The black-haired woman with a long braid, now known as Sara Fairbanks - a secret alias of Fiorella A. de Marco, stepped out of her luxurious Falchion-class fighter with an elegant flourish. She paused for a moment, taking in the breathtaking view of the island paradise around her - the vegetation, artfully cultivated and cut to match the local metaphors, was picturesque and luxurious. From the oak grove representing eternal spring to the tropical beach-like landscape, everything on the island seemed like it was out of an OSC's catalogue. The villas, airy and bright with large French windows, complemented the surroundings perfectly. The narrow roads and cobblestone connected all the points of interest on the island. The island was bustling with activity and the merriment was already in full swing.
Despite the early night time already, Fiorella decided to keep her mirrored glasses on and hopped down from Falchion's nose with a small leather handbag in her hand. Using her sophisticated Kishiro watch, she ordered her fighter to close the cockpit, and with quick, almost feline movements, she made her way towards the smartly dressed guard in a dark blue suit who had come to meet her as soon as her fighter landed. With a polite nod, the guard reached into his jacket pocket for a reading device and asked her.
"Have a pleasant evening ma'am, may I know your name and may I read the code for your invitation?"
Fiorella smiled amiably at him and slid her mirrored glasses down her nose so the guard could see her steely blue eyes, adorned with long, thick lashes.
"Good evening, my name is Sara Fairbanks - and, of course, you can read it from my watches, good sir."
She held out her watch towards his reader, waiting awkwardly as the scanning device read the complicated code. Only the device's quiet beep of approval allowed her to release her hand and clasp it loosely along her body. The guard nodded in agreement.
"All is well, ma'am. Enjoy your evening."
"Wait a moment, good sir - Could you show me to a private restroom where I can change out of my flight suit?"
She returned his bow with a movement of her eyes and her deeper, melodious voice. The guard was simply captivated by her, and his mind tried to find anything about her exterior that explained her supernatural, inhuman aura. He searched in vain for appropriate words to name the being before him - was it ethereal, surreal - was he day-dreaming?
"With pleasure, madam. Follow me."
After less than an hour, the door to the private restroom unlocked with a click and out stepped a woman dressed in a long black multi-layered silk dress with gold accessories and matching high heels. The dress was artfully tailored to flatter her curves and complement her figure. It was also revealing her shoulders, upper back and both of her hands and proudly showing her of her smooth, sun-kissed skin. The upper part of her face was now partially shrouded behind a black and gold mask combining elements of an ancient Greek helmet adorned with black-gold-blue owl feathers, meant to represent the Greek goddess of war, art and wisdom - Athena herself.
Her hair was combed into a tousled and elaborate bun revealing her noble neck where the owl feathers adorning the mask blended provocatively with her black and glossy hair. Finally, her hair, dress and skin were then irregularly fitted with tiny droplets of specially bred bacteria, which gave off a cool blue light-like glow whenever they were irritated by her movements - giving her dark-colored exterior, attuned to the style of an ancient goddess, almost a mythical appearance.
Fiorella slightly smiled as she made the final checks and picked an ornate crystal glass of red gallic wine from one of the attending servants nearby. It was only now that she was ready to socialize with corrupt manhattanian elites at this lavish party, her the most favourite type of clients.
Curiously, it didn't seem like her date was here. It was entirely possible that he was just hidden away somewhere, and if that was the case then he'd stayed true to his word and made sure he fit in perfectly. In any case, one of the well dressed security guards would approach her with a definitive message. "Excuse me, miss Fairbanks. The Host would like to see you." While that was phrased like an invitation, it didn't sound like she was really being given an option here. This must have had something to do with who she was meant to be here with.
If she followed along with this 'suggestion' she would be lead to an extremely grand office room that also served as a place to entertain guests, and it was already playing host to two other men. The more immediately noticeable of the two was most definitely the host. A sharply dressed but middle aged man with a mixture of black and white hair. His features were hidden behind a large computer display for a moment, which he pushed out of the way since it was mounted on a suspended arm. At which point he just regarded her with silent contemplation and didn't say anything. The other man, with bright blonde hair and a mask that boasted a half-circlet seemed to be drinking a bright blue soda. The air between the apparent host and this other stranger was one of tension, the reason for which was not discernible at the moment.
She swiveled her head towards the oncoming guard and silently acquiesced to his invitation to meet the host of this social affair. However, there was a prolonged pause of several seconds before she made her way to the guard, as if sizing up and scrutinizing his demeanor and patience. It was a game, one that she relished playing - amplified by the crystal glass of crimson red wine she still clasped in her hand.
"At your leisure."
She finally said to the guard, ending her waiting game with a simple phrase. He breathed a sigh of relief, grateful to be able to pick up his pace once again, but Fiorella remained unhurried, as if time were a luxury she could afford to spend as she pleased. Only after several long seconds did she begin to make her way over to the guard, her movements slow and deliberate. She moved at her own pace, as if the entire universe revolved around her and her whims. It was a power move, one that made it clear who was truly in control. The guard tried to keep up, eager to arrive at the host's parlor as quickly as possible, yet Fiorella's measured steps forced him to slow down, making him feel almost clumsy in comparison. As they walked, Fiorella cast a quick glance at the art that adorned the walls. They caught her eye, but not enough to stop her from her purpose.
"I beg your pardon for interrupting you, gentlemen, but Sara Fairbanks is here as you requested. I'll leave you three alone."
The guard respectfully introduced Fiorella de Marco cloaked in her false identity, before excusing himself from the room. Fiorella, adorned in a variation of the goddess Athena, executed a graceful curtsy, holding up her dress with only her right hand while clutching her wine glass in the other. Raising her gaze from the ground, she cast a shrewd look at the two gentlemen with her steely blue eyes flashing behind her mask.
"Good evening, gentlemen. As your guard introduced me - I am Sara Fairbanks. However, you may also know me as Dawn Mayflower - which is an artistic name I used during my well received performance at St. Andre's. I am very pleased to meet you."
With graceful poise, Fiorella introduced herself at length, her words rolling off her tongue with practiced ease. She smiled politely, but her eyes remained sharp, taking in every detail of the room and the men before her. As she spoke, the scent of Shalimar filled the air - complementing her costume, colors, and her own unique style of body language. It was as if her presence alone had the power to engulf the entire room, leaving no doubt as to who held the upper hand. With a subtle pause, she passed the turn to the two men, confident in her ability to command their attention.
The host let her go through the full length of introductions, remaining seated through it all before slowly rising to his feet with a few words along the way. "Ah, I see. Your "date" there has already spoken about you at great length. I assume you're the reason he pressured me into delaying this party?"
Whether or not Fiorella intended to answer this, the other gentleman in the all black suit beat her to it. "Can you blame me?" Even without a direct reference it was clear he was talking about how the woman looked. And having spoken, it was clear who this apparent stranger was, if the golden rose that dominated the knot of his tie hadn't already given it away. There was only one person willing to come to a party like this, yet brandish a symbol that directly insulted and challenged the elitist culture.
She was free to connect the dots however, and neither of the men present appeared to be in any rush.
Her lips curved into a slight smile beneath the delicate mask and she blinked her eyes languidly. It was a gesture of approval, subtle yet unmistakable. Her gaze then flickered to her black-suited companion, and she took note of the golden rose pinned to his lapel. With a subtle nod, she silently acknowledged the elegance and refinement of his attire. Finally, her attention returned to her host.
"Despite the unfortunate complications, I must extend my thanks for the invitation to this social event. As of yet, my impressions are nothing but positive."
She added in a tone of pure courtesy, punctuating her words with a slight bow of her head. Then she sipped red wine from her crystal glass, her gaze lingering on the man with the golden rose - for long seconds she just watched him silently with her steely blue eyes. The mask covering the upper part of her face made any guesses of her inner thought processes difficult, but the air around her hinted at a certain intrigue.
"May I inquire as to what the program is for tonight? What should I anticipate?"
Her question, no doubt, was directed at both men - the host, who was throwing this soiree for the high society and her companion and guide for the evening. Fiorella tilted her head slightly, waiting for the answer with an air of poise and expectation.
Evidently the host needed a cane to ensure surefootedness, but it seemed to do nothing to hamper his well rehearsed grace. "I throw a party like this every year, usually the same time every year. It's meant to celebrate the success of our business, of the family, and coincidentally it's where I make all the deals to secure next year's business. The elated and inebriated are usually more willing to compromise." With the pronounced personalities in the room, it was hard not to take note of the cunning nature of the host.
"Consider also leveraging their more.. eccentric hobbies against them." It was a practical suggestion, and it was hardly out of character for Damien. Collecting evidence of people's dependence on Cardamine, especially if they were business magnates, would certainly help motivate generosity down the line. It was calculated ruthlessness, done for a purpose and to maximize benefit without senseless destruction. But there was still a deep seated enjoyment behind it. Almost sickening.
As she had done before in a hotel room on Houston, she tapped her index finger on the rim of her crystal glass once more while listening intently to the two men. The polite smile never faded from her partially masked face, a constant reminder of her poise and composure even in the most trying of situations. Her every gesture was imbued with a sense of refined elegance, befitting her status as a woman of means and sophistication.
"How thrilling it is to engage in risky endeavors, is it not? Playing by the rules of the upper echelon - who are often detached from the harsh realities of our daily lives - can become quite tedious. Perhaps this is why we are drawn to these ventures - they add a much-needed excitement and unpredictability to our existence."
She concluded her remarks to her host and took measured strides towards the man with the golden rose. For an instant, it seemed as though she might lower herself onto the seat beside him, but her poised form remained standing. With the graceful air of an aristocrat surveying her subjects, she cast her eyes downward upon him.
"Your proud posture, my dear stranger, is reminiscent of a leader I know. Your shoulders bear not only the weight of responsibility but also the stresses of countless lives resting upon them. Whether that be true or not, it is clear that you share many traits with him."
He took the words in and then provided no visible reaction whatsoever. Even if minor twitches on his face may have betrayed a hidden response, the mask did a perfect job of hiding that. Split between jet black and glistening gold, both dull and shining with brilliance at the same time. It was distinctly angular as well, with several sharp bends and minimal curvature. The exact texturing almost seemed like it was made up of small cubes, which looked like scales under the right lighting, needless to say it constantly provoked observation. "Any man who leads must necessarily embody the combined spirit of the men he is leading." What he had chosen to say was likely a metaphor of some kind, but he offered no explanation for what it might mean and instead rose to his feet. Soon after this the host held out a keycard towards Damien and gestured that he take it.
"For when the party dies down, or if you feel like getting some air. It'll take you wherever you want to go and keep security off your back. It'll also unlock what is effectively the master bedroom, should you choose to spend the night here and leave in the morning." The host's instructions were met with a curt nod while the keycard was accepted and stashed into away for the timebeing. With this exchange evidently over and their presence in this room no longer warranted, Damien turned to his accomplice as if silently asking - shall we?
She gracefully bowed to her host as soon as he offered a bedroom for her and her companion to sleep in. With a polite bow and a glance at the ground, she silently bid him farewell. She then turned her gaze to her companion and accepted his offered arm like a well-mannered lady.
"With pleasure, Mister Doe."
With her glass of red wine in hand, Fiorella de Marco left their host alongside her companion. Despite being in potentially hostile territory, she gave off a suspiciously calm impression. Her own fears and worries seemed non-existent at the moment as she held onto her companion with ease - her palm resting comfortably on his arm as they walked down the corridor.
Once they were out of earshot, Fiorella let out a melodious chuckle in her stronger but quieter voice and turned her gaze to Damien Morreti, disguised as an unknown stranger.
"Ah, the evening has barely begun, and already a bedroom has been offered to you? My, my, Signor Morreti, it seems your reputation truly precedes you."
Fiorella de Marco remarked in a tone that was both polite and subtly teasing, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of her lips.
With the shake of the hand and a suppressed chuckle, he managed to put on a fairly convincing act of seeming coy about what she had to say. With no way to possibly be offended by banter of this variety, he figured that adding to the amusement would certainly help things along and make their time here more pleasant. "I have absolutely no idea what you mean." The words were delivered in such a way as to ooze sarcasm and false innocence. She was practically being invited to continue being playful as the distant hum of music performed by a live band became a front and center reality.
The main hall was fabulously well lit, plenty of space to not only show off priceless belongings but also make room for easily a hundred or more people. This estate, likely one of several owned by the host, seemed deliberately designed with parties and banquets in mind. Whatever festivity which was underway must have started at least an hour or two prior, since the congregations and cliques had already settled in. The floor was abound with perhaps all manner of gossip, vice and hypocrisy.
Morreti's distaste for all of this was well hidden. But his partner would have no problem noticing that his mood and demeanor changed significantly upon entering that main room and being confronted with what must have been a distant but familiar sight. Rather than say anything about it, he would simply glance in her directions, his eyes saying everything words could not. And with that being the case, she was free to take the lead and figure out which of the several clusters to join and socialize with. He could only hope to make it through the night without killing anyone.
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