn't feel haunted as badly by the spirit of his dead fiance, and he could live quietly, anonymously, and without too much pain.

Benji put on his dress shirt and tucked it into his pants, tying his belt and then wringing his hands as he looked at the tie on the chair. His suit was a bit worn. He'd had it for a long time, back when he'd been engaged to Alejandra. She'd insisted that he get one when he met her parents. He tried to remember how to put on the tie, putting it around his neck. He wringed his hands again, turning the distressed normally tan skin white. He closed his eyes and trusted his nervous hands to go in the right place. When he finished, it was more or less on right. His hair was a little out of place and so was the tie and the shirt but he hoped that he could just slip into the shadows like he normally did. He left his glasses in their case. He didn't think he'd be doing too much reading. But he did pick up the necklace with Alejandra's engagement ring on it and slipped it around his neck, tucking it underneath the dress shirt so he could feel it on top of the undershirt he had. He bit his nails, holding his other arm across his side, hugging himself. After a moment of being comfortable in his head, he went around the room and touched each of the furniture two times as he went over the letter in his head. He'd memorized the letter that he'd been sent by this mysterious organization. The tanned man had absolutely no idea what he was getting into and thought that maybe it was just a big set up to mug him or send him back to Argentina. His visa would be up soon, he needed to apply for a new one.

Unfortunately for Benji, he spoke only disjointed English. He could read it easily enough but speaking it was still very hard for him. He felt like there were too many things going on in his head, so when he left the hotel, the bellhop said "Have a good day, sir," and Benji nodded and gave a nervous attempt at a smile, which turned more into a half grimace, half facial twitch. Out in the streets of New York, there were just too many people. It was making him panic mildly and feel extremely overwhelmed. I shouldn't have come here, he said, with more and more shallow breaths. And then he noticed that they had the yellow cabs. Taxis. He'd seen enough American movies, so he gave it a try, nervously pushing to the street and holding up his arm, although he felt silly. Aye boy, these streets aren't friendly for immigrants. They'd sooner run over a lad, Benji shook his head. It had been a heavily accented voice, from somewhere in Europe, talking to him. It sounded like it was coming through a bad radio station. There's so many of them, why won't they stop? Even though he was scared to stick out, he raised his hand up higher, until finally a taxi stopped by him and he jumped in, putting on his seatbelt and hugging himself with one arm again, the other raised to his mouth as his eyes darted around.

"You stoopid or somethin'? Where to?!" Benji jumped, startled at the aggressive taxi driver. "No hablo inglés," Benji said a bit helplessly. "Don't care, if you got money and an address. You got an address, spick?" Recognizing the word from the letter (and also impatience in the driver's voice - a sentiment that always sent him into distress), Benji pulled out the letter from his pocket and showed the driver the address that was written on a business card included. "Take me?" the Argentine man said meekly. The driver nodded and took off, Benji sitting back, tugging on the lapels of his suit. It was uncomfortable, and his feet wriggled in his shoes. When they arrived at the semi-secluded mansion nestled in Brooklyn, Benji gave the driver money, and waited for his change before stepping out. Here, more of the snow was untouched. Back where he'd been staying in the hotel, the wet slush was dirty and grimey and made Benji feel like he was looking at cancer of the land. But here it wasn't so bad, there was some snow struggling to stay pure. It would more likely be scavenged by playful children later, but for now Benji looked at it in wonder before tugging his suit jacket against him in the cold, his ears and nose turning red, before going up to the door.

He raised his hand to knock but it was opened instead. The bright, warm light coming from the inside made him squint his eyes before he looked down at the servant, making him wring his hands together before scratching the back of his neck and then wringing them again. "Welcome," said the man with an appropiate haughty air. "The reception is down the hall and to the left. Do you have a coat I can take for you?" Benji felt his throat constricting with the stress and sense of drowning and overwhelming that he normally felt whenever these things were concerned. Without missing a beat, the servant continued. "La recepción está abajo del pasillo y a la izquierda. ¿Usted tiene una capa que puedo tomar para usted?" Benji hesitantly smiled, responding very carefully. "No, thank you." The servant then gave a small bow and Benji inched forward, almost shuffling as he made his way to where he was supposed to be. He was glad that he was not too early - there were people moving about the room. His gaze immediately fell on a woman who seemed to have the moon in her silver hair. She had a kind of grace that was easily decipherable across any language or culture. She fascinated him. His study was cut short when a finger tapped his shoulder.

"¿Cuál es su nombre?" It was another servant or member of the staff. Benji wondered how they all seemed to know Spanish, but it made him feel better, even though he was still extremely uncomfortable with all the people in there. "Benjamin Cabrera." The man lead him over to a table and where there was a name card. "Aquí es donde usted se sentará cuando el discurso comienza." It was where he was going to sit when the speaking began. He nodded. "Gracias." But right as he was going to touch the fork by the plate (he had a strong compulsion to touch things), a Russian man with a gruff demeanor whisked over and took the name card, putting it onto a different table, by another person. The Russian man then looked at Benji as if daring him to say anything. Benji didn't. Confrontations were at the top of the list called "Things Benjamin Cabrera Dislikes to an Extreme"** The first of which was the voices. Although come to think of it, he hadn't heard any voices since he'd been in the house. Even when he didn't hear voices specifically speaking or muttering, he always had a buzz in the back of his mind, like someone had planted a hornet's nest there. It was completely gone. He had a giddy sort of elation going through him, though he still nervously bit his fingernails and hugged himself, alternately scratching the back of his neck or running his hands through his hair.

Benji wanted to look at the other names by his chair, but he didn't want to look too eager. This was supposesd to be some sort of "socializing" hour. It certainly made the list of "Things Benjamin Cabrera Dislikes to an Extreme." He just didn't function. He had been normal once before, it wasn't as if he didn't know what people liked to make small talk about. The weather, the furniture, the style of the house made, but for some reason when he actually got there, it just didn't work. He ended up pointing out random things and just stumbling and stuttering over his words. Luckily so far tonight he didn't have to say much more than a few words at a time. He knew if he got into it with anyone he'd probably start stuttering as he tried to translate whatever it was in his head. English was a silly language, to be sure. Instead he wondered if he should busy himself by eating or drinking something. He managed to shuffle over to the food table without incident, looking at the array of food. It all looked delicious. But it also looked extremely fancy. For a man who grew up in the lower-class neighborhoods of Buenos Aires, he had no idea what to go for.

A server walked past Benji and he hesitantly spoke out in Spanish. "¿Pediremos una cena o es apenas aperitivos?" He asked if there would be a dinner or if it was just the appetizers, trying to speak slowly and calmly. "Ayúdese por favor a los aperitivos para ahora. Cuando la parte formal del comienzo de la reunión usted tendrá la oportunidad de pedir de nuestras cenas. Tenemos salmones, almejas, filete, el calamari, pastas, y otras opciones que sean mencionadas en un menú por su asiento asignado." Please help yourself to appetizers for now. When the formal part of the meeting starts you will have the opportunity to order any one of our dinners. We have salmon, clams, steak, calamari, pasta, and other options that will be listed on a menu by your assigned seat. Benji stared at the server, who stared back at him the same way a tired but polite worker at a zoo stared at a child who asked a question and didn't understand the answer. Benji broke the nervous stare with a twitch and looked back at the appetizer table.

There were so many choices. Too many choices. It was a wonder that Benji hadn't died from a heart attack yet. There was fruit and veggies and the little hot dog things and crackers with stuff on them and alcohol and juice and water and it was nerve-wracking. What if they saw me biting my nails and now they'll think I'm gross if I get food? Benji fought to not touch anything, so instead started to count some of the options on the table. There were twenty-six strawberries that he could see. Stop counting. Don't touch. Wringing his hands, he stared at the choices for a long time before blinking rapidly. He had finally settled on a chocolate-covered strawberry since he had a particular sweet tooth, and water since alcohol was out of the question for him***, when a small brown form quite effectively collided into him, making him jump and let out a bit of a strangled squeal, his body freezing. Paralyzed, and wide-eyed, the ordinarily-jumpy-without-provocation Argentenian felt ready to hyperventilate and proceeded to do so.

*There is a big difference between agreeing and not disagreeing. Some people, while acknowledging his capacity for intelligence felt too, that the man was just enough off-kilter that they don't want to give him too much credit. The problem with crazy people, especially with psychosis or shizophrenia, they were never too sure if one of those intelligent sparks in his brain would decide it was a good idea to grab a knife and stab them in the back.

** This list also includes broccoli, Mariah Carey, Bono, People Who Think They can Argentine Tango But They Can't, and bubble baths.

*** The last time Benji had alcohol, he ended up following the narration of a voice in his head and woke up the next day with only his underwear in the Italian district of Buenos Aires with a soccer ball. He has no explanation for this.

**** suit

[foodiehair]

XXX

It was cold. Dreary even. Not that Ipswich would be any better, but it was certainly colder here. Maybe it was the tall buildings, but whatever it was it was annoying. As if to reaffirm the fact, she shivered. Of both the days that she’d been in New York City, it had only gotten to thirty-six degrees. Ladli grimaced at the window, lids sliding down over warm red-brown eyes. She hated being cold. Trying not to grumble she pulled another pair of socks over the ones she was already wearing. There was two hours before she had to leave for the mysterious party she’d been invited to. Hugging the overly-large sweater tighter around her she reached over and pulled her laptop onto her lap, booting it up. She could really use Chico at a time like this. While the miniature Pinscher wasn’t that big at all, she was a warm little bundling of energy who did love to cuddle, probably more than anything else she did. Currently the incorrectly named dog was staying with her boss.

Ladli pulled up Google in her internet browser and, not for the first time, typed “The Nocturne Organization” into the search bar. Nothing. Again. She scrolled through tons of crap and didn’t find anything useful. It felt rather uncomfortable that she was going to a party hosted by an organization that she knew nothing about. The cryptic letter was sitting next to her. She stared down at it, as if it would tell her what was up. She still wasn’t sure going to this party was a good idea. What if it was some kind of cult thing? Spiked Kool-Aid? No thank you. She wanted to say ‘no’ right off the bad, but frankly, she was far too curious. Sighing at her screen and giving up, the Indian woman checked her email instead. Nothing too interesting. In fact, nothing was interesting. Coupons for bookstores, a medical conference that she may or may not be going to and then an email from her mother and one from an aunt of hers. She rolled her eyes to the clock and decided that it was time to get ready.

Reluctantly, Ladli crawled out of the bed and unzipped the bag her champagne-colored dress hung in. She looked at it and sighed, running her fingers through her hair. She was probably going to be cold. Just smile. Smile. Smiiiiiiiile. And she did. She put that thing right on her face and stripped off her extra pair of socks and then the second pair after that. Taking the sweater off was harder but she did it. There, not so bad. To the bathroom! She put on subtle makeup, not being one for flashy appearances. Just light brown shades of slightly shimmery eye shadow, eyeliner and mascara. She sprayed perfume and hoped that it and the shower earlier had removed all traces of embalming fluid. The smell was notoriously hard to get rid of. The last thing was a very light pink lipstick. The padded back into the main room and took off the rest of her clothes then pulled the dress’s skinny straps over her shoulders. Looking at herself in the mirror she kind of wished she was endowed a little better, but at least she didn’t have to fool with strapless bras in times like these. Now she just had to be careful not to spill anything on it or rip it or catch it in a door or something. It was silk after all. Not easy to clean or repair.

She slid her feet into the heels she’d brought and stuffed a pen, small pad of paper and her wallet into a clutch. She hated these kinds of purses, but honestly, it would have looked horrible to have used her regular purse which was a long, over-the-shoulder bag. That would have looked just amazing with her nice dress and trench coat. Lastly she folded the letter and slipped it into her bag before snapping it shut, being careful not to catch her fingers in it. Grabbing her coat off the rack and a pair of gloves and her scarf she made her way to the elevator and started putting everything on one-by-one. The scarf wrapped around her neck four times and still hung to her waist on both sides. Outside on the slush-covered sidewalk, she shivered as she hailed a cab. Two or three passed before one stopped. She hurriedly climbed in and welcomed the warm temperature. “Where to?” Oh bollocks. “One moment.” She quick pulled out the letter and the card attached with the address. “Here you are, mate.” The driver took the card and nodded.

The Indian woman spent most of the ride fiddling with the clasp of her purse. Sitting still wasn’t something that Ladli liked to do. In fact, she was downright terrible at it. She liked to move. Sitting in anticipation was probably worse than just sitting and watching TV or something. But Chico was more than enough of a reason to get up and move around, the dog seemed to have a boundless amount of energy and that suited Ladli well. She tapped out the beat of the song on the radio and ended up rubbing the silk fabric together, liking the way it moved against itself. “Won’t be too much longer now.” Ladli looked up, finger poised against the window, she nodded with a trademark bright smile. She traced lines in the condensation. Her hand felt a bit like pins and needles, she flexed it a few times. When, mercifully, they stopped in front of a big brick building, Ladli’s jaw dropped an inch or two. She almost forgot her purse as she exited the car, taking care not to slip on the slick ground. She dug around for the money and the man’s tip, handing it to him. He looked her up and down. Lids narrowed over brown eyes before the small woman turned around, hiking up her dress in both hands. The last thing that she needed was a damp hem and then, in turn, a salt-crusted hem.

Once inside, she felt better again. A butler came to assist her in removing her extensive winter clothing. Ladli winced when the scarf was unwrapped finally, “I’m sorry…” The butler took it in stride, as if he unwrapped a seven-foot long scarf from around a five-foot women everyday of the week. He didn’t even quirk and eye when Ladli caught her long hair on one of the buttons of the coat and squeaked a little in surprise. She gave him merit for that one. When she untangled herself, she gave him a painful smile. He pointed out where the party was and left with her things. She flexed her hand again, the pins and needles were gone, she was glad. With a deep breath, Ladli started forward. The house was so beautiful. She wanted to explore. To run her fingers over the wood and stone and just immerse herself in this place. Somehow, the urge was quashed and with another settling breath, she walked into the hall. People were in clusters around the room, but a threesome stuck out in her sight. A woman and two men, all three were very good-looking in their own right. One of the men was certainly of Indian decent, and the other seemed very imposing. Something about his eyes didn’t seem very friendly, severe more than anything. However, as if the exact opposite, the woman was swishing her dress. Ladli wanted to touch the fabric of the dress. It seemed to be made of something very lightweight.

It wasn’t long before a tray-laden server came up beside her and offered a glass of champagne. She accepted graciously, “Thank you very much.” She offered a smile and it was returned. “There are name-signs at the tables, would you like me to help you find yours?” Ladli shook her head, “No, I should be fine. Thank you anyway.” Was she being too formal? Should she have accepted that? Was it even a question? He’d posed it as a question. She did a mental shrug. She didn’t really want to mingle. She wanted to explore. The urge was rising again, harder to push down this time. Sipping from the glass, her eyes searched the room. There was a very diverse group forming. What is this all about…? There weren’t any signs, not indicators of any kind. She looked down into her glass. Poison? She took another sip. It didn’t taste like it was poisoned. It’s damn find champagne though… She’d have to drink water when they ate. No one likes a drunk guest, and with her height, it didn’t take much alcohol to inebriate her.

Curiosity moved Ladli closer to the group of three who seemed the most comfortable. All of them lacked the look of confusion that seemed to be on most of the faces there. Besides, the Indian man was very attractive. She wanted a better look. Taking the last gulp from the glass, she set it down on a passing tray with another wide smile. The girl tried to look without intent as she made her way closer. She twisted some hair around her index finger as she trailed around the room, making her way ever nearer. Looking up to steal a glance, a pair of grey-green eyes were looking right at her. They didn’t look happy. In fact, he had an expression like Ladli had done something quite annoying. Trying not to be intimidated, she raised her chin a fraction and tried not to blink. Nope, he didn’t scare her. The silver-haired woman looked over and grinned, nudging the Indian man, he looked over too, amusement in his brown eyes but only slightly showed in his mouth. Her eyes snapped back to the imposing man and finally she couldn’t contain herself. She stuck her tongue out at him and turned around. Scraping up her dignity, she headed in the opposite direction and nearly collided with a server. “Blimey, I’m sorry. Are you alright?” “Yes, Miss. Quite alright.”

Ladli nodded, helping him straighten the tray he was holding. “Okay. Alright, good.” She turned and stepped on the hem of the dress and lost her balance. She caught herself on the waist of a tall, brown man standing in front of the appetizer table. She almost lost her balance again when an unexpected squeal reached her ears and startled her, “Oh! Bollocks! Are you alright!?” She stepped back, flipping her hair out of her face, “Are you alright?!” Her eyes were wide, his were wider. He didn’t look alright. Actually, he looked more like she’d come after him with a knife and fork and wanted to carve him into little bits and then dip him in a sauce before eating him. She wasn’t planning on that. He didn’t seem to be breathing properly. “Breathe, dear! Breathe!” She clapped him on the back a few times, staring up at his startled face. That seemed to make things worse.

[zfatal]

The ceiling was red and black, covered with a dark, pasty substance that oozed and shifted. Swept over the downy cream bed, with one hand clutching at the rounded wooden surface of the bedpost, Terry waited out a storm. Under a half-buttoned undershirt, his pale skin twitched while, with dress pants and reflective black shoes donned, one ankle of his bent legs involuntarily pushed itself off the floor. Harsh golden light penetrated through the cracks between chocolate brown curtains. Pain erupted behind his eyes and he exhaled shakily as he waited out the piercing migraine.

He was twenty-five, single, and had no family inside of the Americas. In England somewhere, he had an aunt and in France, his mother supposedly resided. Terry's father, who was geographically the furthest from him, lived in Australia, where both were born. Terry was also vaguely aware that he retained a grandfather somewhere, and other than the stepfather who didn't count as family, those people were all he had. His aunt had visited once a year for a couple of years, but that stopped abruptly when he joined the police force. She was an arrogant woman who regarded Terry as an unwanted stray: some pathetic animal that would not survive the world if not for her caring generosity, her selfless disposition. It was as if she considered it a duty, undesirable but necessary, to look after him in her irresponsible sister's stead. Although the woman admired (or took pride in) Terry's natural intelligence, his blunt, practical nature offended her in various small ways. He supposed that the woman was his only real family, and so he put up with her as she put up with him. In a way, Terry was thankful for the petty woman's fabricated concern.

Headaches were not uncommon for the Australian-American. The vicious things had first began some time during his early teenage years. Their severity varied at random, but most were minor. Their frequency never dropped, though, and Terry had grown used to their annoying presence. Every now and then one migraine would rise in intensity to the point where it was debilitating, but not often. Terry could usually feel those coming far beforehand. In a migraine of this intensity, he expected the pain to spread throughout his skull, and creep down the base of his neck. His vision had already gone to crap, and hearing would soon follow. With each throb of the lancing pain in his head, the red in his vision grew more intense. A film of cold sweat coated his face, and he felt like he needed to stand in front of an open freezer and crawl back under the quilt of his bed, simultaneously.

Earlier that day Terry had taken a taxi to the location of the evening party, a respectable mansion inserted among the many various ethnic areas in Brooklyn, the King's County. The trip had been purely observational, and the Australian-American had noted the clear definition of ethnic enclaves. Brooklyn was home to Americans from every part of the world, ethnically speaking. Terry had also noted, both to and fro, the travel time from his hotel to the mansion. He preferred prompt arrivals, and since tourism did not appeal to him, had the time to adjust his schedule with meticulous care in order to arrive precisely at 7:30 that evening. Then he'd eaten lunch at a nearby McDonald's, perused a few tourist shops despite himself, and returned to the hotel to get dressed for the evening. It wasn't until the elevator ride up to his room that he'd realized a migraine was imminent.

After a few minutes, the pain had spread as predicted, but also dulled in the process. He shifted off of the bed and drained a room-temperature bottle of water. With every sudden movement, his vision would blur and the pain would flare up, but he needed to finish getting ready. At the faucet, Terry rinsed his face and then brushed his teeth. A quick glance assured him that his hair was acceptable, and his contacts were giving him no distress, either. After shrugging on his rented suit and wrestling with a tie, Terry had finished his preparations. The last thing he did was to pocket the envelope and business card, and to fold the suicide note, with delicate care, along the creases given to it by the author. That he tucked under his jacket, in the chest pocket above his heart.

It had begun snowing, and when he left, Terry hurried toward the street, ignoring the low temperature and hailing for a taxi. He gave the taxi driver the address of the mansion and leaned back, watching the snowflakes fall as the car went along. They fell in intricate patterns, though they inspired no potential artwork within the artist watching them. Terry was unaffected by the cold, for some reason able to revel in its refreshing nature without feeling discomfort. Heat bothered him, like many other aspects of the Australian-American's original homeland. He could create scenes of swelling, desert heat and barren village vistas, capturing the strong, negative emotions that boiled within him at such places, and at the temperature range he did not like. Many of his art pieces reflected negative emotions, because those were the strongest to him; they stood out, and he could capture them on canvas even as he cultivated them within his mind. Pleasant emotions did not last long, and for some reason Terry had difficulty in trying to transfer his positive emotions onto paper. He could only show in his art the aspects of the world that displeased, repelled him. Never had Terry been able to convey with art that about the world which he loved.

”We're comin' up to the address,” a Scottish accent reached Terry. He looked away from the window, met the driver's eyes in the rear view mirror, nodded. Without looking outside again, he placed a hand against the cold window and studied his other with idle boredom. His migraine was still going strong, and probably would for a few more hours. Maybe longer, he wondered, because he was in New York City after all. The stress from that had to be affecting his biorhythm in a bad way.

They arrived, and Terry stepped carefully out of the taxi cab, relishing the crunch of his shoe in the powdery snow. Up close, the presence of this building was magnified. It looked old and classic with its darkened bricks, solid architecture, and settled appearance. One had the feeling that this place just belonged, and it felt older than the buildings around it. Whether that was true or not, Terry did not know. He reached the door to find that a butler had been waiting. The well-groomed, well-mannered man helped him brush the flakes off his shoulders and back, for which Terry thanked him, then moved away from the entrance. There were doors and hallways leading off in every which direction, though the one with the sound of talking, of scattered laughter, and of unintelligible murmuring was the party area.

Terry entered the room and took in a lot at once. The area was warmly lit, accentuated by some decorative furniture and the pleasant smell of food. People were standing around, some sitting and chatting as well, enjoying the company and making small talk. Among the tables, Terry noted the presence of name cards, indicating that there was arranged seating. A bold wall of black was punctuated by the colorful appearance of a woman's dress, here and there, while servers maneuvered around the room with their trays. Appetizers covered a table, waiting for any guest to wander up and select whatever pleased them.

Terry's scrutiny of the room was interrupted when a light brown man, hovering around the food, caught his attention. The man was staring at the food, and appeared to want it, but didn't take any. The way he was standing and the frown lines covering his forehead caused him to stand out among the other, relaxed guests. Even as Terry moved toward the assigned seating, his glance kept wrenching over to see what this strange person was doing. He was between two of these glances, considering whether to walk over and say something, when movement caught his attention. The Australian-American looked over again and was forced to turn fully and watch as a small woman tripped straight into the nervous man. Neither of the two saw it coming, but for Terry it was one of those things you knew was going to happen, and, unable to stop it, you watched as in slow motion it did. When he realized that he was standing alone and staring, Terry forced himself to turn and drift toward the assigned seating area.

[40seven]

No, Mikhail wasn’t too fond of America. He found the people there rather stupid and uncivilized. And why in the world did everyone insist on speaking English when they could speak French instead, or Russian for that matter… Just not English. He did not know that language, and he mattered the most. English grammar was a mess and he only knew the most basic of basics from his trips to the US and England… Because during those trips he had been with other people he could leave the talking up to. It wasn’t like he wanted to run around talking with all the idiots anyway. But in school there had been English classes so he wasn’t completely hopeless. Just almost. And he didn’t usually care because he was above learning some random language just because society thought you should. Everyone should speak French… Or at least Russian…

But they didn’t. So now he had to ask people questions like a stupid tourist. He didn’t particularly like that… That’s why the long flight had been spent reading through a French-English lexicon and writing down the most useful phrases on a piece of paper. He needed to be able to speak at least for a bit. Embarrassing himself wasn’t high on his list of things he liked to do. It wasn’t even on it in fact. Getting of the plane, through the airport, find a taxi, get to the hotel, check in to his room all went fairly smoothly. Just don’t speak to much, be direct and give people a bit extra tips and it all worked nicely. The hotel itself then… Well, Mikhail though that it certainly could have been nicer… But he could live. It wasn’t as if he planned to spend a lot of time in his hotel room. Or… truth to be told he had no real idea what was planned. Considering he was only here because of a very mysterious invitation.

At first he had been sure that it was a prank, that there were absolutely no way he could follow an invitation like that. Who knew what could happen to him? He could be killed for example. But then he figured, who would send an invitation like that to lure him all the way to America to kill him? Not very logical no. So he became more curious… Then he decided to come. Because, he got a special invitation! Of course he did, he was wonderful and this was probably some high class party and they wanted him there. It was really flattering. He felt even more special than he usually did. Besides, there was this new up&coming model named Marcel who had his birthday party then and Mikhail had wanted a reason not to go. Because if he didn’t go he knew a few other fashion people who wouldn’t go and thus wouldn’t benefit Marcel’s career. Which was good, because then Mikhail might get a few other jobs instead… When someone tried to take the spotlight from Mikhail, that’s what happened…

So, that’s how he come to get himself over to his hotel early in the morning the day before the event. Taking a nap was the first thing he did. The flight was so long and quite uncomfortable too… After the nap he took a shower to take the travel dust away from his body before going out eating lunch and doing some shopping. He needed clothes for the next evening. His first evening he managed to find another model he had met before. This he was thankful of because then he had something to do with his time. Going out. Partying for a bit. Waking up somewhere else than his hotel room and then shopping a bit before going badk to his hotel two and a half hour before he should be at the black-tie event.

That gave him just enough to shower and then start to get ready. His blond hair pulled tight on the sides, high up on his head. Then some make-up. He still looked a bit tired and weary from the travel so some concealer were put on as well some other make-up. Not too much since he did not really know what kind of event he was heading towards. That’s also the reason why he decided not to wear his most flamboyant suit. Oh no, he had to be stylish and presentable. So a grey suit were put on as well as a white dress shirt which were barely visible under the vests he wore. His outfit ranged from grey to black with a few details of red and white.

He finally felt ready. He had everything he needed (the small paper with English notes in his inner pocket) and was finally ready to leave. A hint of nervousness tingled through his body as he peered out from his hotel room window. It was cold outside, snowy. Winter. Having lived in the warmer parts of France for most of his life that was not something he felt accustomed to. That’s why he took out a beige faux fur jacket and put it on (one certainly would be surprised to find out that Mikhail has in fact been with two more women than men) before leaving his hotel room. It annoyed himself that he was feeling so anxious and nervous. So when going down the elevator he took a deep breath and focused. It was just a simple formal event. Nothing special.

It worked. Mikhail felt perfectly calm as he stepped outside in the cold and started looking for a taxi to take him. It went fast. With a quite demanding tone to his heavily accented voice Mikhail gave the driver the address before leaning back in the seat. His grey eyes fluttered without rest at his surroundings that slowly drifted past him on the other side of the window. People walking quickly to escape the cold and the dark. A darkness one had to strain your eyes to see while still in the heavily lit areas. But as they drove closer to the goal it also grew darker. When the taxi, finally, came to a stop Mikhail gave the driver his money, a little extra change because he didn’t really care, and then he got out. Despite his thick jacket it still was cold. But he pretended not to be bothered. Just like he pretended not to be nervous.

Snow laid on the ground that Mikhail confidently walked across up to the house. His strides were long and his back straight. Cold? Pfft. Mikhail was untouchable. The only thing that disturbed his walk slightly was when he had to take an extra big step over a muddy part. His black and white couldn’t possibly get dirty! Then he entered the building. Warmth fell over him. And he stood still for a moment inhaling deeply. From what he could see from the entrance it looked pretty normal. Like any other black-tie event he had been to… But of course he still was a bit hesitant about it all. Why wouldn’t he after all? It was his safety he gambled with here…

Well, worrying gave you wrinkles. Thus Mikhail decided not to worry and… get this party started… Or something… A servant then came approaching but before he had even opened his mouth Mikhail had taken his faux fur jacket off and handed it away before rather nonchalantly walking away. There were surprisingly many people there. Mikhail really wondered what he had in common with these other people. Why were he invited, just like them? Because, to be honest, no one seemed entirely comfortable with the situation. A few of them had started talking to each other, but Mikhail still thought he could feel that uncertainty in the air. The only ones that seemed quite at ease were a group of three standing further away. Oh, well. Luckily for Mikhail he knew how to mingle at occasions like this.

He just needed something to drink first. A server came by and Mikhail swiftly took a glass of the welcoming drink and poured it down his throat. The empty glass was put away before he found another server with a tray and Mikhail took his second and only a sip of that drink. He could take that one slowly. Walking around in the room Mikhail did however realize something. He wasn’t the only foreigner… Not at all. It seemed like people were from very different places. There were so many odd accents and he could even here a few people talking in their own native language. But since Mikhail was everything but a geography freak he couldn’t really place anyone… And he didn’t feel like making himself look stupid by trying to talk with random people who didn’t even know as much English as he did…

Luckily for Mikhail he was suddenly finding himself spoken to after walking around randomly for a while. He stopped and turned to look at the man next to him. Eyeing him from the top and down then up again. He was not ugly… But… those shoes, and why weren’t he wearing his tie? Oh well, not everyone could have Mikhail’s sense of fashion… And he looked like a nice enough person, and Mikhail was dying for some social interaction. So he let a faint smile find it’s way to his lips as he met the slightly taller male’s eyes. Ah, let’s see. English. Yes. He spoke that. Kind of… ”Yes… Euh… Not ze best but I speak.” A little bit of honesty in there. It wasn’t as if he could pretend that he spoke perfect English after all… He had to admit that there was something he wasn’t the best at…

But despite that he let his smile widen and basically sparkle as he looked at the other man. He felt like he needed to socialize and be nice. After all, it would be good to have someone on his side if this turned out to be something dangerous they had been dragged into. ”Euhh… My name ees Mikhail Yel’tsin. Euhhh… It ees nice to meet you.” Oh, he was good. Except for the heavy accent he could easily pass for an American! Kind of… Anyway, Mikhail extended his hand for a quick and light handshake.

[Bliatch]

❝Give them pleasure - the same pleasure they have when they wake up from a nightmare.
❝_Alfred Hitchcock
╔════════════════════════════╗


Filler! "Miss? Uhm..." Chimed a voice bringing her back from whatever unexpected rest she may have fallen in to, Isra sluggishly pulled herself off the tiny pull down table, to look at a flight attendant that was calling her attention. Her eyes fluttered rapidly trying to wake herself up but, it was no use jet lag and narcolepsy were working against her. Top heavy her head slammed back against her head rest, the flight attendant girl didn't know what to do so she closed the Arab woman's table and went down the aisle directing everyone to their seats. They would be landing soon. In the process of rapid eye motion, Isra is messily slumped in to the airplane seat. Her long legs lay in a broken position, her back curled so the small of her back was on the base of the chair her shoulders were where her back should have gone and her head somehow leaned against the arm rest. Suddenly, the tire of the plane hit the turmac causing the entire plane to rattle. Isra bashed he head against the arms rest, she sat up quickly not understanding exactly what was happening. Her hand, went towards her temple mumbling "نكاح" ❶ Her fingertips graced the quickly reddening patch of skin, wincing as she touched it a passenger across from her asked "Are you okay?" Isra stared at the person wanting to answer only she hadn't completely understood what the man had said " Okay?... Eh, Yes?"

Filler! Everyone in the plane began to stand and take their bags from the compartments above the seats. Isra followed standing and taking her two carry-on bags from the compartment she started down the aisle in a slow and well for lack of better wording chaotic fashion. The man that had asked her about the okay then asked "Do you need help finding the baggage pick up?" Isra raised a questioning brow, what the hell was this guy trying to ask her? Ugh! english was such a frustrating language, she fidgeted with her coat pockets. Pulling out her boarding ticket from her pocket Isra turned to the man her bags slung around either shoulder she pointed to the baggage pick up number. "This? Where is .." She couldn't think of the word right away but, the man got the gist of what she was trying to say. He lead her towards a large conveyor belt "This is it he said." Isra looked about for her English-Arabic translation booklet, but it must have been inside the pocket of her actual suitcase. Giving up on trying to say it in english, Isra sighed and said "شكرا على مساعدتك"❷ with mild irritation. With that she offered him a crooked smile and walked away from him, staying in the general area. It was just the language barrier it was driving her a bit mad.

Filler! the Baggage finally decided it wanted to come about, after what seemed like... about fifteen minutes, Isra saw her bag.Making her way towards it she grabbed the handle and was forced to yank the damn think off the conveyor belt. She was able to do it with one arm which says a lot about her upper body strength. Dragging her suitcase towards a monetary converter, she exchanged what dirham she had in her wallet to USD. That was simple enough, now came what every American film describes as difficult, hailing a taxi cab in New york. Isra stood on the curb, it was surreal everything that was in the movies was true here; The traffic, The massive crowds of people, standing next to a trash can and seeing copious amounts of wrappers on the floor... the dirt. It took her much longer to hail a cab then it took to retrieve her bags but she finally got one. It was her very first time out of the country but taxi cabs they had plenty of in Morocco, so she knew how to handle them another language or not. She said the first Hotel name that came to mind, of course in a broken english, but the cab driver hadn't seemed to mind. "Hey, we're not five minutes away from your hotel Miss." Isra looked in to the mans eyes via the rear view mirror, she was beginning to envy how fluently these people spoke their language, there was no clipping, no unwanted "Uh's" or "eh's" all of it was very smooth.

Filler! As the cab stopped before the hotel, Isra gave the man his well deserved money and a little bit of a tip. Stepping out of the taxi, she was truly hit by the cold weather. "يا الله!" ❸ she said in a shiver, taking her bags and all the rest of her belongings for that matter she scurried in to the hotel. The warmth worked slowly but it began to warm what five minutes of cold weather has done to her. Isra walked up to the front desk looked at the woman behind the counter, bit her bottom lip and unzipped the first pocket of her suitcase retrieving her translator book. flipping about the pages Isra began to speak "Hello, I need... eh room ferr three ...uh full nights" the woman had a smile plastered on to her face that just wouldn't go away. "Right then, that will be 156 dollars for three night with an included dinning card?" Isra looked at the woman as if she had a second head nestled on her shoulders, she just nodded and decided it didn't matter what was she going to say no, and go back out in to that cold? Ha! Isra payed the woman and received her room key and dinning card. counting her change Isra smiled at the woman and said "Good-bye" and that woman with her plastered smiled nodded "Right then, you too." As Isra turned she opened her eyes wider, language barrier or not over enthusiasm still translates itself.

Filler! Isra found the elevator and looked down at the room key; 413, she pressed the button 4 and made herself comfortable for the next minute or so. Isra arrived the evening before the event the mysterious letter had invited her too. Bing! The noise startled Isra and the elevator doors opened, she walked out of the elevator and finally to her room the final destination for this evening. Opening the door to her new home for the next three days, Isra quickly removed her shoes, dropped her things and plopped on to the bed. Allowing herself to relax for four point five minutes, Isra stood up and went to one of her carry on bags retrieving a large bottle of pills and a average sized bottle of Poland springs. Untwisting the cap to her caffeine supplements, Isra downed to pills and took a swig of her water bottle. As mentioned before she arrived one evening before the damn black tie event, she only had that long to study her english so she doesn't embarrass herself there. Besides sleeping was the enemy. When she slept, she has dreams (well at least they start out that way.) No, no she just wouldn't have it. Sitting down with her translator booklet and a complimentary hotel pen she began to study more useful words and phrases.
Time flies when you're not sleeping...

Filler! "Hello, my name is Isra Chengi, I speak very..." trying to say her sentence from memory, she just couldn't do it. She flipped through the pages of the book " Eh... little engleesh." She put the book back on to her chest and continue her statement "I am here for this letter. What is thees all eh about?" She questioned if she used the right word, she checked in the book and smiled in self accomplishment."Do eh...you speak Arabic or French?" She continued to practice phrases she thought she'd be using often, most of them questioning the nature of the entire event. Before she even knew it was ten in the morning, Isra yawned and stood from the bed she had practiced on rather than slept. She grabbed her dinner card and room key and left her room for some sort of food. What she found here was decent but too pricey for no good reason, at least in her opinion.She ordered her food in a less broken english then the night before which made he proud with her progression. Isra Decided that she may as well waste her time and see what else the hotel had to offer her, because she wasn't going outside unless she absolutely had to. Remembering last nights five minutes of bone chilling was enough to send a shiver down her spine. She Found a coffee machine and sat by it contently continuously paying to fill it up. Isra took her coffee black and bitter, not that she enjoyed the taste but she didn't want anything to play with how the caffeine worked for her.After spending the majority of three hours splurging money on coffee, watching news on a t.v in the lobby and cringing when the weather report returned every half hour. She checked the time on her cell phone it read only one o'clock. She stood from the lobby and made her way back to her room, May as well begin setting everything up, so that it's ready come time for her to go.

Filler! In her room she began to unzip her suitcase, unfolding a strapless dress long black dress, folding though had been a bad move on her part. The dress was full of wrinkles, setting the dress out on the bed Isra clicked her tongue in irritation. Thankfully she had plenty of time to fix it, that is if she could find an iron, the silly woman hadn't brought her own. Sighing she decided the dress she will deal with later. Isra decided she would start with a warm shower, then went ahead and while still in her towel she brushed her teeth. She walked back towards the dress and looked at it scrunching her nose with distaste. Okay, time to find an iron, she looked in the closet to have a ironing board nearly fall on her. Yelping and pushing the board upwards she avoided getting smacked in the head for the second time since she entered this god forsaken time zone. Lowering it slowly she revealed behind an iron on the shelf of the closet. "Oh there isd ... a god" she said looking up at the ceiling, quickly she turned and grabbed her dress chucking it on to to ironing board, she plugged in the Iron and waited for it to get hot as she did she continued to practice. "Hello, my name is Isra Chengi. I was sent thees letter ... eh Why am I here?" She began to Iron away at the dress, running over the line in her head. Just in case she should bring the book, realizing how would she understand what they were saying.

Filler! After about fifteen minutes of ironing she put on her under garments consisting of the strapless bra, seamless nude under wear and finally stocking that matched the color of her legs. she slipped on the dress, it was still very warm oh but she didn't mind it. Everything else took the usual for a woman to get ready about two hours because she had to experiment see if one thing looked better than the other... well in any case it took longer than it should have. Isra finally content with the outcome of her clothing and hair, which was in a simple but elegant up-do. She now only had to worry about make up, she went in to the bathroom and looked in the mirror studying the red mark still on her temple from the night before. The dark circle under her eyes and red mark on her temple must be covered, oh make up did wonders. Just in case the make up would wear off some during the event, she brushed her bangs over that temple. Back in the room Isra slipped on a pair of black heels, nothing too special and took the letter given to her, the business card that came enclosed with the letter, her book of english phrases and translations and her caffeine supplements all in a small over the shoulder purse. Isra looked at the time it was nearing 5:15 not exactly knowing how long it would take to hail another cab or to event get to the event. Isra decided she should go, but not before putting on a fantasy jewel Necklace, that was good jewelry but not real, though it may have passed for it to an inexperienced eye.

Filler! Shivering under a thick black leather coat, the taxi came faster than it did last night, hoping in to the back seat she gave the man the business card, "Hello, I need to ..eh go thees address." to that the man took the card and started to pull away "Yeah, sure thing." For the majority of the ride Isra intently watched the surroundings flash by through the window. The man told her that they were about twenty minutes from the place, He looked at her turning his head profile " you're not from 'round here are ya?" Isra looked at him trying to figure exactly what the taxi driver had just said, that word round. that meant circular didn't it how could she be from a circle? Isra shrugged "أنا لا أتكلم الإنجليزية"❹ The rest of the ride was silent for the most part, well everything but the horrible pop music playing on the radio. They pulled up before a brilliant brick structure, Isra payed the Taxi driver a small fortune... b*****d. She stepped out of the care wearily trying not to slip in the snow, Isra then shuffled her way towards the door which before she could even knock the doors opened and her jacket was taken from her. The butler with an awful lack in being able to speak her native language told her where to go in french, she smiled widely. Finally, she understood what someone said clearly she followed direction and found her self in the ballroom. She made her way quietly towards the tables all the cards on the tables were in anglo saxon letters, she then saw the patter that she saw on the Letter addressed to her she imagined that this would be her seat so she sat down.





Translations
❶ ********!
❷ Thank you, for all the help
❸Oh god.
❹I don't speak english

Links!
Formal event?





╚════════════════════════════╝