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Lena rested her arms on the rail of the mezzanine, a glass of champagne in one hand, and a paddle with a number printed on it in the other, watching New York City's wealthy elite milling about, inspecting items they intended to bid on later that evening. It was all for a very worthy cause, of course, orphans in Outer Northwest Slobovkistan, or some place like that.
She plucked a canape from a passing waiter, some kind of melon wrapped in paper thin prosciutto ham. She wondered what thinly sliced smoked orphan would taste like with melon, and decided it might be better with strawberries and brie. She thought about how irritating the contact lenses she wore to mask her demonic orange eyes were. She thought about catching that waiter after the auction and devouring his soul.
Her presence at the auction was to acquaint New York society with the lovely daughter of the eccentric and wealthy Dr. Nathaniel Essex, just arrived from London, so they wouldn't question, and would, indeed, welcome her presence among them, all the better to cement her position in the new, improved, Sebastian Shaw-less Hellfire Club. Daddy very much wanted to keep his fingers in - and eyes on - such a potential resource. And it wouldn't do to disappoint Daddy.
She smiled brilliantly at the venture capitalist and his much younger trophy wife who stopped to make small talk with her. The wife was thinking about her latest trip to the salon to be waxed, botoxed, and wrapped in seaweed while comparing herself to Lena's genetically engineered, inhuman physique, and wondering how many carbohydrates were in the marinated mahi-mahi appetizer she had been nibbling on for the past 15 minutes. The husband was chatting away about his latest investment in a company that wanted to build a new high-speed rail system between England and France, while mentally undressing Lena. A quick telepathic image of the wife in a funhouse mirror, and Lena in black leather lingerie, and the couple quickly excused themselves to hurry off to their respective bathrooms.
Lena ambled down the staircase onto the main floor where the auction items were on display. Perhaps this "being nice" was something she could get used to after all.
She plucked a canape from a passing waiter, some kind of melon wrapped in paper thin prosciutto ham. She wondered what thinly sliced smoked orphan would taste like with melon, and decided it might be better with strawberries and brie. She thought about how irritating the contact lenses she wore to mask her demonic orange eyes were. She thought about catching that waiter after the auction and devouring his soul.
Her presence at the auction was to acquaint New York society with the lovely daughter of the eccentric and wealthy Dr. Nathaniel Essex, just arrived from London, so they wouldn't question, and would, indeed, welcome her presence among them, all the better to cement her position in the new, improved, Sebastian Shaw-less Hellfire Club. Daddy very much wanted to keep his fingers in - and eyes on - such a potential resource. And it wouldn't do to disappoint Daddy.
She smiled brilliantly at the venture capitalist and his much younger trophy wife who stopped to make small talk with her. The wife was thinking about her latest trip to the salon to be waxed, botoxed, and wrapped in seaweed while comparing herself to Lena's genetically engineered, inhuman physique, and wondering how many carbohydrates were in the marinated mahi-mahi appetizer she had been nibbling on for the past 15 minutes. The husband was chatting away about his latest investment in a company that wanted to build a new high-speed rail system between England and France, while mentally undressing Lena. A quick telepathic image of the wife in a funhouse mirror, and Lena in black leather lingerie, and the couple quickly excused themselves to hurry off to their respective bathrooms.
Lena ambled down the staircase onto the main floor where the auction items were on display. Perhaps this "being nice" was something she could get used to after all.
