The X-Project

Betsy is in the city, trying to find the excitement in a party that is obviously lacking. Unfortunately, there are other interests that have plans for our girl.



With her arm tucked under the other and a flute glass cradled in her manicured fingertips, Betsy looked on the socialite gathering with pale amusement. It'd been some time that she'd allowed herself to indulge in the scene. And despite it being a HFC event with their sparking chandeliers lining the ceiling, lavish tapestries decorating the wall, and an all encompassing fountain in the foyer, Betsy had to admit to herself as the waiter glided past her. Hellfire did know how to make an evening into an affair.

Dane was running his finger around the collar of his dress shirt again, trying to make it sit right, when he spotted his target. He'd say this for his employer - whatever else he might be, he didn't seem to get involved with anything less than stunningly attractive women, in whatever capacity. Keeping an eye on her was going to be a pleasure, and the prospect of the rest of the night's entertainment was suddenly a lot less boring.

Bringing her glass to her lips and draining its' contents with a flourished move, Betsy let her heliotrope eyes take in the scene. They gleamed under the penetrating focus of the lights above. And from the murmurs around her, they were also catching the attention of some of tonight's patrons as they wandered by her. But it was no surprise, with her purple hair pooling down her shoulders, accentuated by the black strapless gown she was wearing. Well, she was positive she was causing a stir and was not in the least bashful of the fact. Another waiter stopped in front of her, offering his tray filled with rich swirling liquid enough to tempt her, Betsy promptly traded her empty glass for another.

She enjoyed the utter indulgence, tipping the flute to her lips. Closing her eyes as she did so, Betsy felt a sudden dizzy spell. Her eyes flashed open as she braced herself against the table next to her. Setting down the flute, her hand went tentatively to her forehead.

Her sudden falter was noted with a smile. 'Wonder if she'll collapse in the middle of the floor? That might be a laugh.' Dane circled the room, making sure not to get too close. He'd been promised that she wouldn't be contagious, but he wasn't taking any chances, and if everything went off like he was expecting, there wouldn't be any need for him to even be in the same part of the house...

'Really had wished Emma had shown tonight.' Betsy thought idly, as she brought her hand back down to her side. She picked up her glass again and began milling through the crowd. Her momentary lapse forgotten. 'It would've been nice to see a friendly face amongst all these stiffs.'

"Get your own damn drink..." Dane muttered at a guest who was gesturing to attract his attention, then, as the idiot started to splutter in indignation reached out to smooth over the his mind, causing him to forget the incident. As he looked up again, he realised he'd lost sight of Braddock...

By the main staircase, Betsy looked on the crowd and felt no compulsion to stay and perhaps the last few days had finally caught up with her. Feeling run through was an understatement. As she stopped by the base of the stairs, the room shifted more violently this time. Her knuckles bone white as they clenched bannister, keeping herself from falling forward.

Betsy looked at her champagne, staring at the bottom of her glass. Drugged? Her mind tried to wrap itself around that thought, as her hand felt suddenly numb, couldn't keep her grasp on the stem and simply let it go with a crash to the floor. The sound of shattering glass revertebrated in her head and she felt herself sway again.

The voices were too loud. Cluttered. Like hot knives slicing through her mind, scrabbling to overtake her till there was nothing left. Betsy let out a gutteral noise, frantically searching for her attacker, saviour, or would-be father confessor.

Ah. There she was. And it looked like the fun was about to begin. 'Subtle, if you can' was what he'd been told, so as much fun as big scene might be, he was being paid to do it right.

"Excuse me, Miss Braddock? Are you quite yourself?" The accent was horribly affected, but they were all talking like that here. Without waiting for a response, he slipped an arm about her waist, and supported her weight. "Come on, let's get you up to your room..."

"Have to go home," Betsy said, weakly. Her head lolled back, finding its' resting place on Dane's shoulder. She couldn't process the precarious situation she was in, nor resist the man that kindly helped her upstairs. Her brow was thick with sweat as cold shivers wracked her body. The fever had quickly set in. "Call....the Manor. Call, Sc-- No, no. Call Remy," Betsy said, muttering incoherently under the strain. "Some-- Something is wrong." A sudden searing pain ripped through her mind and with a strangled cry, she felt her body go limp. Oddly, still conscious. "Horribly wrong."

"Let's get you out of harm's way first." Dane smiled to himself as he picked her up. He could get to like this sort of work. Just a shame that subtlety was the order of the day, really. Still, he could feel her shields starting to go as he carried her to her room and laid her on the bed, so it was only a matter of letting himself into the room next door, the one he'd made sure was empty, and waiting a while. He stopped at the door of her room, and looked back at her. "Goodnight, Ms Braddock. A pleasure to make your acquaintance..."

Betsy's gown pooled around her like the shadows that were slowly consuming, emerging. They came from the deep, flowing from within. Her awareness of the world faded even as their shouts grew to tremendous screams. She merely cried out as every wall within her succumbed. Unaware of the secrets she could no longer keep, all left open for the world to see, she fell into the void where the mind rarely wanders.