ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴʟʏ ꜰɪʀᴇ ~ ᴛᴍɪ

Chapter 5 - Downworld Party

Isabelle's room looked as if a disco ball had exploded inside it. Swirls of golden paint shimmered against the painted black walls. Still, it was mesmerizing. Clothes were strewn everywhere- on the rumpled black bed, backs of wooden chairs, and a tall wardrobe was propped against one wall. Her vanity table, its mirror rimmed with spangled pink fur, was covered in glitter, sequins, and pots of blush and powder.

Isabelle walked out of her small bathroom, almost blinding Allison. She was all silver and glitter-her ensemble included a sequinned top and a long silvery skirt. Silver beads adorned her head, nails painted like glittering coins.

"Like a disco ball," Allison commented, sprawled on Isabelle's bed. "I like it,"

With a whole day to kill, Allison had ventured into the library and scoured through the books. Hodge had given her a few suggestions from time to time, with Jace annoying her for almost two hours before Isabelle had saved her. A downworlder party was the epitome of extravagance-one has to go over the extreme to fit in.

Isabelle looked surprised to be complemented by Allison. "Thanks. Now, for you." She flourished towards her wardrobe, letting her choose. Sliding out of the bed like a viper, she strode towards the wardrobe, inspecting each dress.

"Let me guess," Isabelle said from the vanity table, applying a strong shade of red for her lips. "You dress like a prep school girl. At least, that's what I remember girls at Alicante used to do."

"More or less," Allison eyed an electric-purple silk top, off-shouldered with a questionable cleavage. "I do prefer a scandalous dress from time to time. Now, I have to be practical,"

"I don't think people start a war in the middle of a rave, Allison. Loosen up,"

Allison grabbed a pair of black leather pants hidden behind a Versace dress and headed toward the bathroom. "Watch me be pragmatic and chic, Isabelle,"

"Can't believe I'm saying this, but you kinda have style," Isabelle relented, when Allison came back, throwing her top an appreciable look.

Allison twirled to flourish her ensemble. "Why, thank you,"

"I'll wake up Clary, we have to dress her up," Isabelle sighed, and vanished down the hallway, her anklets jingled as she walked away.

Helping herself with the cosmetics, Allison tried to look presentable. Clary strode in a few minutes later with Isabelle. She blinked at Allison's attire. "I have to wear like that?" she sounded horrified.

"Whatever suits you, Clary." Allison applied a thin coat of eyeliner. "Extravagant enough to fit in the party, though,"

Clary nodded absentmindedly and looked around. "Nice room," She told Isabelle.

"I painted it myself." Isabelle emerged from the closet, holding something black and slinky. She tossed it at Clary.

Clary held the cloth up, letting it unfold. "It looks awfully small."

"It's stretchy," said Isabelle. "Now go put it on.

Clary was scowling at the dress in her hand when she headed toward the bathroom.

"Here you go," Isabelle fished out a pair of ankle boots with good six-inch heels.

A few minutes later, Clary came out and got similar boots and fishnets. Isabelle styled her hair and the girls had a quiet conversation which Allison didn't bother to eavesdrop on. She was already fiddling with her phone.

It has been almost a day since she left Alicante, and she hadn't yet talked to her friend. Hence, she called George Penhallow, her fellow Investigator.

They both grew up together in Idris, right from meeting in the bushes at the Herondale Manor. Even though she has other friends from her days in the Shadowhuter Academy, George was always special.