You arrive at the airport on the specified date and time of the beginning your journey, with your ticket in one hand and a carry-on in the other. After checking in and waiting an hour and a half in the passenger's lounge, perhaps with a coffee or a magazine to keep you company, you finally get to board the plane. Pleasantly surprised, the attendant gestures for you to head up to the First Class cabin, where another stewardess leads you to your comfortable seat and offers to fetch you a snack and/or refreshment. The cabin slowly fills up and eventually the captain is speaking to the flight at large in greeting, then a little catchy video comes on in the screen of the headrest ahead of you on the rules, regulations, and safety procedures of the airplane.

It seemed to drag on, but finally, you feel the huge aircraft rolling forward, forward, until there was a lurch and it launched itself into the sky.

---

The flight was rather uneventful. You might have watched one of the numerous movies offered by the screen in the headrest. You might have brought on a book which you decided to go ahead and read. Or perhaps you might have just fallen asleep, catching up on rest for the big adventure. Whatever you ended up doing, there was nothing of note that occurred during the flight.

---

After a long (and in some cases, long long) time, the crackle of the captain's voice spills out of the overhead speakers once more, announcing that the descent into the Swedish airport has begun. Eventually you feel the wheels of the aircraft make contact with the landing strip, resulting in a rather hard bump. When the airplane has come to a complete stop, you and your fellow passengers click off your seat belts and retrieve your belongings, and single file, you exit.

All of you pour out into the arriving section, just a floor above the luggage claim area, where you instinctively head to. There, you wait with the others, eyes scanning each bag to see if it belonged to you. After a couple of whole turns of the wheel, however, you finally realize that a tall, stoic-looking man, dressed in a rather formal suit and tie, was holding up an eraser board with your name across the room. Complete with a driver's hat and gloves, he only nods curtly when you make your way over to him and confirm that it was you he was waiting for. "You luggage is already waiting in the limousine," he says rather monotonously, and though he does have an accent, he sounds quite normal speaking English. "If you would follow me."

You follow behind him as he strides ahead, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of this new country - even though it was still only the airport. Already you can see signs in Swedish, advertisements for products that didn't look at all familiar. Eventually you and your new companion reach the exit of the airport, and there, parked at the curb of the pick-up section was the limo, as promised. The passenger door in the back stood open, and your chauffeur goes to bow you into the vehicle. "Please help yourself to anything you need. The others will join you shortly."

And with that, you are left alone to gaze at the sleek black interior of the car, at the tiny lights that shone from the floor, at the mini-bar that held a medley of both alcoholic and nonalcoholic beverages. You settle in, and prepare yourself for whoever else enters the limousine, whoever else had received the invitation and was joining you on this adventure.

"This is it." breathed the young lady in question as she lifted her head and walked past the check-in counter at the local airport, freed of the luggage she'd hauled with her all the way there via taxi. No backing out now. She couldn't even if she wanted to, with all the preparations she had made for the trip. All the things packed in the briefcase were transferred to her one and only piece of carry-on baggage, a hefty rucksack in sky blue and black that stood out against her darker green top, long-sleeved and plain except for a little work done on the neckline and designed more for the welcoming cold of the new destination than style, though what the top lacked her sleek black ankle-boots made up for, going over the dark skinny jeans she wore and the ever-so-slight heel clacking every time her feet hit the ground. She was dressed for the occasion, in this case being the cold, and packed equally well for it.

Regardless, she made her way to the passenger's lounge indeed after a little stop-over for the morning's calling of caffeine, and found herself whiling away the time by laying her head back with her earphones plugged in, listening to music and just lost in thought about the situation, which often did happen. She could spend hours just thinking, and listening, and thinking and listening, but that wasn't the case this time. It seemed a short hour and a half before the flight was ready to board, with the young lady picking herself, and her stuff up, with a more excited skip in her step as the distance was crossed to the flight. Her lips quirking in a smile in greeting to the stewardesses, and then further when she was shown her seat, she sat herself down and snuggled into the seat, appreciating its difference to Economy, which had always been more usual, more standard and more expected for her if travel ever called.
Unfolding and spreading a blanket over her legs, she fastened the seatbelt over it and prepared herself for take-off, which included popping a little strip of chewing-gum into her mouth and watching the little presentation on the screen before her quite eagerly. Her heart raced when the plane moved and slowly sped up, its rhythmic beating trying to match the pace of the wheels against the runway. And it seemed to her like it took flight the minute the plane left the ground.

She spent the short flight plugging the provided earphones in and scrolling through the list of movies on-flight, picking one eventually and watching it in its entirety, though being cut off a little shorter than halfway with the second, though it didn't bother her in the slightest. It was one she'd seen parts of already, anyway. Making herself landing-ready by straightening her seat, taking off the provided earphones and folding up the tray in which she'd enjoyed a light breakfast, she popped another piece of gum and lay back with her iPod and her own set plugged in, peering through a nearby window to watch as the blue turned to the sight of a city as the plane hit the ground, the bump making her body tense but relax again as the plane slowed to a stop. Her excitement was almost liquid and pooled in her stomach, making it twist and turn like it always did with the thought of disembarking in a new location, when she left the flight, rucksack recovered from the overhead bench, and her fumbling for her passport on her way out from the flight and to immigration. It was a smooth journey to the baggage claim, though impatient as she was, she was a little bothered when the bag didn't show up on the first turn-around. Or the second. That was where and when she was greeted by the chauffeur and his little chalkboard with her name clearly marking it, and though she thought it a little strange at first, it was to be expected. She even brushed off the luggage collection after another minute of thought and a short word with the man. It was to be expected.
Luxury treatment all the way or nothing, eh?
It didn't seem so bad after all.

"Oh, would you give me just a second?" she asked the man when they'd passed the toilets on their way out, with his initial greeting implying he could speak English, which she was thankful for. She wouldn't have been able to say pretty much anything in Swedish. Though she disappeared behind the corner and to the ladies' room without another word.

---

The young lady stepped out of the toilets and gave the chauffeur a shy, somewhat apologetic smile, even fixing her rucksack on her shoulder a little and tugging her shirt down so the fabric wouldn't be caught when she adjusted the bag she'd carried. Making someone wait was never a good idea, especially if they were so intent on waiting, and she almost felt a little bad. Visit the toilet? How typical of a lady!

The new environment was just as grand as confusing, to say the least. It was all so different here, and though she'd say she'd been accustomed to travelling, that was never the case and a new location especially always caught her off guard. The language back home was familiar, but this was a completely new tongue and she felt lost in a world not her own. The very thought left her longing, for just a second, to be able to make sense of it. The strange advertisements as they walked through the airport, and even the road-signs the minute they stepped outside into the breeze. Keeping up with the chauffeur's heel and pace wasn't too difficult, and she was actually grateful she didn't have to pull anything heavy behind her. Though it seemed bulky, the familiar procedures of going through an airport with luggage in check was something she had become used to. It would almost feel like a more insignificant journey were it not for the signs, the new language, the new tongue lingering in the air, the accents, the people, everything was unbelievably new. She'd never been to this part of the world before, so far up north. She swallowed it down and shook her head, curious grey eyes blinking up through the spectacles that rested on her nose when they finally made it to the limo, where she froze, again. It was a sleek affair, and the door hung open, as if waiting to swallow her up. She was a woman of medium stature, about 5'5 roughly, but the grandeur of the limo made her feel small. She thanked the chauffeur with a little mumble and another waning smile as she sat herself down inside, left to wait.

To calm her nerves in the meanwhile, the minibar was her first and only destination of choice, with her smiling like a schoolchild as she identified all the bottles of alcohol and what they contained by reading the labels in the dim light. Some she had never even seen before, but it didn't matter. She would try them, but she'd try them some other time, when she was more sure of where she was or what was going on. This could either have been the best or worst thing to ever have happened to her.
A kidnapping this fancy? Naw...Who'd go through the trouble?
A hand reached out for a can of Cola, and the stay was pulled open in practised motions from how many drinks-from-cans she was accustomed to having, and she wiped the edge with a little napkin that later found its way thrust back into her pocket, where she had it in case of emergencies, before she put it to her lips and sipped from it, sitting closest to the window that faced the airport and putting her bag down on the seat next to her, dimly-lit by the little lights as well. A certain Miss Erika Hayes waited and wondered.
What did he mean by 'others'?

“Write everything down, I'm serious!” Rikki's sister shouted from the car window. “I want to know every single detail when you get back!”

“I'll try. This is all just so...” Rikki looked around her, as if looking for an ending to her trailing off sentence. The airport loomed in front of her; no doubt it was full of sweaty, hurried people who bumped into you and stepped on your toes and crowded around you and suffocated you and-

“Rikki.” Sarah stated simply but firmly, pulling the twenty-something out of her stupor. Rikki looked back at her sister helplessly. This was all just so crazy; the farthest she had ever gone from home was Pennsylvania, and that was only for a few days. Now this briefcase shows up at the apartment door and here she was just going along with it. Everything in her gut was telling her that this wasn't safe. Despite the cash in the envelope, for all Rikki knew this could be a scam. Or an expensive prank. Or an elaborate human trafficking ring. The sky pressed down on her as she stood there, waiting for an excuse to back down, go home and pretend this never happened. Instead of backing out, Rikki simply looked at her sister, wide eyed and nervous.

“I've never even been on a plane before.”

“It's not so bad; even if you do puke your guts out, you'll probably get there safe and sound. And after that, they'll probably have a car waiting for you or something, so you won't be wandering by yourself for very long.”

Rikki took a deep breath and braced herself, savoring the air from her hometown one last time. “Well, I guess I'd better get moving. The note said I couldn't be late.”

“Good luck, Tavi. Don't act like an ass and you'll be fine.”

They said their final goodbyes and hugged through car window, soon the car pulled away leaving Rikki alone to walk unsteadily into the airport by herself. Shiny floors and lots of headroom greeted her, as well as a small flood of other travelers. She stood awkwardly in the middle of the place as people maneuvered around her, occasionally bumping her expensive looking luggage. Rikki looked down at it, just now noticing the contrast between her new luggage and the worn black khakis and t-shirt she was wearing. She didn't want to wear any of her new clothes on the flight, just in case she threw up all over them.

Rikki looked up at the signs all around the airport, none of it meant anything to her; she was totally out of her depth. However, out of the corner or her eye, she saw something at the airport gift shop that she most certainly recognized and had to buy several of this very instant to satisfy the demands of her sweet tooth. She strolled over to the shop quickly and bought as many toblerone bars as she could fit into her carry on bag. Even if she didn't eat them out of sheer stress induced terror on the flight, they could still be used as peace offerings to whoever else she would be staying with during the trip. If there was one thing that could get her through this unfamiliar territory, it was triangular shaped chocolate.

Other than that, all Rikki really did was wait. She waited until it was time to board, waited as the flight attendant showed her to the first class seats, waited for the plane to take off and nearly had a heart attack when it did, and then waited for it to land. Hours crawled by as she stared out the window, and she had begun to drift off to sleep. Maybe traveling wasn't so bad after all.

---

The plane lurched as it touched down onto the tarmac, causing a rather green looking Rikki to tighten her grip even further. She was clinging to the arms of her chair, like it would help any even if they did crash. A book was being crushed between her knees as she squeezed her eyes shut; it was Maurice, by Forster. She had given up trying to read it when they started landing. By the time she felt okay enough to open her eyes again, people were already unbuckling their seat belts. She followed suit; slowly though, her stomach wasn't quite settled yet. As gathered her things, Rikki talked to herself quietly; it felt therapeutic. “Well, I'm alive. That's a bonus. Definitely alive. One crisis at a time, please.”

She turned and looked out the window and saw the landscape. The horizon was dotted with unfamiliar architecture, with a backdrop of beautiful mountains and hills framing it all. It looked like a photo from a textbook. Rikki stared for a moment before thinking out loud, “Holy hell, I'm in another country.” As she stepped outside with the others, she noticed a slight chill in the air that she assumed would get much more prominent as they approached the manor. Rikki was used to cold weather conditions, though. Sometimes Lake Erie could be a nasty bitch.

Eventually she made her way to what she called in her head 'the big wheelie baggage thing', and began scanning the bags for her luggage. Rikki's heart began to pound as she didn't see it emerge. She stood there for several minutes, waiting, panicking. She whipped her head around nervously, running her nervous hands through her long dark brown hair.

Oh god it's gone who do I tell will they be mad at me did the airport lose it crap crap crap

Just as she felt like she was going completely insane, she spotted a man in a suit holding a board with her name written neatly on it. 'Rikki Dreyer'. It felt absurd, here she was in a completely unfamiliar country and there was this total stranger standing there with her name in his hands. Rikki approached him nervously, worried about what he'd say when she told him that her luggage was gone.

“Hi. I'm Rikki. Um...my luggage-”

“Your luggage is already waiting in the limousine. If you would follow me.”

Oh, thank god! Rikki thought as she moved her carry-on further up her shoulder. She walked behind the well spoken man and followed him to the car. The surroundings once they exited the building were overwhelming, so she kept her attention to the man leading the way, making sure not to fall behind. When they got to the limo, the man bowed and said politely, “Please help yourself to anything you need.”

With that, Rikki stepped nervously into the limo, which she had also never been in before, and saw another woman sitting there with a can of pop. She breathed a sigh of relief; Rikki had half expected the limo to be full of guys with guns or something, as stupid as the idea was.

“So, this definitely isn't a human trafficking ring, right?” She asked the other woman only half in jest. Might as well try to break the ice early. Speaking of ice, she spotted the mini bar and planted herself next to it. Rikki ignored the alcohol entirely as she didn't even drink when she was at home, and rummaged around the drinks. “Please, please, please tell me that there's some ginger ale in here.”

Victorious, Rikki first placed the ice cold drink on her forehead for a minute, and then started drinking it carefully. Hopefully it would settle her stomach some before anyone else showed up.

“Drinks, sir?”

James looked up from his laptop and smiled at the flight attendant, a middle aged woman with cherry red hair. “You wouldn’t happen to have some Gewürztraminer, would you?” He asked politely. It was a French wine so it would be unlikely that they would have it on a British aeroplane, but he was flying first class so it couldn’t hurt to try.

The flight attendant gave a curt smile and said, “I’ll get a glass to you right away, sir.”

She left and James returned to his laptop. He was working on his book, an espionage novel to end all espionage novels… or so he sincerely hoped. James always had his medical degree to fall back on if the publishers didn’t like it, but writing was his true passion, medical career be damned. If he could, he would drop out of med school and content himself with writing out of his flat in London, but his parents would surely have his guts for garters. They wanted a respectable doctor for a son, not some struggling author.

He finished the paragraph, killing a Russian agent with a few quick flourishes on his key board, and then pressed save. He sat back with a sigh of content and gazed out the window with his brooding brown eyes. Clouds drifted by in the clear azure sky, giving no indication as to the dazzling speed that the aeroplane was traveling at. A guy could get used to this life, James thought to himself. He didn’t grow up with luxury and wealth, but he certainly had an affinity for it. James was dressed stylishly, in a newly purchased stone grey suit, white shirt, and polished black oxfords. On his wrist was a new watch. It had a stainless steel case and strap with a textured black dial. The new clothes fit James well. He was five foot eleven inches and athletically built having done football in high school, though his musculature has declined since then. His hair was of a deep chocolate brown and was cut short, in the style typical of a university student.

The Gewürztraminer was delivered to him, and James took small sips of the wine, savoring the light fruity flavor mixed with the slight burning sensation of alcohol. James had given up on the idea of the trip being a scam, what sort of scam involved five thousand quid and a first class ticket to Sweden? He had done in a quick search on the internet-- he always did his research--but it had yielded nothing of interest for Woll manor. That should have raised a few alarm flags for James… but the money was just too good. James stared down at his half empty glass, he should be getting back to work. But at the same time he just wanted to enjoy this new found luxury while it lasted. He could always write when he had some down time at the manor.

James ignored the tiny voice in the back of his head that was telling him to stop being so lazy and tucked his laptop into a small rucksack underneath his seat. Then he settled into his seat for a quick film before they landed in Sweden.

---

Something was very wrong.

James could feel the panic rising in his throat. It was like a wild storm that grew stronger and stronger inside of him. James always tried to keep a shell of confidence and cool on the outside, but even he was finding it hard to keep his calm now.

Where the hell was his luggage?

James couldn’t believe it. Why did these kinds of things only seem to happen to him? Everything he had purchased… gone! James turned around scanning the crowd for an airport official, police officer, friendly face, anyone!...

James H. Welch

His eyes found his own name, printed neatly across an eraser board. Holding it with gloved hands, was an emotionless tall man dressed in formal attire. Surprised, James made his way towards him. “Um yes excuse me?” James said timidly to the man as he pointed to his name on the board, “I believe that’s for me.”

The man gave a polite nod to him. “James Welch, sir?” His words had a slight accent, but James couldn’t decide if it had the lilt of a Swede.

“Yes, that would be me.”

He lowered the board and gestured with his arm. “If you would follow me. The others are waiting.”

“But my luggage-“

“Already taken care of, sir. It will all be in the limousine.”

Assured, James followed the man, easily keeping pace with his long strides. James felt sheepish about his earlier panic. He had always been a bit of a neurotic type. He should have known that the luggage would have already been taken care of. These people really had thought of everything. As he felt his heart rhythm slow from a raging tempo to a monotonous throb, he began to enjoy himself more. Even inside the airport, he could feel the comforting chill of northern Europe breathing down his spine. He was used to the cold as he grew up in London. Nevertheless, he wore a dark navy overcoat over his suit as well as a pale blue scarf. Keeping his hands warm were a pair of suede aviator gloves, complete with fur lining.
James was intrigued by the many signs and images for Swedish goods. He would certainly have to buy a souvenir later. Would the Manor provide Swedish Krona for them to spend or would he have to convert the leftover quid that he had brought with him?

Suddenly James locked eyes with a man standing near the loo. His eyes were of an icy blue variety that stopped James dead in his tracks. Before he could do anything, the man materialized next to him and whispered into his ear, “Meet me in the bathroom.”

“And what if I decline?” James asked.

But the man was already gone.

Feeling more than a bit weird, James debated on whether he should follow the dodgy fellow. It could be important, or it could be a trap. For all James knew, there could be a dozen men waiting in the loo for him armed with KG-9’s and Sig Sauer’s. James could be knocked over the head and stuffed into a suitcase to be smuggled off for ransom or sold into slavery in some desolate eastern European country.

Curiosity got the best of James however, and he turned to the chauffeur who didn’t seem to have noticed the brief encounter. “Excuse me, but do you mind if I use the loo?” James asked.

---

James exited the loo feeling a bit shaken. He slipped the item that the stranger had passed to him into his inner coat pocket and smoothed the front of his suit. There just wasn’t something right about this whole situation. The plane tickets, the money, now dodgy encounters with strange men? He was in over his head. James wasn’t a secret agent, he was just a University student with an over active imagination. But it was too late, he had committed. If he left now, he would most likely find himself being garroted in his sleep.

The chauffeur had been waiting outside the loo and without saying a word he continued to lead James out of the airport. Parked by the curb like a ray of shadow was a jet black limousine. The chauffeur opened the door for James and took his rucksack containing his laptop. “Please help yourself to anything you need,” he said with a bow, “the other will join you shortly.”

James thanked him and stepped into the cool interior of the limousine. Inside, two women were already quietly chatting among themselves. James smoothly withdrew a bottle of Heineken from the mini fridge before seating himself across from the two women. He gave an encouraging smile to them, trying to hide his uneasiness behind a mask of confidence and charm.

Whatever lay ahead of them, they were in this together.

Benji had decided not to tell his family or friends what he was doing. He could only imagine their dumbfounded expressions if he explained that he had received money and plane tickets from a stranger and was actually going to use them. Instead, he'd told them vaguely that he was going on a vague camping retreat type thing and changed the subject if they pressed the issue. Not many had. Camping retreat type things weren't an uncommon feature in Benji's life. Luxurious holidays abroad didn't really suit his lifestyle or, rather, his income. Camping was technically free once you'd got hold of a tent.

That said, he didn't look like the arty vagabond cliche he'd carved out for himself as he handed his first-class ticket to the red-lipped stewardess. Light fabrics, faded from former gaudy colours were traded for subtle pinstripes and leather shoes. He'd half-heartedly looked at a tie, for the first time since his aunt's funeral, before deciding he might as well do it properly and thrust the thing around his neck. He'd even had his blonde hair very lightly trimmed, and while it was still very shaggy, it now looked more like an artistic decision rather than the triumphant haystack of yesterday's negligence. The only thing that let down the costume of a young, trendy businessman was his choice of luggage. He could think of no honest reason to buy new luggage when he had a decent satchel in decent nick and a rucksack in camouflage print. It was probably army surplus, but he didn't know; he'd literally found the thing in a hedge a few years ago. They were safely in the luggage hold now.

He stretched as he sat down, leaning backwards and wriggling. Then his jacket was uncomfortable and so the same red-lipped stewardess took it from him. She looked at him very closely before offering him a drink. That was the thing about first class. It wasn't the legroom. It wasn't the less contemptuous staff. It was the free drinks. He accepted the (disappointingly small) glass of lager with a smile. It would be rude to decline. And foolish. You never turned down a freebie. And this was the biggest freebie of all. Benji yawned and stretched again as the plane began to take off.

He was on his fourth glass by the time the plane inserted itself into the particularly fluffy bowels of a cloud, and nodded off shortly afterward.

---

The arrival lounge was like any other, he supposed. It was full of foreign. Intuition dictated that this particular brand of foreign was probably Swedish, but it could be French for all he knew. He couldn't read the posters in whatever foreign language they were written in, so it didn't matter which one. Then again, English words did creep in, in particularly amusing ways; hurdy-gurdy hurdy-gurdy hurdy-chocolatey hurdy-gurdy-gur. The novelty was short-lived, though, as he, sick of waiting for his luggage to arrive on the carousel - when every other passenger had collected theirs - sat heavily on the luggage trolley, still groggy from his flight-long snooze. He put his head in his hands and, after a moment, drifted off again.

---

"Excuse me, sir," A voice from nowhere. Whatever.

"Sir?" A hand shook Benji gently at the shoulder. He spluttered awake, "Excuse me, sir. You are Benjamin Rainsford?"

"That would be me," He said, groggily. He wasn't very good at mornings. Was it morning? Still counted.

"I am your driver," He certainly was; as Benji's vision came into focus he could make out an almost comically over-dressed middle-aged man with a hat and gloves straight out of a costume shop. They shook hands on Benji's initiation; the driver's hand was stiff and reluctant, "And your luggage is in the limousine. If you'd follow me."

Still a little bleary-eyed, he followed the driver to a swanky-looking limo outside. If this was a scam, they'd put the effort in. He was awkwardly bowed inside and invited to help himself to the minibar. He didn't feel anything. As his arrival killed the conversation and all eyes turned on him, he smiled, "I'm Benji. I'm guessing we're all English?"

On the way to the airport, Henry decided that he needed to be careful once he got inside, after all he had packed enough pills to open up a pharmacy. They were all placed in bottles that once contained various PTSD medications though, so he wasn’t too concerned about them. However, he was definitely worried about the LSD shoved down his pants. In order to avoid getting caught it would be necessary to have his wits about himself, and as a result Henry opted to only take two tabs of acid while on the plane.

After arriving at the airport and surveying the scene, everything seemed to be going okay until he realized he was going to have to wait on line to check his luggage. This ate up a great deal of the precious time Henry had allotted himself to get through security before the acid began to kick in. By the time he had finished it was already to late… As Dr. Halibern approached the first checkpoint he put on a pair of stylish sunglasses to hide his widening pupils. As he stood there, he watched the woman checking IDs direct person after person straight on to the security belts right up until the man in family in front of him. The Hispanic couple rolling their baby in its stroller were suddenly stopped and asked to submit to “Additional Screening” a phrase which immediately put Henry on edge. “Please head this way, sir.” The lady in charge directed, after the Doctor had given over his ticket and ID.

“Oh. Uh, no… Uh, please.” He stammered out in a panick, “There’s nothing in my butt! Uh, the pills are prescription. I’m a veteran, I, uh…” Henry continued what he expected to be digging his own grave.

“No, no, please calm down, sir. Your ticket qualifies you for the ‘Expedited Screening’ process. You won’t be required to remove your shoes or belt or anything.” The woman replied, handing Henry back his both his passport and ticket.

“Oh, uh, thanks. I’m, uh… Have a nice day?” Henry stuttered back confusedly.

“You too, sir.” The lady smiled, but all Henry could hear were the sounds of gunfire and explosions going off as he stumbled forward and through security. All around him lights were flashing and weird sensations started coming over him, tingling in his arms and aching in his legs. How he, a crazy man on drugs, managed to get sent through security without a hitch while carrying illegal drugs was beyond comprehension. Especially considering whatever procedures that normal, everyday American family was forced to go through just for the color of their skin.

Continuing to freak out, despite being safely inside the terminal, Henry franticly searched for a bathroom, where he proceeded to pop a few Xanax without even counting how many he took. Knowing this was a mistake Henry did it anyways; at least his nerves would be like steel for a while, he eventually justified. The downside of this of course was the rapidly evolving confusion and general impairment which followed his exodus from the restroom facilities. What was he doing here? The Doctor wondered, concentrating the entirely of his profoundly inhibited brain power on this very question. Nothing but the number ‘23’ seemed to break through, and yet somehow after what may have seemed an eternity, Henry appeared in front of his destination, Gate 23. Suddenly, a voice called out, as if an angel had reached out from heaven to guide him, “Dr. Halibern?” It asked, “The other passengers have already boarded, please come this way.”

“Yes, that’s me! Thank you so much…” Henry responded, a relieved smile creeping across his face as he registered the shape from which that beautiful voice had originated. “You really are an angel…” He said, as a soft, warm light spread over her. Taking her arm, he allowed himself to be lead to his seat in first class.

“Well aren’t you just the sweetest thing…” The stewardess replied, mistaking Henry’s hallucinations for flirtation. “You just let me know if there’s anything you need after take off now, honey.”

---

For the next few hours, Dr. Halibern phased out and attempted to decipher the strange texts floating through his mind in a completely foreign alphabet which he had become convinced were really messages from God. They were impossible to read, but somehow he could feel them conveying their truth, offering him a glimpse into the hidden secrets of the universe. Whenever the stewardess returned Henry would just ramble off about her divine presence until she left to deal with the other passengers. After a while though, the effects of the drugs were beginning to dip down however, so of course, having nothing better to do, Henry proceeded to discretely drop a bunch of tabs under his tongue, dissolving the tasteless psychedelic in his mouth, the truest sign of pure LSD. In time the stewardess (to whom the Doctor had simply decided to refer to as Angel in the place of whatever given name she may have had) returned again. “Dearest Angel? Could I please get a double shot of rum with ginger ale?” He asked, as some part of his brain finally recognized that in addition to his delusions, this woman was also stewardess (probably in her mid 50’s if he were to guess).

“Of course, love.” Angel answered, playfully leaning over and putting a hand on his chest before walking up to the front of the cabin. She quickly returned with the drink and continued flirting with him for a few moments before Henry excused himself to the bathroom. Not that he had to use the toilet of course, but rather he intended to snort a line of Xanax and break an Oxycodone into his drink. That would probably tide him over until they landed. When he returned, the stewardess was standing by his seat again, “There was a problem charging your drink to your ticket account, would you please come to the front of the cabin for a moment.” She explained.

The drugs were really starting to take hold of Henry’s mind at this point, but he followed her anyways, still unsure of how he was going to deal with this. Hopefully he could just give her another card or something, he really didn’t care if Woll Manor skipped out on paying for one drink… But as they reached the front of the cabin Henry found himself suddenly pushed up against a wall in a side room, “I just caught my husband having an affair, and you’re going to help me settle the score…” The stewardess explained

“Umm… This is uhh…” Henry had no idea what to do, essentially in his mind a divine presence was commanding him to sleep with it. She kept speaking but Henry couldn’t hear her anymore, yet he felt like he could understand what she was saying somehow.

“My husband is a fallen angel who has succumbed to an evil demon temptress, a disgrace in the light of God. You must cleanse my spirit with your pure, enlightened soul. Do this for me and I will show you the truth of the cosmos, of heaven and earth and all realms in between.” The angel spoke, communicating not by words, but with her spirit.

“Alright, dear angel, I will do as you command…” Henry answered. Then, as if blessed by the grace of God himself, the angel drew close, and as soon as the words had left his mouth, her lips came to meet his own. Light and purity surrounded them, filling up the room with its divine radiance and transporting Henry away from his body and into a deep, spiritual realm. Inside, Henry experienced a profound connectivity to the cosmic whole, feeling his own energy resonate within the flow of the universe. It was peace, and it was clarity on a level that few people would ever find…

---

The next thing he knew, Henry woke up in his seat. Now mostly off the drugs and looking back at what had happened, Dr. Halibern suddenly realized what had really been going on. Had he just been used for revenge by a 57 year old stewardess? Maybe so, but he liked to believe that in some weird way she really was an angel…

Either way, having slept very well during the remaining portion of the flight, Henry had almost fully shaken off the insanity that had just ensued. A normal person would still be reeling after a day as crazy as his, but not the good Dr. Halibern. Despite everything that had happened, he was already mentally preparing himself for his next dive into that warm, deep pool known as cognitive impairment. The only question to be answered was what lovely chemical cocktail he’d be riding today.

After giving a friendly goodbye and a knowing wink to the stewardess, Henry finally de-boarded the plane after the nearly 14-hour journey and took his first steps on Swedish soil. Making his way to the baggage claim he took in what was to him, the all too familiar sight of unfamiliar sights. Upon reaching his destination, Henry scanned the belt for his bags a while until one of the other passengers from his flight happened to make his way over. "Always hated this part. Such a hassle," He grunted, speaking English with a distinctly Swedish accent. "Just want to finally go home to the wife and kids, you know?" He chuckled, shaking his head, before scratching an itch at the back of his neck and squinting at the belt himself. After another moment he turned and extended his hand, "Felix Bertel. I think you sat three rows behind me," he says with a friendly grin. "What brings you to our wonderful country?"

“Oh, um… Henry Halibern. Dr. Henry Halibern. I’m here for the big annual vacation giveaway, I guess. Woll Manor.”

Felix's eyebrows raised a couple of inches on his forehead, tilting his head slightly, as if in thought. "Woll Manor? Hm… I've never heard of it," He replied, thoughtfully touching his fingers to his chin. Thinking himself rude, he quickly waved a hand dismissively and chuckled again. "Probably just my own ignorance. Apologies… Aha! Spotted it," Felix continued, then triumphantly pointing to what was a black bag on the wheel. "It was nice chatting with you. I hope you enjoy your stay with us!"

“Huh, well that was weird.” Henry said aloud to himself. A mysterious invitation to an obscure manor was just the kind of experience he needed to make himself feel alive. Hopefully things would only get more entertaining from here he thought. More entertaining than standing around looking for his luggage, at least… Taking a look around the airport, Henry finally found the man holding up the sign with his name on it. Maybe they already had his luggage… What if they were searching it, he panicked as he urgently made his way over to the man.

“I’m Dr. Halibern, thank you.” He said, “Can I assume you’ve already taken my luggage?”

“Yes sir, your things are waiting for you in the limousine. If you’ll follow me, please.” The driver responded in what seemed to be an almost mechanical fashion.

Figuring he’d only be calling more attention to himself if he brought up the bag searching thing, Henry simply followed the man to the car. Most of what he didn’t want discovered had been carried on the plane anyways so it wasn’t a big deal, he reassured himself.

“Please, help yourself to anything you’d like, sir.” The driver said, bowing Henry inside the vehicle. His eyes immediately glazed over the other passengers and straight to the minibar.

“Wonderful to meet you all, Dr. Henry Halibern at your service.” He smiled, grabbing a glass and one of those mini bottles of brandy. “Sorry if I’m late, I’ve just had one hell of a trip.”

After Henry settles into the limo with the rest of you, the chauffeur closes the back door and disappears to the driver's side, and after a few moments, you all hear the vehicle being started. The window dividing your section and the driver is heavily tinted, making it impossible to see out the front of the car. But the windows along the sides show your departure from the curb of the airport as the driver begins the journey.

You pass through the busy city first, encountering honks and shouts that you cannot understand. The buildings are tall and the sun reflects off their surfaces; if it weren't for the foreign signs, you'd have thought you were merely having a drive through a city in your home land.

After the city, the driver takes an exit onto a highway that seemed to stretch on forever. The landscape is beautiful and green, although eventually you begin to see some snow creeping across the surface. Finally, the car takes a turn and the smooth concrete turns into the subtle roughness of a dirt path. This is a one way only street, and on either side of the car you can see just the trunks of towering trees among the shrubbery. By now, the sun is mostly hidden away, so that when you finally break through the trees into an open clearing, it is bathed in a purple-orange tinged light.

The car goes on for another hundred feet, then turns its hood to face east, and to your excitement, the Woll Manor finally comes into view through the windows behind the mini bar. You hear the driver kill the engine, step out of the limo, and close his door before coming to the back to open the passenger's one. He steps away in a small bow and gestures for you all to exit the vehicle.

"Welcome, misters and misses, to the Woll Manor," he says in that monotonous voice as he straightens up again. You all pile out of the car and are immediately hit with the cold, fresh air and the grandeur of the entire place. The car had stopped in the gravel of the huge clearing, which eventually gently slopped down and turned into grass with smatterings of snow. In the center of the grass field was a magnificent marble statue of two angels standing side by side, one pointing east while the other points west towards the woods that surrounded the Manor. Occasionally you hear the soft rumbling of water nearby, though you can't yet see where it is coming from. And of course, as you face north, you feast your eyes on the large, Victorian-esque building that was to be your home for the next few weeks.

The chauffeur lets you drink all of it in for a few minutes before clearing his throat. "If you would all follow me, please. Your carry-ons will be taken to your rooms after you." Then he sets off towards the Manor, whose lanterns at the front entrance have already been lit to welcome you.

(text in bold was written by Callthecops, much thanks to him)

The country tumbled along outside the windows in the back of the limo. They couldn't see out of the front because of the tinted windows, but they hardly needed to. Concrete turned to green as they traveled, and green rolled over green rolled over green as they passed into the countryside. For most of that time, Rikki kept her eyes to the floor; looking people in the eye for any long length of time was a challenge for her. To anyone else, it looked like she was making a close examination of everyone's shoes.

To tell the truth, none of them had been particularly chatty once everyone had gotten into the oversized car. Some of them had drinks, or just said one thing before falling silent. Rikki wasn't too good at social graces, so she couldn't tell if everyone was tired or if this was ice waiting to be broken.

Rikki's eyes darted around the floor as she challenged herself to a little game; identifying everyone she had met so far by only looking at their shoes. The leather ones belonged to the English guy Benji, if she remembered his name right. He had fallen asleep pretty quickly, and Rikki had a feeling that the minibar coupled with the soft undulations of the limo's travels had something to with it. A smile crossed her lips, briefly. She never could fall asleep in front of people, and was slightly jealous of the ability.

Next was miss stiletto heels. Well okay, they were boots, not stilettos, but there were definitely heels on them. The girl with the glasses and the skinny jeans was the first to make it to the limo. She was younger than the rest of them, with an accent that Rikki couldn't quite place. There was definitely some English in there, though. Rikki had a fondness for that island across the pond, for their television and actors in particular.

Now the fancy shoes. Well, everyone's were fancier than hers at the moment, but she remembered the style of this guy. Rikki didn't know his name yet, so she had taken to calling him 'Mr. Bond' in her own head. It was a bit of a stereotype, she admitted. He hit all the right notes though; the confidence, the awesome suit, the charm, and the accent. The only thing was wrong was the age, but he'd get there eventually. That, and some gadgets. At the sight of his shoes, Rikki remembered that she hadn't changed into her new clothes yet. She probably looked stupid to them, in her crappy shirt and hoodie. For a moment she thought that she was the only Yankee here, before her eyes traveled to the left and saw...

Ah, yes. The wingtips. The other black sheep. Doctor Henry Halibern. Rikki didn't want to be unfair to him, after all she knew quite a bit about being ostracized, but she had to admit to herself that the entrance and title of this man had set her completely on edge. It wasn't his age that did it, though he was indeed probably twice her age. It was that title. Doctor. Rikki suppressed a wrinkle of distaste at the word. Then again, not all doctors were bad. She just had to find out what kind he was.

Rikki finally raised her gaze from his shoes now and looked at the man himself. He was tall, and wearing a vest. Point for him, for now; she liked vests. Rikki spoke quietly, trying not to wake anyone. “So, Dr. Halibern, what kind of doctoring do you do, exactly?”

The man smiled enthusiastically, as if he thoroughly enjoyed answering questions like this. He said, “Oh, only the most dangerous and high-risk kind of doctoring there is... See, I doctor the minds of young men and women, much like yourself. They come to me asleep, feeling lost in a sea of meaningless dreams... And it is my job to wake them up."

Oh god this couldn't get any worse please tell me my room isn't anywhere near his

Every muscle in Rikki's body stiffened, partially out of fear. One phrase stood out from the others, 'I doctor the minds of young men and women, much like yourself'. How much did he see?

Rikki continued, not wanting to leave the conversation hanging in the air for too long. “You...'wake them up'? That sounds kinda experimental, like in a 'get needles poked into your brain wake up in a motel room not remembering who you are and also suddenly having psychic powers' kind of way."

He smiled a bit at her little joke, but to Rikki it wasn't all that funny. "You're very right about that one, dear. You see, because every case is different in my line of work, intuition and understanding of an individual's needs are very important. Likewise there is much brain probing, and many would even argue that increased spiritual understanding is certainly a form of psychic power... But I am no Neurosurgeon, my scalpel is Occam's Razor, my forceps are the Buddhist No-Self Doctrine, and the only thing I've ever officially prescribed was a daily dose of meditation. The only medicine I know was taught to me by Kichuan shamans and Tibetan monks, powerful spiritual rituals for healing the tired mind... I am a doctor of both Philosophy and Anthropology, and I study the essence of the human soul."

During this explanation, Rikki's jaw dropped. Okay so, not so bad after all. A spacehead. Still, she hoped that she wouldn't be rooming with him anytime soon. She gathered herself and said, "I see. Or, no, I really don't see at all. But Philosophy and Anthropology, that I totally get. Sort of. Do you mind if I call you Cooper? I have my reasons, don't ask me why."

Before he could answer her, the limo came to a slow halt. Forgetting herself, Rikki leapt towards the nearest window and gazed up at Woll Manor, the building now stopped being a legend and became a fact in front of them.

The old monolith's peaks stabbed into the sky, probing the air with its stone points. It sat, unyielding to the years, amidst a clearing of trees. Snow dusted the grounds around it. It seemed shielded from the world, guarding its innards. The sight of it was exciting and intimidating all at the same time. The sound of the door opening jarred her out of her reverie. Everybody climbed out of the car, except for Rikki, who waited for a moment. She always left last, just in case she accidentally sat in something and gotten something stuck to her butt. You never knew. Plus her sister's cat shed a lot, so she had to make sure she wasn't covered in the stuff.

After making sure that it was all clear, Rikki decided to steal one more glance at the manor through the window of the limo. That's when it happened.

The window...flickered.

That was the only way to describe it. For a fleeting moment, Rikki saw static instead of the outside view. It just as quickly returned back to normal. Rikki's heart shot to her throat, beating thickly as a bolt of panic gripped her.

Impossible impossible impossible impossible her brain shouted.

Correct, the voice of her own mind her paraphrased. Impossible as you have seen it, so you must in some respect have seen it wrong.

A thought floated across her mind and fell like a lead balloon to form a lump in her throat. Schizophrenia. It was followed by others. Psychosis. Schizotypal. Paranoia. Manic episode. Rikki placed a hand on her own face and tried to push these thoughts down. Cooper must be getting to her. This was nothing. A trick of the light. An uncooked bit of beef. She giggled, though a bit madly. Humor always helped.

"Welcome, misters and misses, to the Woll Manor," a voice said in the distance.

Snap out of it, snap out of it, this is stupid, think about it later, they're waiting on you.

The last thought was the one that got her moving, Rikki never wanted people to have to wait on her. No need to be a burden, even if she felt like she was going completely insane. She climbed out of the limo, shaken, looking as if the breeze could knock her over. The cold air did nothing to clear her head, but it reminded her of home. The others stood around the man from before.

"If you would all follow me, please. Your carry-ons will be taken to your rooms after you."

He led them towards the maw of the manor. Rikki's legs forced her to follow, but her mind was a long ways away.

// bold is written by the talented ginger cat!

AuntFlavia said
“So, this definitely isn't a human trafficking ring, right?”

"To be honest, I have absolutely no idea what this is. But your guess is as good as mine." Erika blinked over with a bit of a blank expression and curious grey eyes at who was to be the only other woman in the limo, but was the only other person at the time, who had sat down a little bit from her with a Ginger-ale. The space inside shrunk considerably as the remaining three of the "others" made their way in. That was everybody, Erika had assumed. It was that the last person had just sat themselves down, a rather weary looking man who looked older than the rest of the group, before the chauffeur, standing out like a sore thumb in all his glorious attire with the limo to boot, made his way to the driver's seat and that would be the end of it.The Limo had just started moving.

Meanwhile, across the limousine, James had recovered internally from the dodgy encounter with the man in the loo. He began to examine the occupants of the limo as they entered. He started with the two young ladies across from him that had arrived here before he. The one on the left was in her early twenties, James observed, and was dressed in rather mundane looking clothing: Worn black khakis with a t-shirt.

Obviously not used to travel, James mused. It was a game he liked to play in his head, trying to read people and gauge their life stories. Much like a reader looking for hidden metaphors and similes in between the lines, James examined them with scrutiny, albeit with as much subterfuge as he could muster. Not well off financially. Someone who was well off would not have thought twice about wearing expensive clothing through a flight, James continued to muse.Perhaps a waitress?

James moved on to the next one.

The other woman was a bit younger. In fact calling her a woman would be a bit of a stretch. School girl would be closer to the mark. She wore glasses, and was dressed for the winter. Her casual forest-green top contrasting with her flashy black ankle high boots. Leather, James noted. Good taste.

She had smooth dark skin. Perhaps of Middle Eastern or Indian descent? Could be South Asian as well? But no, the eyes were the wrong colour. Stormy grey gems like a bank of fog from the River Thames in a sea of pristine pearls. Judging by her age, she was perhaps a university student as well. Studying... James paused before giving his best guess, Astro Physics?

Two men had entered after James. An awkward young man with blonde hair who seemed about as confident as a snail hiding in it's shell. He was dressed respectably enough though, with a pinstripe suit and leather shoes. Though in James's humble opinion, the man's tie was a little... off. James did find comfort in the fact that the young man seemed to be a fellow Englishman.

The other man was by far the oldest in the group, and introduced himself as one, "Dr. Henry Halibern". At this, James had nearly shot up to introduce himself as a fellow practitioner of medicine, but there was something strange about the way the doctor held himself...

James examined him a bit better.

The doctor seemed a bit off balance, truth be told, and a bit drowsy as he downed the brandy in his hand. James wouldn't be trusting this man's advice anytime soon.

Not exactly the sharpest group of individuals, James had to admit. He wasn't sure how many of them he could trust if push came to shove.

Once the limousine started moving, the older woman broke off her conversation with the grey eyed student to chat with the "Good Doctor", While the blonde fellow apparently decided that this would be a good idea to take a nap. That just left James and the girl sitting alone across from each other. James reevaluated her out of the corner of his eye. She looked intelligent, perhaps the one person here that James might be able to rely on. Besides, he didn't want to waste an opportunity to entertain a lady.

He turned to make eye contact with her and quipped, "I don't suppose you had any encounters with strange black suitcases filled with money now have you?" His London accent is clearly evident.

"Why, however would you know?" Erika, who was sitting just next to one of the windows and was previously occupying herself by taking in the passing surroundings whilst letting her fingers drum idly against the armrest, was shaken back and into conversation. Her eyes searched the source of the sound before they rested on the man sitting directly in front of her, and almost instinctively her eyes raked over him, taking him in with the other girl's half-joking fears that she brought up being pushed and locked up in the very back of this woman's mind. A suit. Classy. The accent was familiar to a degree too, it reminded her of where she'd just flown in from. She hadn't lived in the country nearly long enough to be able to tell people's regions apart by accents. To her, they were all English, aggressive-English, Scottish, not-very-Scottish, or none of the above for the moment. "To answer your question, one was delivered to me, yes. You too, sir, I'm presuming. Unless you were someone who was a part of arranging for the suitcases to be delivered, but the latter seems a little less likely. You'd be sitting up front if you were, I'm presuming. In the big leagues. Though your suit...I must ask, do you know what's going on? At all? And do you know who this Miss Olsen is or what she might want, in the slightest?"

James chuckled. "Funny thing. Suits. They make a man seem to have more power than he actually holds." He took a sip from his drink and continued, "Contrary to your belief, I have absolutely no idea as to what is going on. No one's even heard of Woll manor or Miss Olsen as far as I'm aware of... The fellow outside wasn't much help either. About as talkative as a post, that one"

He smiled and took off his aviator gloves before offering his hand, "And just James will do. Despite the clothes, I'm nothing more than a university student!"

"I see. He definitely is...a quiet man." the woman's lips finally formed a little smile with her sipping her coke right after the man, and she lay back in her seat some more. It was comforting somehow to know that this man was as modest. And for some reason, his cluelessness was comforting as well. It was soothing to know her conversational-partner was not involved with whatever was going on, and that it would be just as much a leap for him as well as her. And the girl from earlier too. That made three of the five. One was out like a light, but from the looks of how tired he seemed, even in his sleep with the soft sounds of snoring coming from him that almost made Erika chuckle, he didn't seem like a threat. He didn't seem to know too much either. The only other man who was left was the doctor, or as Erika knew him, the-man-who-the-lady-with-the-ale-is-conversing-with. From snippets of their conversation she overheard, he was an alright guy. As far as she would know without speaking to him, anyway. Just a bit intangibly strange.

"Erika. Soon to be in college. It's a pleasure, James." the woman responded with a little more eager smile of her own, earlier curiosity in her dusky grey eyes being replaced with a slight warmth. The man seemed quite honest really, and though modest, confident enough to be forward, and it was something she could respect. "You're an English university student, I presume? The accent is pretty thick."

"Thick to you perhaps," James retorted, "to me, it's just like any other chap."

James smirked and paused to gaze out the window, admiring the Swedish country side that rolled by. Steel grey skies prophesying the creeping frost sweeped over verdant green fields. It was a beautiful sight. Reminded him of Ireland. His smile faded, however, and he turned back to her. "And I attend London University, actually," James added a bit ruefully. "To be frank, University is a dreadful bore. My parents wanted me to attend medical school."He paused before asking curiosity, "What about you? Where are you from?"

"Me? I wouldn't want to bore you with the details. It's a small, small world, though." a smirk took her lips and her free hand made a dismissive brushing-off motion as she took another sip of her drink, albeit a bit of a long drag this time, with those eyes focused on the floor at the man's shoes for the duration before she looked back up at him. "Some relatives helped me get set up in Birmingham for the moment, close to where they live. In a little apartment, which is where I received said suitcase. I've been there for just a little while now but I'm looking to find somewhere closer to London maybe. I'll be attending the Royal Veterinary College there in fall. Which, if I'm not mistaken, and hours of constantly checking its location on Google Maps have aided me in this deduction I assure you, is not very far from London University, no? Such a small, small world."

She finally did extend her hand to take his and gave it a shake, her grip on his hand delicate though the shake lasted for a good handful of seconds. "If you're still wondering where I'm from, really, I suppose my nationality would trace back to India, if the tan and the dark hair hadn't given away the eastern roots. I suppose we can't see much here in the dark at all though, and since I was the first in the car, nobody really would have seen me otherwise. Never lived there though. Wasn't even born there. Folks never wanted to go back, and I didn't mind. Prior to Birmingham, I lived in the little pearl of the middle-east. Dubai, if you've heard of it. An absolute gem indeed, my home."And here the smile faded as pangs of familiar longing struck, and made her bite her lip a little, thankful it wasn't too easily seen in the dark. Though it never stopped her from speaking for too long."And there, my good man, is everything you have to know about me for the moment. Though your parents seem very much like most of the people from where I'm from, haha. It's frankly either a medical school or an engineering school parents from back home look at for their children. Mine were more lenient. I'm sorry to hear university's a bore though, gah. It makes me a little worried, and jittery about my own situation-to-be. If not medical school, what would you rather be doing? You must have something in mind, no? Everyone has dreams and wants, it's only human."

At the mention of his home city, James came up as if sprung from a box. "You'll be moving to London? You wouldn't happen to be looking for a flat near Westminster, would you? That's where I live!"

The conversation sobered however when Erika brought up her past. James listened carefully while Erika spoke, holding her stormy grey eyes within his own gaze. "Dubai seems so far away," he said quietly, "but I'm sure you will see it again someday. In the meantime, I'm sure London or where ever you decide to make your home a will serve you well."

James leaned back and gazed out the window for a minute. "And If I may be truthful with you, Erika, and..." he chuckled quietly to himself before continuing, "promise that you won't poke fun."

James looked around to make sure everyone else was otherwise occupied before leaning in with a bashful smile. "I've always wanted to be a writer. Like one who writes books you see? Specifically books concerning espionage and covert affairs. Spy novels. Like Ian Fleming! As a child I would always ride my bike across the Vauxhall bridge to see the MI6 building. Couldn't get too close however for obvious reasons. The best I can do is speculate about the covert affairs that take place through my writings. But unfortunately, I'm afraid that it will never become reality."

"Really, Westminster?" the eyes now lit up with the earlier curiosity, and the thought that someone had come from so close was comforting. Maybe they even missed each other at the airport? Which airport had he flown in from? Strange, but...not in a bad way. "That's very close. Perhaps you and I might meet, or run into each other, after this little Swedish joy-ride of a trip after all. I wouldn't not welcome it. It would be interesting, to say the least."

She sat back in her chair and took the last few sips from her can as he spoke of his passions, and it brought a glittering to her own. Adventures, spies, mystery, all seemed like a whirlwind of an adventure that this man's books would be filled with. She couldn't help but smile, until the very last sentence, which made her lips form a little frown.
"James. I'd like to think of myself as an avid reader, but moreso a terrible critic. I would love to read some of your work sometime. I think it's a reality that's just waiting to happen."

When Erika mentioned meeting up after the vacation, James smiled and said quietly, "I might just take you up on that offer, you know?"

James also remembered that he had handed his laptop bag to the chauffeur, before he had entered the limo. "It's funny you should mention that as well, Erika. I brought my work on my laptop. I was planning on working on it some in my downtime but," he laughed slightly, "something tells me that I won't get much work done. I would not be opposed to you reading it however, yeah?"

Erika smiled, as if in agreement, but before she could make any formal acceptance. they arrived at their destination. The manor rising up through the trees like a majestic palace from a fairy tale. It was certainly a sight to behold. James turned to Erika to make a comment, but the chauffeur abruptly opened the passenger door and made a polite motion for the lot of them to exit the vehicle.

James waited for Erika to leave first before stepping out himself, his new leather soles making popping sounds as it embraced the gravel.

"Welcome, misters and misses, to the Woll Manor," the chauffeur said, almost gravely.

It was like James had expected. Having seemed plucked straight off the hands of some baroness from Victorian age England. It was a familiar sight for him, and though interest thoroughly piqued, he showed no signs of awe or surprise.

"If you would all follow me, please. Your carry-ons will be taken to your rooms after you."

James thought that the chauffeur's voice had decidedly become slightly more menacing. He swallowed, and glanced towards Erika for comfort before steeling himself and standing up a bit straighter. Well then, James thought, into the breach...

You all follow the driver away from the car, your footsteps crunching in the gravel beneath you. It only takes a few minutes until you are all climbing the small staircase that leads to the yard directly in front of the Manor, which rests on its own little balcony separate from the rest of the grounds. The building itself towers over you, blocking out the sun setting behind it, although the decorative lamps and lights leading the way to the front entrance give more than enough light.

As the group nears the large archway in the center of the mansion, four figures come into sight, all but one standing and motioning in welcome: The younger of the two males at the front, leading the pack; the elder, sitting in a wheelchair just a foot behind him; a woman with a charming smile hovering between the two; and the female standing a few feet away from them whose expression was unreadable, though hardly threatening. All four are dressed sharply, as if they could have just stepped out of a catalogue. Four pairs of eyes examine you all as the driver leads you to a halt before them, then goes to take his place beside the woman standing a little away from the other three.

"Welcome!" booms out the younger male as he throws his arms out wide in greeting, "Welcome, welcome! How happy we all are to finally meet our new guests!" Standing at a height of 6'1", his chipper attitude seems at odds with his appearance. He smiles, large and genuinely enthused, as he steps forward and reaches out a hand to each of you in turn. His grip is firm but amiable as he shakes your hands, then steps back into place and continues. His accent is noticeable, but not incomprehensible. "Yes, yes, welcome! I hope you all know by now that this," he gestures around him to the house and the grounds, "is the Woll Manor." He shoves one hand into his pants pocket casually while the other motions to himself. "My name is David Woll, and I'm head-honcho of this lovely estate."

The older man beside him gives a little joking cough then, and David chuckles and goes over to lightly clap a hand on his shoulder. "Of course, this old fart still has some say in matters. Everyone, this is my father, Liam. Previous owner of the Manor. And this here is my younger sister, Nathalie." David gestures to the woman on Liam's other side, and she wiggles her fingers at you all in a flirtatious wave. Nat is a whole head shorter than her sibling, and although she has yet to say a word, her presence fills the sphere just as much as her male counterpart.

David then goes to the two standing behind the family, jerking his thumb back to them. "You've all already met Felix - I hope he didn't give you any trouble on the way here. He's the man to go to if you've a need." The driver, around the same height as David, finally breaks his stoic streak and flashes a shy grin, reaching up with a hand to tilt the brim of his cap politely.

"And this," Dave gestures to the woman beside Felix, "is my angel in flesh." Beaming, he swings an arm around the woman's waist and pulls her to him. She laughs under her breath, fixing black, thick-rimmed glasses on her face to hide the tinge of pink that is creeping onto her cheeks. "Ingrid Olson: the legend herself. Best secretary in the world, probably. I believe you should all recognize her. Er, or at least, her handwriting. She was the one that wrote all of your invitations." Ingrid nods her head in greeting to the group at large, her gaze lingering on Ericka for a second longer before she turns her attention back to David, who comes back to the head of the group.

"Well, I think that's it for introductions," David says, and he claps his hands together before pointing back towards the entrance. "Let's all head inside, shall we?" Gesturing for you all to follow, he strides through the two open front doors, his sister wheeling their father along behind him. Felix bows his head to inform you all that you should follow behind the family, so that he and Ingrid brought up the rear.

Upon entering, the group immediately finds itself in a massive entrance hall, and above your head hands a massive, glowing crystal chandelier. The floors and walls are a gorgeous ivory and golden marble, polished enough so that it might have been easy to think that they were glowing, as well. Your footsteps echo throughout the room, and only when the group stops again does David speak up. Turning to face you all, he says, "Soo, we are having a ball tonight, as a celebration of you all joining us here at Woll Manor." He pauses, a smug smile on his face as he watches his guests drink this surprise in. "Yes, it's going to be just wonderful. Everyone will be dressed to the nines, the band will be swinging, and the drinks will be free, of course." David chuckles and winks playfully, then points to his left.

"It will be held tonight in the Great Hall, through those doors. They'll be open at 8 o'clock sharp, so please don't be tardy to your own welcoming party. In fact, in order to entice people to come early, we've set up a cocktail hour right here in the Entrance Hall, to begin at 7." Looking satisfied, David flashes another wide smile and checks the watch on his wrist. "It is currently 4:26 PM. That should give you all enough time to clean up and pull out those suits and gowns, yeah?" He glances over the group towards Ingrid, who nods at him before he turns back to you. "Alright then, I'm going to hand this show over to my girl, who'll give you a little rundown of the Manor. I've got some pre-party preparations to attend to, so I hope you'll excuse me. I look forward to seeing you all at your best." And with another warm smile, David leads Nathalie and their father away towards the elevator, into which they disappear.

Ingrid steps forward now and clears her throat, adjusting the glasses on her face once more as she holds her hands behind her. Felix hangs back and merely watches, running a hand through his hair after having removed his cap. "Hello, everyone," she begins awkwardly, and you're surprised to hear that her accent is French. "Again, welcome to the Manor. We are all so happy to have you." She offers a quick smile before pressing on. "This is the Ground Floor. There are four floors total within the Manor, including this one. All of your rooms are on the second floor," she makes a motion towards the two spiral staircases, "which are accessible through either staircase. Unfortunately, the elevator is only to be used by family and staff, so you'll have to bear with a bit of exercise for the next two weeks." She grins almost apologetically at her joke, then goes on.

"The numbers on the keychains that you had all received with your key correspond with the numbers of your rooms. You will find that all of your belongings have already been sent up ahead of you." Taking a step or two back so that she was again beside Felix, she tilts her head slightly towards the stairs and clasps her hands together. "And of course, please feel free to make yourselves at home. We'll see you all later, in the Hall. I am sure you will all look stunning."

She and Felix watch you all as you traipse upstairs to find your respective rooms.

---

As you all clamber up the stairs to the second floor, the oddity of just how quiet the entire house seems to be settles in. You might have expected to see maids and stewards rushing around, readying the Manor for the party, perhaps stealing glances at their new patrons as they hurried past. But the mansion seemed to be strangely empty. Perhaps the house was just so big that they might have just been in another part preparing for the festivities, and you just hadn't heard them. Regardless, you push this observation out of your mind as you arrive in front of your room.

Slipping the key into the knob, you unlock the door and head inside, closing it behind you. The room is simply amazing, very large and luxurious, comprised of a bedroom, private bathroom, and a living room, in which you are currently standing. There is a little square box on the wall beside the door that you understand serves as an intercom, which you may use to call the kitchens, if you're so inclined. You see that your luggage has been deposited just on the inside of the door, safe and untouched.

As you step further inside and scrutinize the room, you realize something. Is it a coincidence that the room seems to be so tailored to your taste? Are you so overwhelmed by the grandeur of the Manor that you just think this is your dream room? Maybe not... It looked as if you yourself (or at least, a more expensive version of yourself) had come and chosen the furniture and its arrangement.

Walking into the bedroom, you spot a basket full of your favorite snacks waiting for you atop the bedspread with a little notecard that says, "Welcome, ______!" Beside the card, there is a pamphlet of a map of the manor, only showing the rooms accessible to you, such as the halls, lounges, cinema, library, and backyard.

You then proceed to do whatever you wanted and/or needed to do in order to get ready for the big celebration.

---

You arrive in the Entrance Hall, which is now positively filled with chattering people, clinking their glasses and laughing about who knew what. By now, the sky outside of the large windows at the front of the Manor is dark. Waiters and waitresses were buzzing around with platters, offering food as the celebrity-esque guests wait for the Grand Hall to open. Everyone and everything looks absolutely beautiful, and you find that you are interrupted from your staring by a waiter.

"Excuse me, mam/sir, would you like anything to drink?"

Benji was always a slow-starter from waking up. He gently spluttered to life with a very quiet "Blugh?" as the others climbed out of the limousine. Apparently, they had arrived. The chauffeur said something about their belongings as they entered crisp Swedish evening air, but Benji was still too groggy to really listen. How much had he had? Not enough, anyway. He allowed himself to just drift along with the others, imitating their reactions. They weren't concerned, so he didn't bother worrying either. As they headed up the path, he had begun to wake up a little bit. His footsteps were very light and gentle on the gravel; he had, when getting dressed, literally counted the precise monetary value of his suit, shoes and tie, and decided that, simply stood there, he qualified as 'expensive'. Scuffing new shoes or treading on the hem of his own trousers would be a shame. Any damage was almost directly financially measurable.

He drifted along in his own little world. And then he saw the mansion. Something about it snapped him out of his bleariness. He wondered how many times his flat would fit into it. More times than wouldn't be upsetting, anyway, "Jesus," he muttered to himself and became aware of his clammy mouth - and cheek - and chin. Apparently he had managed to dribble over his own face while asleep. Suddenly he woke up very quickly indeed, and deftly removed it, cunningly disguising the motion as a yawn. Of course, he then had nothing to do but stand there with a cold, drool-covered hand in front of an almost comically grand mansion. As David, the lord of the manor, threatened to shake their hands, he quickly wiped it on the inside of his brand new suit pocket. You could take the man out of the West Country ... but you, well, couldn't stop them waiving all responsibility for his behaviour.

---

His luggage had arrived safely inside his room. The filthy rucksack had been neatly placed just by the door. In an attempt to prevent the mysterious stains and mud from despoiling the room, it had been thoughtfully placed on a small pile of old newspapers. Benji couldn't help but grin. Immediately, he began to ferret within it for his belongings in general, but, in particular, a small box that jingled as he heaved it out.

Something had been wrong that whole day; the normal selection of metal that protruded from his ears had been missing. The airport metal detectors had made him nervous, and so he had vanquished all metal from his person before even closing his front door; only a small, plastic black stretcher had survived the purge, and he had been tugging at it all day. He expertly fiddled the various spikes and coils from the box back into each ear, not even bothering to seek out a mirror to aid him. The eyebrow spike perhaps wouldn't suitable for the ball, though. It remained in the box - for now.

He looked out at the lounge, actually drinking it in. It was roomy and minimalist, with a variety of low-to-the-ground seats all arranged around a coffee-table whose legs could not have been more than half-a-foot tall. The bedroom, he presumed, was on the other side of a door-frame with nothing but a magnificently hideous bead curtain comprising primarily oranges and greens. Clearly they somehow knew his tastes; he was the only person he knew that had a dismantled office chair in his lounge, and they had replicated it admirably. He had long since gotten over the Big Brother vibe he was getting. They had already had him a passport printed - why shouldn't they know what furniture he liked?

The only thing not in keeping was the gargantuan sofa in the corner, as though it was pretending not to be there. It was a difficult thing to hide, and Benji suspected its inclusion in the room was simply an inability to fit such a monster through the door-frame. After all; they had gone to the effort of, presumably, removing the bedroom door for him. Still, even though he wouldn't have chosen the grand, open, leather show-piece, he decided to make the most of it. Glancing furtively around, as though he might for some reason be being watched, he took a running leap at the thing, twisting in the air, splaying his arms and collapsed into the thing. The effect was a little ruined by his jacket; he hadn't removed the stitching from the vents, and he had forgotten to unbutton it. Instead of gaping open dramatically, it inverse-sagged upwards and bulged at his breast. The sofa was good, though.

---

The entrance hall was buzzing with life. Quite where the life had come from, he had no real concept. In his head, they were in the back and beyond of nowhere with no civilisation around for miles, though, he supposed, simply imagining the geography of the area was not a substitute for knowing it. Had he been awake in the journey, he might have known. He sheepishly joined the guests, slipping from the spiral staircase into the throng as discretely as possible; the ball was apparently for the guest party, and he was a member thereof. Making a scene in front of a herd of Swedish strangers, well-dressed though they may be, was not what he needed, though the butterflies in his stomach were telling him a scene might be made whether he wanted it or not.

At least he looked the part. He had brought a dinner suit with him, and there wasn't an awful lot that could go wrong with it; all black, shiny shoes - the works. Optimistically, he'd bought a proper bow tie, but had fiddled with the thing for all of thirty seconds before throwing it at a wall and using his back-up clip-on one instead. As he thanked the waiter for a flute of something sparkling and almost certainly not remotely alcoholic enough, he spotted Rikki across the room, and frantically made a beeline for them, wriggling suits and gowns out of the way. A familiar face was always good, even if it had been familiar for all of about two hours.

The young lady in the forest-green didn't even get the chance to step out of the limo fully before the aura of the building wrapped around her, almost to a suffocating degree. It was massive. Not unlike the mansions owned by the riches of the rich back home, but it was pretty damn big. A pair of lips scrunched up as the instant chill came to wrap itself around her as well, and she had decided to put her rucksack on the floor and fish out a warmer jacket to the top she was wearing, but the thought was quickly dismissed since there wouldn't be nearly enough time. So, for the moment, she kept her rucksack, sky-blue, black, and mismatched with her outfit slung around her shoulder. She also used a finger to daintily adjust the frames that sat on her nose a little higher, so she could stare up at the mansion as they were led closer by the chauffeur. She was barely listening to him, or the chatter. It was magnificent, how the buildings stood proud and reached up into the amber sky, and the foreign architecture. The maintenance was, unsurprisingly flawless, and from where she was, everything looked polished, clean and new. The façade of the building was a little intimidating, to say the least. It made Erika gulp. Just a little. Too much and she'd have choked when jogging up the stairs in her excitement with the heels of her boots clack-clack-clacking away against the marble, her own individual sound among the shuffling of everyone else's footwear. Sneakers, dress-shoes, you name it. Though they all headed in unison. Up the stairs. Past the gates. Into the unsettlingly welcoming maw of this graceful Victorian beast.

---

She barely had a second to catch her breath before being taken aback by the loud, assertive voice of one of the smartly-dressed people the group had been greeted with. Grey eyes darted around in a desperate curiosity, wanting to see how the others would react. Though it wasn't for long before her gaze was stolen by the man speaking again. Who had a homely charm about his speech, to boot, though his appearance had initially made her assume he would have been of a stricter nature. Perhaps not necessarily a murderous one, like most normal people would have thought of someone 'kidnapping' people to some faraway country in such luxurious conditions.
The driver had now left their side too to join the company of the others, and the row finally looked complete.
Erika was almost too dazed to shake the man's hand, barely hanging off the words that came from his lips and past her ears. She was a serious of mechanic nods and smiles and more nods and more smiles and biting her lip and biting her tongue and-
Nervous.
Well, they're not so bad, I mean...

Each of the members was unique in their own little way. The young man, the old man, the young lady and even the two of the staff members. Erika's eyes scanned them all, as analytical as she could be. The old man didn't say much and his son led the whole show, but she felt a kind of respect for him. If he had made all this, he must have been a brilliant man. She even almost found herself blushing a little herself when the pretty young miss of the house waved, though she bit her tongue. She was very, very pretty. Were all Swedes this gorgeous?
It appeared so. If there was one terrible, terrible weakness Erika had, it was cute foreigners. Especially when they smiled. Her knees went weak in those boots when the chauffeur flashed them a smile and she found herself consciously blinking a couple hundred times to make sure it was the same guy. It was difficult to keep this calm and composed young lady otherwise from murmuring gibberish under her breath and blushing a little too. That same guy who seemed so stoic at the airport. The same guy who held the door, and though by obligation, acted so gentlemanly and-
Snap out of it already.
And she was snapped out of it indeed, flinching when the events suddenly turned to a certain miss Ingrid Olson. It was charming to see how fond her boss was of her, but meeting her cool gaze was a little unsettling. Grey eyes refused to let it go, however, blinking back with a question that wouldn't be answered.
Introductions were up swiftly, and the group given a rundown of the mansion. Half of which Erika found herself listening to. Though all the important bits stuck, thankfully. The other half of the time was spent quite shamefully stealing glances at the charming Felix. Felix...
Listen to the blonde, damnit!
Okay. So, the basic rundown. Keychain is room on second floor. Four floors. Go get dressed. Party at eight sharp. Three hours left. Cocktails start at seven.

---

Jamming the key into the door with shaky hands and pushing it open slowly, a certain jaw dropped straight open, though it wouldn't be the only one. The room was...It was...
Perfect?
Everything Erika had wanted in a room was there, and waiting for her, and the luggage stood in a corner, so out of place. It was so much to take in that she shut the door behind her and leaned against it, staring at everything with wide eyes and a jaw that seemed to be broken in the fact that it wouldn't go back up. How? Why? When? Who?!

The room was an L-shaped one, leaving the private bathroom as a set of double-doors on the right. It was the first thing she looked at, and though she did have a little bit of difficulty with the sliding-sheet nature of the doors, when they were bunched up on either side the bathroom beyond was gorgeous. The entire thing was done up in the most beautiful shades of brown, woody and creamy, and white, and the average accessories here and there accentuating the bathroom than being of much practical use were a beautiful shade of island-blue. The first compartment into which you'd step in was a pair of twin sinks, and there was a sheet of glass that you could push open separating that from the section with the bathtub on the right, a huge affair in white that was square and seemed to be carved into the side of the little room with thick dark-brown ledges all around, even a little step at the foot of it to get in, and for a minute she had to wonder if it was a hot-tub or not. In fact, it could surely double as one. She ran her fingers gingerly along the side, noticing the finest shower-gels and shampoos and who-knows-what lined up in a corner. Some of them were a treat, fruity essences and all. There was a shower too, so both options were provided. It was just a glass separation a little away from the bathtub, a small, semi-circular thing not too far from it but still in the same 'section' of the bathroom, The other side of the bathroom, past the sinks on the left, was behind another swing-able glass door and consisted of the usual, though Erika was pleasantly surprised to see someone had been burning an oil in a little corner there already. Just how she liked it. It smelled heady, and floral. The bathroom itself was so lavish, it was difficult to imagine what exploring the room would be like.

A guitar stand stood against a wall, which Erika quickly loaded with her acoustic. So convenient, right there. Not too far along the same wall was a vanity, and it fit into the entire caramel-and-cream theme of the room. All of the room's walls were painted a pale cream except one which was a darker mocha. The longest one, that too. The vertical part of the 'L'. Along with that, there was a walk-in closet not far from the bathroom that stretched on a good five metres, and was about three and a half wide, that they'd even fitted a lazy-susan inside in the very center, that almost made the girl shriek, and it took her a quarter of the time unloading her coats, and shoes, and just general clothes into the hangers and onto the racks as it took getting it all packed in the first place. After filling drawers with essentials, notebook, laptop and all, and decorating nightstands with little trinkets, she actually noticed the bed, or moreso, its 'contents'. It was a queen-sized beauty, well-made and inviting, though the basket atop it caught her eye and she couldn't help herself from crawling onto the bed and grabbing a packet of sour-cream and onion crisps and stuffing her face as she looked through the pamphlet provided.
Cool.
About a quarter of the way through the crisps and the entire way through the brochure, the party rose up to mind again and she cursed under her breath for having forgotten it. Erika decided she would indulge in a bubble-bath. For about an hour of the time she had, at least. And that's exactly what she did, and proceeded to make herself up for the party.

---

A curious pair of glossier grey eyes peeked past the spiral staircase at around half-seven before the woman who they belonged to made her way down slowly. A more prominent clack-clack-clacking of heels. White and more dainty this time though, with the heels being a little taller as well, three to four inches this time to be exact. Her hair was done up to leave her bangs free as longer strands were braided and brought behind her head, held together and falling into the rest of her hair, with little waves at the bottom, how her hair naturally fell. She wore a gown of royal-blue, short in the front and longer in the back, almost so it trailed some inches on the floor behind her, though the front fell away above her knees in delicate ruffles, leaving a good deal of those legs previously in skinny jeans to be seen and her being a little bit nervous about how she stood out a little among the mostly fair crowds. Her skin wasn't so that she was an exceptionally dark shade of brown, but it was still a mocha that could be told apart from the mode: white. Though she held her head high and proceeded to make her way down the staircase, matching clutch holding her phone and some cash just in case, and her frames actually being replaced for the clear contacts she wore out. Though they didn't hinder her vision in the slightest. She still stared at everyone, and the beautiful hall, and all the beautiful people. That is, until she was interrupted, and jolted back to reality.
"Ah, maybe...just a tall glass of water for the moment, thank you."
She had decided she'd wait to see what everyone else was having, or what they'd recommend. She was, by no means, an expert on drinks. Hell, it'd only just become legal for her to do so a little while ago. She'd want to try different things, but being given advice prior would be great.
She flashed a gloss-lipped smile to the waiter and gave him a little bow of her head, choosing to hang by the arm of the staircase for the moment, at least until she'd spotted someone out in the crowd she recognised.

(Bold text was written by Jig, thanks for your awesomeness)

Rikki was vaguely aware that someone was shaking her hand.

It was the big man himself, they guy who owned the estate. The man, David, had the sort of good looks that only wealthy people could afford. The luxury of expensive pampering. Backing him up was a group of people that he introduced one by one; Rikki had to hold back an eye-roll as Nathalie waved at them. There was nothing worse than someone else being in a playful mood while you were in a crappy one. Since the incident in the limo, Rikki had been trying to talk herself down from the ledge of total-freak-out with a small amount of success.

Soon they were being led again, and as the doors opened to the splendor of the entrance hall, Rikki very nearly forgot her burgeoning insanity. The massive chandelier hung over them, and Rikki stared up at it like a chicken drowning in the rain. It was a beautiful thing, and she couldn't help but imagine a masked madman bringing it down on their heads and the end of Act One. Just as dumbly, she craned her neck down to see her own reflection in the very shiny floors. She almost didn't like standing on them, they were so clean.

Rikki noticed dimly that people were talking again. It upset her to learn that there was going to be a ball later on in the evening; she had been hoping to just trudge up for her room and decompress the rest of the night. The big boss man left, and Ingrid was telling them about their rooms now.

Yes, yes, thank you I got it no elevators keys go to the rooms got it just please

As Ingrid finished, Rikki jumped at the opportunity to get moving and ran upstairs as quickly as she could. She opened her door just as quickly and clamored inside, relieved to be away from all of the eyes, just for a little while.

The room was massive, bigger than any hotel room she'd ever been in. If she had been paying attention, she would have noticed how everything had been tailored to her tastes. The color palette of the room consisted of dark but comfortable and earthy tones, rich browns and thick reds. The furniture was all placed and used practically, no unnecessary extras. The couch was enormous, exactly how she liked it. Rikki was very grateful for that fact as she flopped onto the couch face first, her arm hanging down loosely and touching the floor. It was an incredible relief, to just lay there and think.

So you hallucinated. Big deal. Rikki blinked into the cushion. You know what I bet it was? Jet lag. Sleep deprivation does crazy stuff to your brain, and the landing wasn't exactly pleasant. You haven't had a decent meal in a while, you're a little overwhelmed, so your eyes are playing tricks on you. Rikki found herself rather pleasantly agreeing with this train of thought, her jumbled thoughts settling already. See? You're not a loon. Now, you're going to enjoy yourself from here on out, got it?

“Got it.” Rikki mumbled, her voice muffled by the expensive upholstery. She sat up as her thoughts finally balanced themselves, normalcy finally coming back. She giggled into the empty room as a thought suddenly struck her. Rikki ripped her shoes and socks off, determined to recreate a scene from one of her favorite movies, and to test out a cure for jet lag. She placed her bare feet on the carpet and curled them, grinning at the absurd level of dorkiness of what she was doing.

“Son of a bitch.” She laughed, stood up and headed for the bathroom. “Fists with your toes.”
_____________________________________________________

Rikki stood in the great hall, feeling a lot better after a shower and getting into nicer clothes like everyone else. She wasn't much for gussying up, but her sister had helped her shop back home. A maroon blouse with mid length flowing sleeves hung on her shoulders. Below that was a simple but expertly made skirt; a long skirt, she couldn't stand short stuff. Somehow she had managed to put her hair up, too, though the one thing she refused to do was makeup. Rikki had never worn it, and she suspected that if she tried now that it would look terrible.

She was just starting to wonder if anyone from the limo was around when she saw Benji, the sleepy blonde guy, heading straight for her as if he was looking for rescue from something. As he approached, she offered a little wave.

“Oh! Um, hi. Benji, right?”

“English! Yes!” He exclaimed, apparently relieved at finding someone who wasn't Swedish.

“Well, American really. Basically the same thing, right?” She shrugged, though truth be told she was also relieved to find some company.

“Sure,” He held out his hand to shake hers, which she did with some pent up energy. “We haven’t been properly introduced.”

“Oh, okay. So,” Rikki pointed to herself, “Rikki Dreyer. Waitress. Person who doesn’t belong here.”

“If they put as much effort into getting you here as they did for me, I’d say this is exactly the place you’re supposed to be. Here,” He offered her the wine he was holding, apparently trying to get rid of it. “Do you want this? It’s really really not for me.”

She shook her head, remembering the first and last time she ever drank. “Nope. Hate the stuff. All booze tastes like rubbing alcohol to me, even wine coolers. I’ve been buzzed once and only once. Never again.”

At her refusal, Benji pretended to be offended, making Rikki grin. “Maybe you don’t belong here after all,” He tasted the wine again and made a face. “No, that’s not happening. So did you get the whole briefcase-and-espionage treatment?”

“I did. These guys owe me a slushie, and a new carpet. Plus my sister’s cat hates me now. Jerks.”

“I think,” he nodded at their surroundings and his clothes. “I can forgive them for the shock.”

“Point taken, but I don't think Clive will forgive me as easily. By the way, did you happen to wake up at all while Doctor Halibern was talking about what he actually does?”

“Doctor Halibern?” Benji stared at her, confused, before looking around them as if expecting to see someone with a stethoscope.

“You know, older guy. Kinda jumpy.”

“Oh, Old Guy. Not you, Dark Girl, or Other Guy. Old Guy. Gotcha. But no, no idea?"

“Well, to make a long story short, either he’s crazy or I am. He kept talking about Tibet and spiritual understanding and meditation. Kinda weirded me out.” Rikki looked around to make sure he wasn't near them. The gossiping made her feel a bit guilty.

“Oh jesus. We need a signal if he starts trying to convert us. I’ll do this.” Suddenly, he flailed his arms around wildly before looking around and realizing where he was. “Or maybe not.”

Rikki put her face in her hand and laughed like an idiot, then tried to stifle it which only made it worse. “Probably not the best signal.” All at once she stopped laughing as something delicious caught her eye. “Be right back. Cheese tray.” Rikki rushed over to the tuxedo with the guy inside it, who just happened to be holding a tray stacked with samples. She grabbed as many as she could and returned to Benji, continuing the conversation like normal. “Ugh. I hate it when everyone around me looks like they’ve walked out of a fashion show. They’ve probably never eaten a burger in their life.” She popped one of the samples in her mouth, speaking through cheese. “The Swedes, I mean.”

“Hey, you’ve done a good job with your...” He waved his hand at her blouse. “Thing. Very red. Sorry, I’m used to cargo shorts and baggy hoodies. I don’t even know what you call this.” He pointed at the cummerbund wrapped around his waist.

“I think it’s called ‘shiny belt thing’.” Rikki smirked; at least she wasn't the only one who wasn't used to wearing fancy stuff like this. As the people moved around them, Rikki thought it might be a good time to get a bit more serious. She had to see if anyone else felt like she did. She lowered her voice and asked, “Okay, can I ask you a question, for real? Do you think this thing’s on the level? I mean, the money, the passport pictures, and I never signed up for a contest. Do you think something else is happening here, or am I just paranoid?”

“Paranoid. Definitely.” Benji joked; apparently he didn't really want to discuss that subject right now. He was probably right, Rikki admitted, no telling who could be listening.

“Fine, be that way.” She sniffed, pretending to offended. “So, I admitted to you what my terrible job was, what do you do all day?”

“Tit around.” Rikki giggled. English humor always made her laugh. “No, really. Starving artist. Busk if the weather’s nice, paint if not. I don’t make much but it beats slaving for the man, ya knoooow?” He adopted a pretentious voice for the last part, imitating an art snob.

Rikki joined in. “No one truly understands, you know? It’s all just a game to them, man.”

“So how many of these you reckon work for the maaaan?” he looked around at the Swedes around them. “And who the hell are they?”

“Pff, they’re all sheeple, I just know it. Probably care more about their paychecks than real art.”

“Nobody buys real art,” Benji dropped the voice and looked sincere as he continued, “I can sell a painting for a few hundred quid - that’s pounds - but it’s usually of some old dear’s grandson or a sunny english field. I can’t move in my flat for canvases that actually say stuff that I can’t give away,” He looked sheepish, realizing what he was saying. “They just don’t get it maaan.”

Rikki laughed, but dropped the act. “I’ll admit, I’m not really an art person. The closest to art you’ll find at my place is a movie poster. I prefer music and books.”

“Music’s the same. I was in a band for a bit but all people want is karaoke or standard anthem-rock bollocks and I’m sure I don’t have to point out that a blockbuster is only as big as its female lead’s own personal blockbusters,” He made a vulgar gesture, or two, sending Rikki into a fit of snickers again. “But look at me. I’ll blow my brains out this weekend if I keep like this.” He mimed a gun to his head. “And if I don’t get a decent drink. Can you see anywhere subtle I can dump this? A toilet, an alcoholic, somebody’s handbag?”

“How about that guy’s face?” Rikki pointed at one of the tuzedoed gents halfway across the room. She had nothing against the guy; she just didn't like his face.

“D’you know, I’m gonna go out for a fag. I’m dying here and I’ll throw this bloody thing into the grounds if there’s nowhere discrete to stick it. Coming with?”

“No thanks. I’ll stay here, where the cheese is. Have fun smoking.”

“Careful, dairy gives you cancer. But, hey, you can’t live forever. Come get me if anything happens.”

Rikki tipped her non-existent hat at him as he left. After a moment, she soon found herself wishing she had gone with him, if only to get out of this room. She sighed. Maybe she could hide under a table until this was over.

What was it they said? Something about desperate times and appropriately desperate measures.

Benji hoped that outside the mansion there might be somewhere discrete to leave the flute of sparkling wine. It wasn't right to waste alcohol, but this was undrinkable. As it was, there certainly wasn't anywhere. A doorman lurked outside - he politely nodded at Benji as he passed. Out of nowhere, he spouted something about wanting to go "for a walk" before he realised what he was saying; and so it was, he was forced by the inevitability of social convention, to descend the great stone staircase before the mansion and stagger into the grounds, wine glass in one hand, unlit cigarette in the other.

Swedish sunset took place early. The darkness was endless. Mist hovered over the short, well-kept grass like a cheap prop in a B-movie, and chilled him to the bone as it enveloped him. He didn't go too far; he'd seen too many of those same B-movies to know that nothing good came of it. Instead, he kept to the perimeter of the mansion's nightly illuminations, just skulking on the far side of the light-shadow divide where he couldn't be seen. Hopefully the glass wouldn't get caught in some unwitting groundsman's lawnmower.

He couldn't help but chuckle. What world was he in, where people simply 'had groundsmen'? The funniest part was that he'd accepted it. Benji couldn't help but hear some of his hippie-est, Marxist-iest friends tutting at the sheer extravagance of the whole thing, let alone the carbon footprint, and, of course, how one didn't simply waste alcohol.

He was just about to throw the damn glass over his shoulder, wine and all, when his eyes caught a glimpse of something. There was a light: nothing to do with the mansion, a tiny red pinprick glinting in the darkness. It quivered unsteadily amid the gloom, vaguely muffled by the mist.

It was heading his way. He took a gulp of the wine.

Benji wasn't given to superstition. He didn't believe in ghosts or vampires or star-signs, monsters under the bed. Cold hairs, newly trimmed and shorter than they'd been in year, rippled with chill behind his ears. Things bumped in the night, he reminded himself, sure, but they were only ever falling books or staggering drunks, and, as the patent leather of his offensively expensive shoes squeaked ever-so-lightly on the wet grass away from the red light, he reminded himself how werewolves were an un-Swedish fiction and how Voldemort was just a children's character and oh. Nathalie Woll emerged from the mist, just barely lit by the overspill of light from the mansion and the glowing tip of the cigarette hanging out of her mouth.

He sipped the wine again and shifted himself into the light, too.

"Hey, you're Nathalie, right? I just nipped out for a cheeky smoke, too," he gestured to the packet of cigarettes in his hand, as though that explained his lurking in the grounds. Her eyes glimmered violent blue in the half-light, and he made out her fur coat over a dark gown, "Thanks for, you know, all this."

"No need to thank me. Need a light?" She lit his cigarette. Instinctively, the two huddled around the gentle flame to prevent the wind from killing it. The tip of his fag kindled and wilted gently as he puffed on it to make sure it had taken while she crossed her arms, one perking up to keep her own from dropping from between her lips. The balance was impeccable. She was clearly an expert.

"Aah, sound," he saluted her with his free hand and took a tremendous puff on it. The two of them contributed magnificently to the sum total of mist draped across the grounds, "Cancer be damned, eh?"

"Exactly," she grinned smugly, again, and sidled closer to him. Benji was reminded of emperor penguins huddling in the Arctic. It certainly wasn't warm, "It's too damn cold here, anyway."

"Yeah, I thought England was cold. You speak brilliant English by the way."

She flicked ash onto the ground. Benji followed suit, gratefully - the ash accumulating at the end of his cigarette was looking rather precarious and he'd had no idea what to do with it, "I watch a lot of TV, I suppose. What, did you think we would invite guests and not know how to communicate with them?"

Honestly? Benji dispelled the stream of thought before it was vocalised, rudely, "I suppose not. It sounds stupid, but I'm kind of surprised that you have tellies here. It feel like I've just walked into eighteen-hundred-something."

She laughed vigorously, and he could just make out her cocked eyebrows in the half-light, "Oh, come on. I hope I don't come off as that old."

Nathalie Woll leaned forward. Benji's eyes, containing the Y Chromosome as they did, slipped downwards. He tried not to look. She leaned further, and her breasts, caught by the natural folds of her dress, were pressed together ever more tightly. Oh.

Oh.

"Nononononono. I just mean all this. It's spectacular," he said, as though 'spectacular' was about the standard he was accustomed to and nothing to marvel over.

"Isn't it?" Nathalie replied and moved a little closer, dropping the cigarette on the grass and grinding it into the ground with the sole of her shoe. When she looked up, she found Benji's cigarette packet thrust under her nose, "Trying to get your hostess killed quicker, hmm?"

She took the cigarette nonetheless, smacked her lips, and placed it delicately between her lips, just flashing her teeth as she did so. She placed the lighter in his hands and turned to face him, leaning forward again. This time, Benji managed to keep himself staring at her frosty blue eyes, and flicked the lighter. The tiny tongue of flame died immediately. She came in closer, and he tried again. Success: the little spark smouldered just before her. He sipped the wine again, and didn't gag. Fancy people sipped wine. That's why they were serving it inside.

"Can't live forever," he shrugged. His weight shifted onto one leg, with one leg slightly out and he'd later realise with a cringe that the hand furthest from Nathalie was actually on that hip. Trying to sound only passingly interested, he changed the subject, "So, you know, what do you actually do?"

"I mostly just take care of Liam, handle affairs within the Manor and staff. Not as exciting as what David does, but I can always entertain myself."

More smoke. She blinked expectantly.

"And here's me thinking it was all bathing in lavender and rose petals."

"Maybe," she tweaked part of her dark, messy updo, and looked away, "I'll have you join me one of those times."

"Aaaahh," said Benji, as though the offer was a mates' trip to the cinema or a casual camping trip. For some reason, he was back-pedalling, "But we're both so busy with all this. What happens now, anyway? With this ball?"

"We certainly are," there was a sudden briskness, though her eyes flashed no less violently, "It's nearly eight: doors will be opening soon. That means I need to get back."

She took the final drag of her second cigarette as Benji drew close to the tail end of his first, and stubbed it, too, on the ground, this time so Benji couldn't see anything other than her body flex with the twisting motion of her foot. He hadn't noticed the cigarette for some minutes anyway.

"And another smoking buddy scatters to the wind," he wasn't sure if this actually really meant anything, but it sounded suitably Byronic. That was the sort of thing Byron would probably say anyway.

She pouted and gave him a European non-kiss on the cheek. A little taller than her, even in heels, she had to stand on tip-toes (of just one foot) and press her body against his to reach. He could feel her diaphragm pulse, her chest raise. With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the darkness back toward to the Manor.

"I'll hold you to that bath," he muttered to himself, kicking himself. To his horror, she turned around and winked.

He scuffled his shoes in the wet grass. At least she winked. A sudden fthht stirred him. He looked from the darkness where Nathalie's black dress had disappeared to his hand where the cigarette had burned out completely and, apparently, lightly singed his finger before going out. It stung a little.

The cold started to bite. He hadn't noticed it with Nathalie there - she'd distracted him somewhat. But it was certainly chilly now, and he longed to head back into the Manor, but it was too soon to follow. He had to wait at least five minutes. Disgruntled, he necked the last splash of wine (this time retching quietly) and threw the glass over his shoulder. He didn't see it land, but heard its muffled impact a few metres behind him.

At least she winked.

Henry exited the vehicle with a practiced poise after quickly downing the rest of his drink. What he found outside was almost exactly what he pictured, the grandeur of the manor was matched only by the magnificent gardens and the beauty of surrounding area. Certainly the manor was impressive, but Henry had always found the style rather boring, so his attention remained fixed on the wonderful scenery. Snapping back into focus, Dr. Halibern turned to face his hosts, dutifully feigning interest in whatever it was the younger man had to say and accepting the obligatory handshake with a firm grip. Other than making a point to remember everyone’s names, Henry hardly listened to David’s introductions.

As the group made their way inside, taking in the splendor of the grand hall, Henry immediately took note of how quiet it seemed to be. He had been inside holy temples with more noise than this. No matter how recently they had renovated the place it just didn’t make sense for a house this old to produce so little sound. Unless they had managed to tear apart the house and soundproof the whole thing it would be impossible not to hear the rustling of whatever servants were required to keep the place up and running. And they were preparing for a ball? Something was off, and in order to keep his wits about him, Henry decided that for the time being it would probably be a bad idea to do any more LSD today. It wouldn’t be fun tripping balls around a bunch of socialites anyways… People in suits had a way of killing a man’s spiritual side…

Coctail hour at 7 was all he really needed to hear, however, so once they were done with all the tedious exposition, Henry immediately made his way to his room. If the quiet had seemed eerie, then the furnishings in this room were downright disturbing. Far from the luxury manor suite he expected, the place was set up like the interior of a traditional Indian palace, right down to the Hindu and Tantric statuettes and the lavish Buddhist prayer box. By all means this was the room of his dreams, but there was no way the family would have had all this stuff on hand. Whatever voodoo magic they had used to figure out his tastes be damned… Unless one of these fancy swedes just happened to be a collector, buying this stuff would have cost the manor a lot more than any reasonable billionaire would ever spend on a stranger. Something was really wrong, and Henry couldn’t wait to find out what. Much more excited than afraid, the Doctor happily lit up the incense he had been provided with and went to prepare a bath.

---

After the bath, feeling very rejuvenated, Henry stood in front of the mirror for a while, doing various grooming things… Putting a little product in his hair and brushing his teeth or what have you, until he suddenly realized he hadn’t even looked at his bedroom yet. Like the lounge, it’s style was impeccably suited to his every fantasy, even including the little basket on his bed, containing two king size Kit-Kat bars. If he was dreaming, he didn’t care if he ever woke up. Grabbing one of the packages, Henry moved back out into the lounge to rummage through his bags for a second. Retrieving the desired items, he then planted himself on the sofa, laying his prize on the small table before him. A bag of thick, medium length filters, Buglar rolling papers, and a tin of his favorite tobacco, Norwegian Shag.

---

By the time 7 o’clock rolled around, Henry had filled his cigarette case and gotten himself all dressed up in a 3-piece suit. Ten minutes later, and he was showing up fashionably late for cocktail hour, “Excuse me, sir, would you like anything to drink?” asked a server.

“Hmm… What grade of cognac are you serving this evening?” Henry answered, discretely placing a 20-krona bill in his jacket pocket.

“Ah, I see the gentleman is of discerning tastes!” The server smiled, “We have the VS blend Courvoisier tonight, but if you like I may set aside the Louis Royer XO for your pleasure.”

“That would be fantastic, thank you, sir. I’ll take it with a drop of spring water, of course.” Tonight was going to be phenomenal, Henry told himself, drinking expensive booze on other people’s dime was a very difficult experience to ruin. The woman he had talked to before seemed a bit simple, but nice. Of course, he could hardly blame her for being taken aback by his verbose driveling, but it had been amusing to watch her reactions. But again, even if everyone else at the damn manor was a horrible bore, at least he could milk them for every last drop of their liquor cabinet. “Thanks again for this, I’ll be sure to remember it.” Henry told the waiter with a little half salute when he had returned with the drink. After he was gone again, the Doctor found himself in need of a fine hand rolled cigarette to accompany his glass of liquid gold, and made his way outside to light one up.

This brief adventure outside was largely uneventful, and therefore requires very little description. He smoked a cigarette and sipped his drink. That was all.

Feeling a little disappointed by the lack of excitement outside, Dr. Halibern figured it was probably time to see if he couldn’t find anyone interesting to talk to for a while… And there she was, standing in sharp contrast to the various Swedish socialites buzzing around, another one of the manor’s special guests hanging on the arm of staircase. “I don’t believe that we’ve been properly introduced, yet.” Henry smiled, having made his way across the room to meet her, “As I said before, my name is Dr. Halibern. It’s a pleasure to meet you miss…”

(Bits in bold written by the charming Cops, or Cal as you peasantry call him. Thank you!)

"Erika...Hayes." she paused awkwardly in the middle. First name or last name? It didn't matter. She'd blurted it out anyway.
Silly.
It was quickly dismissed with a minute shake of the head before the woman focused on this man more. He seemed a good couple of decades older, though there was something she could respect. Perhaps it was the attire? The amber drink in his hand that screamed high-class to her? She didn't know too much about all the different kinds of alcohol, or the best or worst brands within, but most of it looked fancy regardless. She'd make it a point to ask around for recommendations whenever she could, since all drinks were indeed on the house.
"I don't believe we have, no. You...were one of us, on the limousine, mm?" a pair of grey eyes settled on the man who had made his way over, and though she had thoughts about him being strange prior, he seemed an honest gentleman. Polite to say the least. That too, it was some company among the Swedish chatter that she could indulge in. She had no idea if any of the gorgeous guests spoke much English at all. And as a group, they seemed intimidating to say the least. "Ah, the pleasure is all mine, doctor."
The eyes lit up finally and she flashed him a smile that almost seemed grateful, taking a sip of her glass of cool water and leaving a faint stain of colour on the rim of the glass. "Ah, the evening seems so lit up and beautiful, yet so dull at the same time, wouldn't you agree? Being in such a strange land with so many unknown people, it's almost a little overwhelming. I wouldn't know what to say or do with them, at all. You're like one of us then, are you not? Flown in from some different country? Whereabouts?"
Her first guess was the states. The accent in the short snippet of speech gave it away.
An eyebrow rose and her smile borrowed a hint of curiosity from her eyes as she gave his attire a quick scan. Not someone who was afraid of dressing their finest. But then again, you had to in such an occasion. It got a silent approval from her before her eyes found his again, her leaning on the arm resting against the arm of the staircase a little more, waiting for his answer to her question and to confirm her suspicions.

Henry put on a charmed smile and continued to drink as the young lady spoke. So far she was doing a rather good job. There was the early fumble, but she had recovered nicely. "Yes, certainly it does feel that way now... But I've always found dull beginnings to be nothing more than an opportunity to create an exciting finish." He said, flashing a roguish grin. "It's funny really, as odd as this manor and its inhabitants seem to be, I can't help but feel at home here, something about it brings me back to a life I thought I'd abandoned long ago... Well, that's enough of that. To answer your question, I am indeed a fellow stranger to this place, flown in from the U.S... Portland, Oregon to be exact, though that's only my most recent home... How about you, though? You're a bit tricky, but I bet I can figure it out..." Henry said, pausing a moment to finish his drink.

"Hmm, alright then, Indian heritage for sure, but judging my your accent, you've never lived there. You're too English to be American, and the mannerisms don't fit, but you're certainly not English enough to be from the U.K... Judging by your fluency though, you were definitely raised speaking the language, which rules out the rest of Europe. Africa is unlikely, but maybe an international school somewhere in Asia? Maybe Singapore? No, there isn't a drinking age there, and since you've got water in your hand, I'm guessing you're not too familiar with alcohol. The Middle East then, so going back to the international schools, we're talking wealthy countries on the southern side of the Persian Gulf... It's got to be Qatar or the UAE? I've spent a fair bit of time in the region, myself actually."

"An exciting finish, eh? That's the first I've ever heard of that ideology." she smirked before taking another long drag of her drink. He definitely seemed more hopeful about the outcome than she was, though she could respect that. Perhaps he was indeed more at home here than she was, and why wouldn't he be? He'd mentioned it himself, a life he'd left behind far away. Erika made it a point to ask at some point how this would be anywhere close to normalcy for the man. At some point in time. At some point in time, indeed.
"Most recent home, eh? So I take it you're a traveller? I've never been to the states myself...Goodness, do I seem tricky to you?" her lips quirked in an even bigger smile, something resembling an expectant, curious child unwrapping presents to see what was inside. "I always thought I was quite simple, bah. But go ahead. Knock yourself out."
She tilted her head back with a little laugh and took another sip from the glass. He wouldn't be able to pinpoint it spot-on, of course. It wasn't like she was that obvi-

And any water she had taken in that gulp threatened to be forced out of her nose in a double-take when she stared at him with her jaw dropped, him sussing out her entire story in a matter of seconds, was it? Amazing. Incredible.
"Wh-wha...how did you...Whaaaat." she flinched, hand tightening around the glass a little. It was creepy enough to the point of being stalkerish, and she suddenly felt a mixture of uncertainty and curiosity about this man.
Incredible. Simply incredible.
Most people would have hardly been able to trace that through a trail of thought like that, but this man was...

"I...y-you're absolutely correct." she gulped hard, grey eyes fixed on the floor and refusing to look the man in the eye for the handful of seconds she held them there. Countless emotions ran through them, suspicion being the main one. But that wasn't to make itself evident. No. That would be bad.
She took a deep breath or two and finally brought her eyes to meet him again, a charming smile of her own plastered onto her lips for the moment. If he'd touched them, he'd figure they were trembling.
"That's...amazing. You've been there? I've hardly met...anyone who's been around home very much. I...but you're a doctor, are you not? What do you specialise in? Rather, what kind of doctor are you, Doctor Halibern? I...I can't say I'm not curious. In fact, now I'm dying to know."

Henry allowed himself a bit of a contained laugh at Erika's shocked response, "How? It's a simple trick really, so long as you're extraordinarily well versed in the history and cultures of the world, of course, but otherwise simple. See, you speak English with a predominately American accent, which means you learned the language from an American, and because the U.S. was never an imperialist nation, that immediately rules out a gigantic portion of the world. At this point I'd be tempted to just say America, but in conversation I noticed that your vocabulary isn't particularly stylized or lazy like most Americans, suggesting that you learned the language in a 'linguistically sterile' environment, like a classroom, definitely outside the U.S. I took a leap of faith on the alcohol, assuming you were raised in a typically conservative Muslim country. Put those two bits together and you'll find there are rather few countries left. Qatar and the UAE are some of the only Muslim nations that possess enough economic draw to attract a large number of American businessmen, resulting in the foundation of a number of international schools, making them the most likely candidates. So you can see, I only really needed two pieces of information about you, how you speak, and what you drink, the kind of things you can learn in a minute. The rest is just history and culture." As he finished the explanation, Henry just smiled warmly young lady and raised two fingers to flag down the waiter.

"As for my time in the Middle East, that was back in the First Gulf War, but maybe that's a story for another time." He said, happy to be interrupted by the waiter, "Another glass, please. Perhaps you'd like one as well?" He asked, unsure of Erika's disposition towards liquor. "It's Cognac, essentially a brandy aged in barrels, and made only with grapes from the Cognac region of France. It's not quite a beginner's drink, but this particular bottle is really something you won't get anywhere else, 40 years in an oak barrel, the stuff is worth it's weight in gold."

Henry waited for Erika to respond, and then began again once the waiter had gone, "Anyways, you wanted to know what kind of doctor I am? Well, I'm currently a professor of both Philosophy and Anthropology, but I technically also have a doctorate in economics, I just don't get much use out of it these days. In essence, I study people, both inside and out. I study how people used to behave, and I study how they behave now. I study how we communicate abstract ideas to each other, and even how we represent them to ourselves. But most important of all, I study the soul."

"I...I see." were the only words that left the woman's lips, still recovering from the shock. An immediate sense of respect for this man blossomed in the back of her mind. It was almost like a fortune-teller, but instead of predicting one's future, it was reciting one's past or tracing their origins. And it was all based on cold, hard fact, like the man before her had just done. She had to commend it. Everything he'd said hit the nail right on the head. Such a perceptive eye and the ability to make such deductions had almost made her swoon. Her smile, previously plastered on by force, now returned the warmth of the doctor's. She'd made a note to definitely sit down and have more little chats with the man. Perhaps he could teach her some of the tricks he had up his sleeve? He was a doctor, after all. She'd need all the help she could get, looking to pursue medicine to a degree herself, albeit not in the exact same way as most traditional doctors. Veterinary medicine, in the end however, was still a course that held equal value, except tailoring to the needs of animals, and perhaps not as many human beings.
"The UAE, yes. That's where I call home. Our little Gulf-Pearl. I'm glad you've been. I'd have to ask what you thought of it later. And hear this story about the Gulf War."

He could be more than he lets on, though...and making up an explanation just to cover for it. But I trust it. For now. It's a good explanation as any.

The waiter made his way by at the doctor's call, and she gave the man in the tux a welcoming smile in greeting. There was nothing she'd wanted for the moment, though. Maybe some more cold water, since her glass seemed to be running out surprisingly quickly...
"M-me?" she was shaken back to Dr Halibern's question, and was left to ponder for a moment. "I've actually never tried much before. But since I can now...hah, the family back home wasn't too strict about things, but liquor and drinking under-age was definitely one of those things. I suppose if it's on the house, I wouldn't mind a glass. Though I'm worried now that you say it's not for beginners, haha. It sounds a real treat, though. Now that I can, and now that I'm in such a place where I can, I'd like to try everything offered to me."

She listened intently to the doctor's description of his profession, with more questions than answers when he was finished, but a respect for the man nonetheless. It seemed a little too much on the spiritual side to 'study the soul' but she brushed it off with a minute, barely detectable shake of her head. The rest of it sounded interesting enough, and if there were so many people out there trying to understand the mysteries of life she, as well as a good chunk of other people, took for granted, it wasn't something that singled this man out particularly. If in his search and study he found tangible answers, then all the better for him. If he did, or had any to discuss as of the moment, the logical little lady in blue he was conversing with would love to be given more explanations, whenever and if ever the time came and enlightenment led to result.

She paused for a little while, taking a bit of a deep breath before smirking up at the older man with a little laugh she couldn't contain following right after, too. Going back on the question of whether she'd wanted anything to drink. "And if I, for any reason, act out of alcohol-induced motives after having said drink, the good doctor will most definitely have an earful when I'm sober again. Besides, if the drink really isn't for me, I could always find him and pass my drink over to him. I'm sure he'd have no objections. And hey, if I'm having it at all, I'll enjoy it before the hour ends, and I think it's quite close."

"Don't worry," Henry laughed, "If you feel sick, I'll help you back up to your room. In the most chivalrous way possible of course!" Not only did he not feel like getting on her bad side, Erika seemed like a sweet girl, and it would be wrong to take advantage of her naiveté... Right?... Right.

Right?

The question had to hit the backburner as the clock struck 8 and and the doors to the Great Hall opened up.

"The most chivalrous way. Right. What a good doctor." Erika gave him an over-exaggerated eye-roll but a smirk right after, the chiming of the clock to signal the time catching her off guard. "Goodness, that's it, then! Time for it to all go down..."

The first thing that James noticed was the silence.

He turned a complete circle to take in the entrance hall, the crystal chandeliers, the ivory walls, the floors, his new oxfords joining the chorus of footsteps from the other occupants of the limo. But that was the problem. It was a chorus without accompaniment. There were no orders from servants being thrown about, no scuffling of furniture being moved about, no clashing of silverware, no running feet.

It was the air was dead.

There was only the clacking of their own feet upon the golden marble as they climbed the steps to the second floor. Like a metronome, their feet resounded against the marble floors, accompanied only by their bated breath.

James felt as if he had entered a manor inhabited by phantoms. It was chilling to the bone, overshadowing the pleasant realization that a ball was being thrown in their honor, as well as the opportunity to wear a dinner jacket and drink expensive alcohol—an opportunity James would have normally embraced.

James stopped in front of the door labeled with a one, and looked around. The girl he had met in the limo ride, Erika, was in the room next to him followed by the good doctor, then the waitress, and then by his awkward blonde countryman. Even though they were situated near one another, James felt like he was alone, separated by a sea of silence.
Get over yourself! James scolded silently. His paranoia was getting the better of him now. A life time of action movies and thrillers gave him the suspicion of a mobster waiting for the coppers to crack down his door. There couldn’t be anything wrong with this place!

He inserted the key to his room and turned the knob.

The door swung open and James changed his mind.

There was something very wrong with this place.

“Jesus Christ,” James whispered to himself as he stood in the doorway staring into the room with disbelief. It was his dream room. Everything he ever wanted, all of his favorite things, all in one place. The room had an expensive, yet tasteful, appearance: a crystal chandelier was hung from the ceiling illuminating the entire room with a vibrant golden glow, the walls were painted in a lively crimson red—his favorite colour—and the floor was covered in black marble tiles with velvet red rugs lounging about. A king sized bed hewn from cherry wood was set on the far side of the wall, lavished with various sheets, blankets, and pillows of red, black, and white. Set on top of the bedspread was a basket full of tea cakes along with a pamphlet and card that exlclaimed, "Welcome James H. Welch!"

Adorning the walls in trios were posters to all of James’s favorite films: James Bond, Mission Impossible, Godfather, The Bourne Trilogy all framed in expensive ebony frames.

It was like something out of a Hollywood Director’s mansion.

James took a step forward. Then another. He shut the door behind him and took a closer look around. Around the room, set on various coffee tables and counters were various historical artifacts. James took a Napoleon era Calvary Sabre off a display rack and slid it out of its scabbard.

Blunt, James thought, disappointed. Well of course they blunted the blade! It would be quite impractical to give guests lethal weapons to poke their eyes out with.

Dominating one end of the wall was a small bookshelf dedicated to all of James’s favorite books. Mostly espionage novels, but there were also quite a few classic books: Count of Monte Cristo, The Prince, The Lord of the Rings, Sherlock Holmes, and too many titles to list. Set next to the book shelf was a reading chair of brown leather and coffee table set with candles. The candles had already been lit, and the warm fire seemed to invite James to sit down. Walking into the bathroom the floor was paved in golden marble tiles and the whole room was well furnished. A bathtub cut from the same golden marble rose from the corner. A little side table was set nearby in case one wanted to drink wine and read a book whilst taking a bath. A wine glass and bottle of 2006 Cabernet Sauvignon was already set out for him.

His room was bloody perfect. And that was what worried James.

His paranoia had reached a crescendo as he made his rounds around his room. How the hell did these people know his tastes, his interests, his bloody favorite colour?
James seated himself in the reading chair and closed his eyes in thought. There just was something off about this place. The owners were as James expected from rich aristocrats: charming, suave, and generally unreadable. But it was truly troubling how much they knew about them. First the passports with their pictures on it, now a room personally styled to their tastes! Then there was that one encounter with the man in the loo. He wondered what he would be doing with the item the stranger gave him.
James massaged his temple. There wasn’t anything to be done in this situation except play along for now and get dressed for the ball. James would have to find out more information somehow, and he would have to watch his back while doing so. Oh how he wished he had a gun! A stainless steel Walther PPQ by his side would do wonders for his confidence!

James found his luggage near the entrance, but he left it unpacked. He didn’t know if he would have to leave in a hurry or not, and if he did, he would prefer to have his bags already packed. He retrieved his dinner jacket and set it upon the bed. Then he stripped down and stepped into the shower. He turned the water on but didn’t bother turning on the hot water. James liked his showers cold. He shivered as the freezing water ran down his naked back. James stood there, beneath the shower head, holding his arms close to his chest as water dripped from his bare body like an early winter shower. He waited until his body was numb from the water before reaching for the shampoo and body wash.

---

James stepped into the view of the mirror, a changed man.

He wore a pitch black dinner jacket, Tom Ford, with peaked lapels. A smooth faced shirt with a pointed collar was worn underneath with cuffs fastened together by slender cuffs of palladium. Black pants were worn, held up by white braces, visible when James took off his jacket as he had opted out of a waistcoat and cummerbund. A black silk bowtie was fastened around his collar and a deep wine red pocket square poked out of his breast pocket. Worn on his feet were his polished oxfords.
James felt confident and if he did say so himself, quite handsome. He flashed a few poses in front of the mirror, miming the action of drawing a gun from a shoulder holster before he felt silly and composed himself again.

Right then, back to business, James thought as he straightened himself.

Before going out, he set miniature burglar alarms around the room. In each drawer he would place several locks of his hair so that if the drawer opened, the hairs would fall out. He did the same with his luggage, and place a small layering of talcum powder by the window sill. If someone came in through the window, the powder would have been disturbed and James would know about it.

Good god, he was paranoid.

James gathered his thing and strode purposefully through the door, shutting it silently behind him. The floor below him was abuzz with activity now. Voices, laughs, and the clinking of glass ware could be heard in the entrance hall. The ball had started.

James took a deep breath and descended the stairs.

8:00 PM - Showtime!

The large doors leading into the Great Hall are both simultaneously pulled open by two waiters dressed in white tuxes, revealing an even larger and absolutely exquisite ballroom that looked as if it spanned three quarters of the East Wing. A full band is already swinging to a spritely jazz tune, a soundtrack for their patrons as they all spill into the room from the Entrance Hall. Everyone, with their ridiculously expensive attire and their alcohol-induced laughter, struts inside, some scurrying to claim seats and tables while others wander onto the dance floor to tap away with the music.

Stretching along the left side of the room is a long line of tables, on top of which lay platters upon platters of food still covered with silver domes to keep them fresh until served. Along the opposite side is the bar, fully equipped and already buzzing with enthusiastic customers.

Before you can decide where to direct your attention or your feet, a waiter or waitress finds you in the throng of incoming guests and bows slightly in greeting. "Excuse me, mam/sir, but your presence has been requested near the stage. You're to be introduced to everyone," they explain, and with an amused sort of expression, they place a hand at the small of your back and steer you through the crowd until you have reached the side of the stage. There, you find that the Woll family - excluding Liam, who is already on the stage - waiting for you, accompanied by Ingrid, who is sporting a bluetooth earphone in one ear and a small clipboard in the diagonal hand.

David, clad in a black suit and skinny tie, throws his arms up in excitement and approaches you all with that wide smile of his. He moves toward Henry, who is the nearest, and claps him amiably on the shoulder. "Hello, hello! Wow, you guys look just incredible. What a difference from this afternoon, eh?" He laughs to indicate his joke, then gestures to the stage. "We're just going to do a bit of an introduction to get the party started, yeah? I hope you all don't mind. After all, this is your party; it'd be a shame if no one knew who our guests of honor were."

As if on cue, the band crescendos to the end of their song as the two doors through which you entered swing shut as the last of the crowd enters the ballroom. David looks back at you all, waggles his eyebrows in gaudy encouragement, before he offers his arm to his sister. Nathalie accepts it, hooking her arm around her brother's, and follows him up the small staircase to the stage. Ingrid motions for you all to follow them.

The band behind you is now silent, although the mass of people before you is not, and so as David is handed the cordless microphone, he booms out a loud "Hello, everyone!" to make them shut up. The lights above are bright as they illuminate you all standing to David's left while his family stood to his right. Once the chatter slowly begins to die down to a bearable level, he continues.

"Yes, yes, welcome everyone! Oh, we are so incredibly happy to see that all of your shining faces have decided to come out to celebrate this evening with us. As you all know, it is that time of year, once again. The time when the Woll family opens our doors - and our wallets - to a select few persons, who will be getting to know Sweden from our little corner of the land. And tonight, we hold this ball to welcome our newest visitors, and wish them the most fabulous time in our Motherland!" David takes a step back and sweeps his arm as if showcasing you all while the Hall erupts into applause and cheering. Above all the noise, David motions to each of you in turn and shouts your name into the microphone. "That's right, exactly right! If you see any of these faces in the crowd tonight, be sure to thank them for providing you with free booze." The crowd laughs appreciatively at the quip.

"Alright, let's not put it off any longer, yeah? The dance floor and bar is now open! I want to see each of you there tonight!" And with that, the lights from the multiple chandeliers above dim to allow the multicolored party ones to flit and spin around the room. David shoos you all off stage so that you can rejoin the festivities.

---

Benji had just about scrambled back to the manor when the doorman spotted him, and politely indicated that he should really be in the ballroom, and probably get a move on. He said something vague in response, and did indeed make toward the ballroom - that said, he didn't hurry. Hurrying wasn't really on the agenda. He didn't drink wine, and was already a little tipsy. Presumably, a combination of the earlier tiredness and the revolting wine. Hadn't he necked it? He'd necked it. Apparently, he never learned. The moment he got inside, a waiter was, well, waiting for him, re-explained the same situation and guided him, physically, through the crowd to the side of the stage where the guests were being rounded up.

David, Nathalie and their secretary were also present. When they were all assembled, David started talking, but Benji had already tuned him out. When you'd heard one person smarming, you'd heard them smarm a thousand times. Instead, he sheepishly tried to meet Nathalie's eyes in a way that suggested the word 'bathtub'. She didn't seem to see him, and so Benji supposed he ought to try to listen to David, but he didn't really have the concentration. All he was really picking up were the rhetorical confirmations of acceptance David seemed so fond of, all the "yeah?"s and the "right?"s. Whatever he was saying, Benji wasn't too inclined to agree with anyway. He was beginning to feel like a doll, overdressed in clothes he no longer felt he'd really chosen and, being marched onto the stage to be gawped at, he was suffering a bit of stage-fright that he'd never felt before. Still, you didn't exactly refuse the man whose manor you were stood in, wearing the clothes he had paid for. Benji felt that might be impolite. The butterflies in his stomach fluttered ever more violently as the band cued them onto the stage with a final sting.

He felt dizzy and light-headed. Was it really too late to just opt out? And then Nathalie Woll winked at him again, a sly shot back across the line meant purely for him. Instantly, he straightened up and adjusted his bow tie (though, being pre-tied, there was very little adjustment needed): he perked up immeasurably and, after a brief moment of horror, confirmed that his perking up was, fortunately, a purely emotional phenomenon: his lower half had not betrayed him, and was not behaving in any sort of manner that failed to befit the occasion. He never really drunk wine, but the sedation was welcome.

Speaking of sedation, was wine really this strong? A single measure of wine, even on a tired and medium-empty stomach, shouldn't cause him to feel like this. He had to fight against a swaying sensation, and his limbs were feeling loose, like he didn't really control them but they were helping him out as best they could. The sudden slackness, especially before a hundred or more eager Swedish faces, did not make him feel any less exposed, and, if he'd had the dexterity to pluck at his collar, he would have had to fight the urge. Loose and feeling increasingly limp, he felt more and more like a shop-window dummy on display, and the clothes really didn't help: nobody actually wore dinner suits. Not really. Certainly the Doctor whose name he'd forgotten looked cool as a cucumber, dressed well but not so well as to stand out. Instead, he simply contrasted the starkness and intensity of Benji's tuxedo, throwing all the light onto him.

He's allowed his mind to drift (David was speaking again), but suddenly he heard his own name roared to the crowd; his proper, full name with the "min" at the end and everything. They knew how he kept his sitting room but didn't know how he referred to himself? Maybe they just didn't care. Not knowing what to do, he half-heartedly waved at the crowd with a lifeless hand.

At least the James guy stood next to him was wearing a dinner suit as well. Wait, that wasn't better. Nothing said 'mannequin' like a uniform, and the two of them, Benji and James, dressed black from head to toe but for white shirtfront, may as well have been mass-produced. A worse mental image came to mind; decorations on top of a wedding cake - two grooms. Each other's grooms. The thought was chilling, but inexplicably comical, and he couldn't help but giggle; as James' own name was called out, Benji was snorting into his lapel, trying to keep his composure.

---

Music. The band had started, and David was waving at them to get off the stage. The stage door was very far away, and the dance floor very exciting; Benji simply walked up to the edge of the stage, crouched, and dropped himself to the floor. Much more efficient. He even almost aced the landing, staggering only slightly as he got himself back up. The band was playing old-school dance music; proper rock 'n' roll (before rock 'n' roll was about men who had never heard of rock 'n' roll with big hair and platform boots), jazz, and blues. It was hardly a rave, but with chandeliers and pristene-white tablecloths as far as the eye could see, Benji thought this was probably as close to a rave as the manor came. Fortunately, he had been provided with his own personal light show as faces blurred and the party lighting showered the room not just in their usual variety of lights, but also in glimmers and glows he knew from experience, that weren't really there to be seen. It didn't make them any less pretty, though.

Benji loved to dance. Any casual onlooker would have found this evident. He danced with women and with some men, a flailing mass of surprisingly-coordinated limbs. At one point, he was to be caught shouting something inaudible to a particularly patient and professional member of the band. It would have taken somebody sober to keep tabs on how long he had spent dancing before he eventually took a breather; not through tiredness per se, but through the boringly sensible realisation that through the what-ever-it-was in the wine and the frantic dancing, he ought to rehydrate. About fifty per cent of his total body liquids had converted themselves to perspiration, and his forehead and, in particular, his armpits experienced that sickly-lukewarm sensation of sitting in one's own sweat.

Water. Water.

Water water everywhere, but not a drop to drink, since he couldn't actually find any. And then he did. After about five minutes of searching (distractions notwithstanding) he found a pitcher of iced water on top of one of the tables,siezed an empty wine glass (with just a splash of leftover red at the bottom), filled it to the top and necked it.

The doors to the ballroom yielded to the crowd that had gathered before them, opening to reveal a scene stunning to Rikki's eyes and sweet to her ears. When she heard the -very excellent- band playing some high energy but not psychotic jazz, she was pleasantly surprised. They way things had been going so far, she half expected something like the ball scene from The Shining, or a string quartet scratching out Vivaldi. Not that she disliked Vivaldi, it's just that some things were so overdone that they became cliché in real life as well as in fiction. To go along with it, the ballroom was magnificent. Extravagant and yet open and roomy, it rather reminded her of a wedding reception. To cap off the image, tables lined with food stood against one of the walls. Rikki approved immensely; buffet dinners were better than sit downs for gigs like this. Finally, a display of money she could actually get behind.

The crowd piled in with their drinks their talking and ruined the image. Rikki liked big empty rooms, for some reason. Maybe it had something to do with being in a room that was meant to hold a hundred people and having it all to yourself; an obscure way to be selfish. Rikki shrugged the thought off and entered the room with the crowd. Once she was in, she stood out of the way of the flood coming through the doors so she could find a suitable seat. She hated moments like this, trying to figure out what to do...

Just then, a waiter approached her and said, “Excuse me ma’am, but your presence has been requested near the stage. You're to be introduced to everyone.” A smirk crawled over his face.

“...on the stage.” Rikki said flatly as her eyes grew wide. In front of every-...oh, crap. Where do I go? What should I do? Will I need to say anything? These internal questions were answered with the waiter's hand finding her back, making Rikki jump out of her skin even though she saw it coming. Some people were leaders, others were followers, and Rikki preferred being herded like cattle. Her dislike of touching gave this small amount of contact the effect of a whip as the bemused waiter led her through the crowd. Everyone was there, Rikki saw Ingrid on the platform, who looked very much like a stage director in a hurried production. Any second now she'll ask for props department...She thought, directing her nervousness towards humor. At least the others were here, all huddled to the side, though Rikki observed that they didn't look every comfortable either. No one is alone, she supposed. we're a rag-tag group after all; there's me, Cooper, Miss Stiletto Heels, James Bond and Benji. Five little fishies out of water, standing in a bunch.

David Woll's appearance interrupted her train of thought and he slapped Cooper on the shoulder. "Hello, hello! Wow, you guys look just incredible. What a difference from this afternoon, eh?" It was a joke, but to Rikki it felt like an insult. What he actually said differed from how she heard it. “What a difference from this afternoon...because before you looked perfectly awful.” Thanks, chief. She thought bitterly.

They wasted no time in pushing the group towards the stage. David did his overture as he announced them one by one. Rikki put on a brave face as he paraded them before the whole room. People clapped as they stood there, and it was over quite quickly; like ripping off a band aid. Rikki watched, both amused and embarrassed, as Benji climbed off the stage in front of everyone and hit the dance floor. He must be a light weight to get drunk that quickly.

Rikki exited the stage in a more normal fashion and swam out into the ocean of people and booze. Without much to do, she decided to lean against one of the walls and just watch everyone. Maybe this party wasn't so bad after all.