[Sodium_noir] Hell is Other People

[Jennie Teakle]

Sinclair Party
Aurora, Jack, Christine
Mage, Enigma, Mage


[Jack]
"Fuck, yeah, woman.  Let's get out of this dump. 
Aside from the free booze, there's no reason to stay
and I can't think of anything more fun than sharing
the rest of the evening with two lovely redheads."


[Christine]
Christine glances at Aurora, eyebrows raised, then
back at Jack, grinning wickedly. 

"Damn straight," she says then her expression puckers
with sudden doubt. "Wait . . . free booze?" Christine
glances around, eyes narrowed, scanning the busy room
intently. "Ah hah!" she mutters catching sight of her
quarry -  a white jacketed guy slipping easily through
the crowd bearing a tray. Christine flags him down,
her expressive face signalling her impending death of
thirst. She beams gratefully as the smart waiter picks
a smooth path toward them, offers the tray with a
professional smirk. Snagging a flute of something pale
and fizzy - champagne she's hazarding - Christine
holds up her glass. 

"Courage," she proclaims resolutely, " . . . and
shuffle the cards!" It's her favourite toast. She
contemplates her companions and her glass briefly,
thinking, vodka, tequila and champagne. What could
possibly go wrong? 

Giggling, Christine slides into the bubbles. 

"So," she says presently, "I'm wondering about hitting
Raindogs in Neon City. Great place. Any thoughts?" 

Christine's wandering attention is arrested suddenly.

"Say  . . . Aurora? You acquainted with any rich old
ladies?" Christine manages to look both intrigued and
puzzled. " 'Cos you're getting some attention."
Christine nods vaguely toward Aurora's right. "Check
it out." 

At a little distance, there is indeed an old, old lady
staring at Aurora with frank interest. She is leaning
on the arm of a very burly, dark uniformed man with
"chauffeur" written all over him.
Despite her antiquity and the strong suggestion of
frailty, the woman is superbly dressed - although
Christine suspects that on anyone else, the dress in
question would look like a Bedouin tent. A screamingly
gay Bedouin.  As Christine returns the stare (her own
wavering a little, due to certain focus issues) the
old lady smiles and tilts her chin in a small greeting
then turns slightly towards her escort who leans down,
listening deferentially. After a tiny pause, the
couple begin to move steadily toward Aurora, Jack and
Christine. 

Close to, the old lady is delicate and fragile as a
Sevres figurine, her curls artfully sculpted and white
as porcelain. She has a soft, grandmotherly face
belied slightly by bright  lipstick and intense
mascara. Her smile as she gazes at Aurora, clearly the
main subject of her interest, is serene. Christine
stumbles slightly, clutching at Jack's hand to steady
her. She grips it so tightly that her nails dig
painfully into his palm. "No. Not now. Not here!" Only
Jack would hear Christine mutter this under her
breath.  She glances up at him, suddenly pale. "I need
to . . . some air . . .?" she says tensely. 

The elderly socialite pays this minor byplay only
cursory interest. She leans toward Aurora, faintly
conspiritorial. Her perfume is sweet and a little
strange but oddly familiar. 

"Please forgive me, my dear," she says, her accent
pure Mayflower descendant. "I couldn't help admiring
your gown. Gorgeous thing! It's Worth isn't it? And
vintage? It's far too lovely to be a modern copy. It
must 80 years old - almost as old as I am. But superb
condition! A marvellous find!" 



Tag Jack & Aurora :-) 


OOC1: Eva's dress  - vintage Thea Porter -
http://www.museumoflondon.org.uk/archive/exhibits/londonlook/images/derivatives/London_Look/full/2004_147.jpg

OOC2: So sorry for delay :-( 



	
	
		
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