Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oh my goodness, I never thought I would see the day. Here before me stands the enigmatic figure of Tarnish Gabriel, another person who won at the name lottery.
Tarnish is a living construction site. The woman's body modifications are world-renowned. With more than 100 tattoos, which include tattooed black eyes, facial scarification, and modified ears on her white vanilla color glaze skin, one would think she's an habitant of middle earth. Still, here she is, The Tempest agent.
"Sorry, I imagine you wished to see the whole concert, but congrats, you are part of the lucky few chosen for the after-party."
Tarnish speaks, but all I notice is the little black snake, which I believed was a necklace slide down her neckline, and pops out of the sleeve of her transparent victorian style black lace dress to descend and wrap itself around her wrist.
Aurora steps behind the guard who brought her. She hates reptiles. I'm not a fan either, but it looks harmless until it hisses at me.
"Oh, don't mind Twista. He's very affectionate," Tarnish lifts her wrists and whispers, "no, she's the master's." The S of masters lingers on her bifurcated tongue.
I tap on my ears, as I'm not sure I heard right.
Halfway through the concert, I'm brought back to reality by Jesus himself, who stopped singing, stepped back, took a gigantic leap, and dropped down in the space in front of me.
"Can I taste you?"
Close your eyes and imagine the man of your dreams appearing by magic and saying that to you. At that instant, well, guess what, if your hormones hit that peak. Chances are you'll want to pee.
I don't get to savor the instant, as now we fast forward, and I find myself in front ofㅡ.
"I'm Tarnish Gabriel."
Tarnish's love for snakes is also a hot topic that contributes to the myths. She posses 106 snakes that roam free in her house; though her age and origins are unknown, many affiliate her name to devil-worshipping cults.
Once again, I'm neutral about this. I can't judge what I don't know. Perhaps tonight, I will be able to bring truth to light.
"We haven't got much time. We must leave," Tarnish says, turns, and begins to walk.
"Inna."
I almost forgot Aurora. The snake's presence tetanizes her, "are you going to follow her?"
"Aurora, it's a chance of a lifetime. You always tell me to stop being a scaredy-cat."
"Girls?"
"Sorry, my friend is uncomfortable with snakes."
Tarnish comes back, steps in front of Aurora, and fixes her, "snake, you say, which snake?"
Once more, my brain dysfunctions as I can see Twista on Tarnish's wrist, but Aurora turns and smiles at me as though the rampant is no longer there, "let's go, Inna."
"Aurora?"
Something happened which my mind and eyes did not grasp. I don't have time to assess Tarnish begins to stride down the halls, and like our first visit at the tattoo parlor, Aurora links arms with me, and we advance. Tarnish leads the way while the guards follow behind. She opens the door to an exit, and we climb up a flight of stairs.
An average person would ask questions, but my mind is dormant. This listlessness is how missing cases occur; victims don't see the potential danger. The thought I should be reflecting on is whether there's a risk or not.
If someone is aware of all the feeds about these after-parties, it's me. I'm conscious that what awaits us is not a game of patty-cake, draughts, or brunch under the moonlight. Yet euphoria holds me prisoner, and the same curiosity that killed the cat takes possession of me.
Tarnish opens a door; we are on the arena's roof, and there's a helicopter. Jet black, like the protection corps it has a dragon.
"Come on, ladies."
Aurora and I try to hurry, but the helicopters spinning propellers slow down our progression. The black-op drag us along, and we finally hop in. Once inside, they proceed to fasten our seat belts, and the plane takes off.
It's only as the stadium grows small as we rise in the air that I pop my inquiry, "where are we going?"
Tarnish smiles, "to La crim.′
La Crim is almost two hours away from Crimson by car, but it's a mere thirty-minute voyage in a plane. The castle sits on top of Camelia's mountains. None other than Aurora's father bought and transformed it into what would be a 10-star hotel if the grade existed. The hotel only has suites, and I can't say more because it's something I have yet to discover.
Aurora squeezes my arm; she's ecstatic, and so am I, but I play it up rational, "if we're taking the band's helicopter, how will Jesus and One, Two, Three, get to La Crim'?
Tarnish's smiles, and Twista hisses," don't worry about them. They'll be there well before us."
All my life, I have preserved my existence, avoiding any excess and problematic predicaments. Here I get the slight impression I'm about to break all seals in one go as I willingly stride into what is commonly called a bed of vipers.
For once, I shall do no what my logical mind demands but what my body desires. I guess I'm a little deranged, but what reassures me is the fact we are all deranged more or less.
