[Sodium_noir] Hell is Other People

[Jennie Teakle]

Allen Bradley, Marguerite Sinclair, Mara Ravenclaw, Christine McAbee,  
Sandra Scoland
A Pair of Mortals, a Vampire, a Mage, and a Bastet
Sinclair Mansion
1 – 3 AM

[Sandra]
“Let me commend you on a fabulous celebration Lady Sinclair,” she  
says.  “This place is magnificent.”  Sandra plays interceptor for  
Christine as she looks to gain the attention of the Hostess and the  
gentleman accompanying her.

[Mara]
Mara looks at Christine's companion.  Her second, if she used her  
Mentor's archaic terminology; wingwoman if one used more modern  
slang.  The woman was well-dressed and had a sort of predatory grace  
that matched her own.  However, the woman was drawing breath.  Not  
like her then.  "A pleasure to meet you Ms. Scoland."  Mara replies,  
not offering her hand first.  "Christine, ms. Scoland, this is Mr.  
Allen Bradley.  Mr. Bradley, this is Christine MacAbee."  She omits  
her relationship to Christine.  At the moment that was too  
complicated to attempt to explain.

[Christine]
Christine smiles awkwardly at Allen Bradley, mutters a "How do you do."

  [Mara]
“You look like you need a cup of coffee.” Mara says.  “Do you want to  
try to track one down?”  Hopefully, the now irascible Christine would  
interpret that as their more common “do we need to talk in private?”  
rather than as an attack “you look like shit”.

[Christine]
Christine struggles with her paranoia for a moment, staring at Mara.  
She hesitates, wondering if Mara is being helpful with her coffee  
gambit or whether it is a veiled criticism. Not like Mara hasn't  
shown her tacit disapproval of Christine's suicide drinking before,  
after all. On the other hand . . . Christine does need a handy excuse  
for a moment alone with Mara. Right?

[Bradley]
The air around the small group about the stair suddenly grew very  
prickly.  “I believe I saw the espresso near the Monet,” Bradley  
said, reading the look in Christine’s eyes and casually throwing out  
a direction before she could answer.  Some would call it dirty pool,  
others a tactical redeployment.  Bradley thought of it more as  
diffusing a potential land mine before it could go off.

[Christine]
Christine shoots a glance at Mr Bradley. Very adroit. Christ, does  
she really look that bad? Is she really so goddamn transparent?  
Christine suppresses a sigh. Well, yeah. Subtlety? Veiling her  
thoughts? That never has been her strong point. "Oh. Right. Thanks,"  
she says. Then turning to Mara, "Sounds like a good idea. "'Cept,  
Monet? Is that the guy who drew the stick people at weird angles? Or  
the one who cut his ear off?" She offers a stiffly polite smile at  
the company through gritted teeth. "I may need help to find that.  
Mara, would you mind . . . ?"

Christine allows Mara to take the lead as they take smiling leave of  
lady Marguerite and company and thread their way back into the main  
throng. But as soon as she can see an open door onto the verandah,  
she grabs Mara's elbow firmly and steers her through it. The relief  
of being outside and in relative solitude and peace is tempered  
somewhat by the bite of winter in the cold night air. Christine gulps  
it down anyway, even as she shivers inside her thin silk jacket.

She turns to Mara, who looks so perfectly at home in darkness and  
moonlight, her skin luminous and smooth like a statue's; the diamonds  
against her bare throat sparkling like frost. They are alone and this  
is so difficult. Despite everything, Christine just isn't drunk  
enough to deal with it.

Christine leans against the iron ballustrade that hems the verandah,  
facing Mara.

"I ran into a . . .  former client of Legal Services tonight. Here at  
this party. About a half hour ago. From our Seattle days? Mrs  
Carlton," Christine pauses, searching for any spark of understanding  
in Mara's fathomless eyes.  "The late Mrs Carlton. Remember her?"


Tag Mara







  
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