[Sodium_noir] L'Enfer C'est les Autres

[Liz Oleksyn]

Simone, Jack, Christine
Malkavian, Enigma, Orphan

> [Christine]
> "Fuck!"
>
> Startled, Christine clutches hold of Jack's arm at
the sudden apparition of the woman from the shadows.
She stares at the beautiful socialite, jaw sagging.
Christ, McAbee! Drunker than you thought!
>
> "Shit. Sorry," Christine manages, realising that
this reaches an all time low in the annals of polite
introductions, even by her standards. She's still
staring, bemused, into the serene face of the high
tone party goer who just seemed to appear from
nowhere. Just like she'd always been there. Hidden in
plain sight. And she does look like an angel, thinks
Christine, distractedly. There is a still, seraphic
quality to the woman's expression except . . . Except
there is something about the angel's eyes, luminious
by moonlight. A distance. As though she is viewing
Christine and Jack from some remote place. It gives
Christine an unsettling sense of deja vu. It is
damnably familiar but she can't quite place why, where
or who.
>
> "I'm  . . . " the nagging doubts and disorientation
make Christine stall
> in mid sentence. Her small talk and her (already
paltry) ability to
> dissemble desert her completely. "How long have you
been here?" she demands.

> Her expression is wary and she sounds defensive.

(Jack)
Christine’s sudden death-grip on his arm nearly sends
Jack back on his unsteady arse.  Conversely, it’s the
alcohol clouding his senses that cause his reaction to
the appearance of the stranger to be on something of a
time delay.  He glances, slightly confused, down at
Christine’s hand, then follows her gaze to the
stunning woman standing before them.

His immediate reaction isn’t a verbal one.  He simply
stares.

(Simone)
Simone stepped closer, into the light that fell from
the open doors  
to the veranda. The Mark Bouwer gown she wore was a
pale gray silk  
dress embellished with silver beads.  The simple
design had a halter  
top and sheer panel slits to mid-thigh on each side. 
She wore no  
other jewelry other than a modest silver chain about
her slim neck.

Simone's heavily accented voice had a hint of
huskiness about it,  
giving it a somewhat calming effect.  "Pardonnez-moi !
 I did not  
mean to startle you.  I only came out for some air...
these types of  
parties can be so... stuffy."  She looked over the
couple again,  
trying to appear concerned for their disheveled
appearance.  "Has  
something happened?  Do you need help?"

[Christine]
Christine resists an urge to smooth out her jacket
under the elegant  
blonde's scrutiny. She glances up at Jack, wondering
what to say. How  
much had the stranger seen - or heard? Could they get
away with  
'Don't mind us, we're just shitfaced'? Christine
considers this. 
 
Maybe. It's true, after all.

"No, we're fine. Little . . . merry." Christine shrugs
unsteadily,  
tries out a smile. "Needed some air too. Sober up,
y'know?"  
Christine's smile becomes conspiritorial.  "Didn't
want to disgrace  
myself at this high class party."

(Jack)
Jack is about to interject that he has no intention of
sobering up and doesn’t give a rat’s arse about
disgracing himself, but thinks better of it.

(Christine)
Christine searches for some diversionary topic. Away
from the subject  
of herself and Jack and exactly what they've been up
to out here on  
the verandah. "Hey," she says, "you're French aren't
you? Long way  
from home. Business or are you a Gothamite now, too?"
Realising that  
she may well now appear vulgarly inquisitive to the
Society Belle and  
possibly also rude, she adds hastily, "I mean, I am a
recent import  
here too. From the West Coast. Been here about a week.
On business  
but I think I'll be staying."

Oh shit, Christine. Now you're just babbling. Man! I
so need to be  
sober and able to focus without squinting to do this
stuff.

Once upon a time, Christine had fervently studied how
Mara handled  
her high society contacts, polished and effortless.
Back in the days  
when Christine had wanted nothing more than to follow
in her idol's  
footsteps, be a kickass lawyer, right wrongs, defend
the weak and the  
disenfranchised, all that. But even back when she had
high hopes for  
her career and a purpose to her life, she'd despaired
of ever being  
able to emulate Mara's easy social grace when
hobnobbing with rich  
types. It's too far out of Christine's element.
Talking to members of  
the social elite just reminds her acutely of her
origins. At best, a  
hick.

"It kinda gets to you. Gets under your skin. Gotham, I
mean," she  
finishes lamely.

(Jack)
Jack looks at Christine, then at Simone, then repeats
the gesture a few more times.  Finally, he thrusts a
hand - the one that had been bleeding only minutes
before -  toward the Frenchwoman.  “Jack Emerson. 
Very pleased to make your acquaintance.  You’re really
fucking gorgeous, did you know that?  There are a
number of very nice looking women in Gotham, but I’m
not sure how many are French.”  

He clears his throat and grins as he brushes his
ruffled hair back.  Somehow, his meandering words
sound infinitely profound and gentile, instead of the
drunken babble he’s actually uttering.

(Sorry for the late reply - Tag Christine and Simone!)


 
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