Poison and Cure

VII - Award

بسم الله
In the name of God
August 17th, 2004 5:47pm
Gainesville, GA, Grand Hall Of Ingenuity

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"I'm nervous, Mr Silas. What do I do?"

"Stay near me. There isn't anything to be nervous about."

The first thing I noticed was the scent of Mr Silas. He lightly smells of rose oil and masculine cologne, an unfamiliar scent that almost makes me dizzy. I try not to focus on it and instead direct my attention to the large, white marble steps we're climbing, my red-bottomed heels soundlessly carrying me to the top. My own onyx silk abaya and black chiffon hijab twisted into a niqab contrast the grand pale structure.

"Mr Silas?"

"Yes, October?"

"Am I expected to meet anyone?" I ask as we reach the top. He opens the door for me and I go through as he responds,

"Yes. Only because you're with me."

My eyes widen in awe as I take in the space. The large ballroom is a crowd of expensively dressed people, the black-tie theme causing everyone to be dressed as midtier royalty with silk and black and pearls and diamonds and every material wealth imaginable.

It's beautiful in the most shallow sense.

I feel someone looking at me and turn to see Mr Silas staring. I stare back momentarily and he immediately looks away and mumbles something under his breath, lightly scratching his neck.

AstaghfirAllaah, Genesis, lower your gaze.

"Daydreaming?" I try, to make up for my blatant stare.

"Something like that. I apologize, I wasn't paying much attention."

"It's alright, I'm the same way. Where should we go, Mr Silas? I haven't really been to a function like this before."

He clears his throat, "Well, you... You can do as you'd like. Talk to people or... Or follow me and I can introduce you to folks I'd rather forget I know."

"I'll follow y-"

I don't even get a chance to finish my sentence when a man I recognize, Wilhelm, suddenly appears to sling his arm around Mr Silas's shoulder,

"Brother! So glad you could make it."

Silas holds back a sneer, "Yes, fortunately."

Wilhelm's wearing a navy blue suit and a black button-up, along with a gun-metal watch and several rings; his chestnut-brown hair is lightly slicked back like 90s Johnny Depp, his monolided eyes glittering in satisfaction.

"I thought you weren't going to come! Since every other time you were absent."

"I got convinced," Silas remarks, unsuccessfully trying to shove off the other man's arm.

"Oh? That's a difficult job," he smiles, and points his head to me, "Did your wife have anything to do with i-"

I tilt my head curiously, "He doesn't usually attend?"

Interrupting would be good to save Wilhelm from being murdered by my employer.

"Nope," Wilhelm sighs, "Unfortunately, he's often too busy. He usually comes to the afterparty, though."

"Afterparty?"

"Mhm," he says eagerly, "It's where the most materialistically important people just kinda hang out and drink non-alcoholic substances and all. I hate it. And you are invited, so you'll get to see what it's like first-hand!"