[Sodium_noir] Hell is Other People

[Mara Ravenclaw]

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 . . . ?"

[Mara]
Mara smiles at Christine's comment.  All those times she'd taken her to the museum and the culture still hadn't managed to sink in.  No matter.  "He's neither, actually."  Mara replies.  "But I'd be happy to point you in the right direction."  She then looks at her companions.  "Would any of you like me to bring back anything?"  It was polite, but not entirely proper to offer such assistance, but she asks anyways, hoping that none of them actually availed themselves of her offer. 

[Christine]
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. 

[Mara]
Mara does not resist Christine's rough and inelegant guidance.  She'd had far worse during the ballroom dancing lessons her mother had insisted she'd take. Christine was the one that wanted to talk to her what about?  Getting back together?  She could only hope that was the case, but she rather doubted it.    

[Christine]
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.

[Mara]
Mara is aware of the wind's icy caress upon her bare shoulders, but doesn't seem bothered by it.  Christine looked cold.  She wanted to offer her a coat, but her own wrap is safely stashed away in a coat room somewhere in the mansion.  She knew her lover's body language well.  She was hesistating.  There was something she wanted to say, but didn't know exactly how.  She wasn't going to rush her. 

[Christine]
"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?"

[Mara]
The spark that Christine sees in Mara's eyes is one of rage.  Carlton?  Here?  That could only mean that Carlton had to be a vampire, and she'd tried to kill her and Jay so they wouldn't go tattling to the Prince that someone'd been Embraced without his leave.  Christine had nearly died to protect that secret...no, she would have died, if Mara hadn't given Christine her own Vitae.

"Show me where you saw that bitch."  Mara demands.  She intended to have more than just a few choice words with her.  She was going to rip her apart!

Tag Christine


"All that we see or seem, Is but a dream within a dream." - Edgar Allen Poe 




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