Another Plane

The Party

***

      Dirty yellow light shafted in through the open window. In its beam, smoke and dust curdled in the air, giving a grotesque visual to the sour smell of drink, sweat, and sick which permeated every square inch of the grimy house. Ian, shocked that he had found a room in the place that wasn't packed with writhing people, leaned back against the door and allowed himself a sigh in an exaggerated show of relief. He could feel the heavy house music pounding into his body through the thin wood of the door, and he tried to imagine it as soothing rather than grating. The muscles of his stomach still jerked convulsively, and he moved towards the window in hopes that some fresher air would clear the dizziness in his skull.

     As he neared it, a merciful breeze gusted in, sharp with the frosty tinge of autumn. It carried the smell of fresh cigarettes from outside, but there was at least a percentage of clean-tasting air; Ian drank it in. The muffled party thumped and roared around him, but he felt comfortably invisible in his secluded sanctuary. Several minutes dragged by as he tried to collect his thoughts, clear his head of the fog that came with the heavy nausea he had experienced. Idly, he paced past a grimy full-length mirror and regarded his reflection with detached interest. Straw colored hair poked out from under his rough-hewn green cap, and clung to his forehead where a sheen of cold sweat had formed. His face looked pinched and sallow in the weak orange light from the window, made worse when he grimaced at his own appearance. The state of the mirror made his tunic seem stained and worn where it hung on his meager frame, and with the leather boots and fingerless gloves he looked like something from a different time, a different world.

     "Happy Halloween," He told his reflection wryly. To his violent surprise, a distinctly feminine voice echoed his sentiment directly. Ian swung around, heart jolting into his throat, to find himself in unsettling proximity to a beautiful young woman. She was smiling at him sweetly, seeming for all the world as though it were perfectly natural that she should be here with him, exchanging holiday greetings. If he extended his arm fully, they would be touching. Ian, who didn't often find himself in the company of strikingly pretty people, and who especially had never had them look at him with this almost mooning expression, found this whole situation incredibly confusing and distracting. Her sensual pose and countenance didn't make any sense to him, and her shapely legs and plunging neckline were making it impossible for him to make sense of really anything at all. Her skin was the color of coffee heavy with cream.

     "H-hi, er, um," he stammered, finding his mouth suddenly very dry. He deliberately licked his lips and tried again, whilst she subtly drew a step closer. "Um, I'm uh Ian, ah, how did you find me?" His voice sounded lame to his own ears, and when he blinked he thought she was nearer to him still, full lips drawn to the side, eyes shining. He didn't know how he was supposed to react, couldn't do anything but desperately try to fill the silence. "Ah--haha, ehm, I don't usually go to these things, but I'm here with a friend. Uh, are you, um, usu--" Now her steps were measured and unmistakable, and Ian's stream of consciousness faltered. He wondered wildly what her skin would feel like in his hands. She stopped her languorous approach, close enough to kiss, and Ian didn't know what to make of it. This darkly beautiful girl continued to gaze at him, one corner of her mouth quirked up in a taunting smirk. Ian balked. 

     How did this happen? 

     He wasn't usually one for parties. When a fellow clerk at the convenience store where he worked had invited him to what promised to be a "rager" for Halloween, Ian found himself making up excuses before the invitation was fully articulated.

     "Aw, c'mon, man," his clearly crestfallen co-worker had wheedled, and he felt an unwelcome twinge of guilt. She was a nice woman, only a few years older than him, he guessed. At least, she looked to be about thirty. She was taller than average--though at his 5'10 he still had to look down to catch her eye--with thin blonde hair that had recently acquired magenta streaks. Right now she was leveling him with an impressive glare from her usually kind blue eyes; this was not the first time he had turned down one of her invitations, by far.