[h2][i]Felicia Takashi[/i][/h2]
[hr]

A gathering of wealthy individuals, all garbed in their finest, clinked glasses and gabbed at each other more than actually speaking with each other, with fake and pompous laughter to accentuate all of the bragging and subtly hidden backhanded comments. It was like this every year at the Summer Festival, and one of the reasons Felicia hated going to the affair. She wasn't permitted to go about her own business, and was instead supposed to look the part of the heiress to the Vegh (her mother's) fortune, as well as the upright daughter of the prominent business man, Hideyaki Takashi. When an event occurred on Rosalina Isle, you could bet that a healthy dose of Vegh-money backed the attraction, just because her mother was an incredible slut for attention. 

This, unfortunately, meant that Felicia garnered dirty looks from her mother's “friends” as she wore her favorite rabbit-eared hoodie with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows over a [url=http://i.imgur.com/LZMTS0J.jpg]chiffon dress[/url] that she was practically man-handled into just hours earlier. The whole event had been near catastrophic, but Felicia had relented. She had better things to do than waste her energy on arguing with a brick wall. The only thing she had won on was keeping her hoodie, which was mostly by her father's permission. A smile still crept to her lips as she replayed his final say on the matter. [i]“Amalia dear, let her wear it. She's been pig-stuffed into a dress she hates, don't make her completely miserable.” [/i]

Surrounding her in the Gala Pavilion, a large shaded monstrosity with misted air blowing down from fans to ensure the comfort of the guests mingling under it's roof, were her peers. Some of them had been her actual friends not more than seven years ago, but Felicia hadn't given them the time of day in a long while and this was the first time she had seen some of them in months. They all giggled in unison when one of them made insulting and derogatory comments that were aimed at “peasant girls” walking by in “streeties” (Clothes you'd only see homeless people wearing, or somebody completely devoid of fashion sense. Felicia noted that, that included everyone who wasn't them and didn't have the money to fling around at Dolce & Gabbana, Dior, or Louis Vuitton). They reminded Felicia of a pack of hyenas, leaping at the same target as their shrill laughter played upon suffering ears. Every so often she could feel several pairs of eyes aimed at her, as if willing her to laugh at their inane “jokes”, but she continued ignoring their persistence to have her included in their reindeer games.

She was sure she might have been drooling a bit as she stood there in a daze, just trying to get through the day by ignoring everything around her. The words [i]seven o' clock[/i] kept repeating in her mind, that was the time she'd be permitted to leave this horror show. That was when the thing, the [i]person[/i], she didn't want to run into the most popped up in front of her, his golden locks glistening in the sun, his lips in a smile that showed off the dimples in his cheeks. Shaun Barts, the boy her mother was trying to marry her off to, was two years her junior and heir to the Barts Banking legacy. And a total twat. Truly, listening to him was like imagining what paint must sound like while it dried. “Felicia, heheh, hi.” He said in his nasal voice, and she felt her insides writhe as she struggled not to strangle him on the spot. Her eyes darted around for an escape as she mumbled under her breath, [b][i]“My fucking luck.”[/i][/b] but she gave him a nod and forced smile.

A waiter came strolling by with a tray of sparkling water and champagne filled glasses expertly balanced on an upturned hand, and Felicia couldn't have asked for better timing. She grabbed for a glass of champagne when she was offered the tray and “accidentally” spilled it all over her nice dress. The look on the waiter's face was one of pure horror, and she heard several of her peers gasp. Felicia played it up. [b]“Oh my god, my dress!”[/b] She groaned as the champagne soaked through the chiffon to her bare legs. [b]“I-I-I- Oh my god, I have to go!”[/b] She feigned crying, knocking the waiter who was desperately trying to pat dry the champagne with a silk napkin out of the way, and snatched up her backpack before running out past the “doorsmen” who were guarding the entrances of the Gala Pavilion, making sure no unsavory characters were allowed past. 

Felicia was sure her peers were back there dissing both the waiter and her in equal measure. She felt a stab of guilt for leaving the poor guy like that, she just hoped he didn't get fired. Her mother was going to hear of what just happened and probably throw the Verthaven's biggest hissy fit ever, but she couldn't handle another moment in Shaun Barts' presence. As soon as the pavilion was hidden from view, Felicia looked for the nearest restroom and changed out of the now-soaked dress and into her usual attire: a loose tanktop with Link riding Epona heroically, his Master Sword upraised across the front, a pair of dark grey shorts with matching leggings that reached her knees and a pair of running shoes – oh, and of course, her hoodie. She slipped it on, rolling the sleeves back up to the crooks of her elbows and went to the mirror to look at herself. She had too much makeup on for her liking – her mother's demand – but she could deal with it until she got home later. 

She patted her backpack to reassure herself that her most prized possession was still in there, and felt the cold metal even through the material. She glanced at her wrist to make sure her charm-bracelet was still securely fastened. Giving herself an affirmative nod in the mirror, Felicia turned to venture out into the crowd, hoping to scope out NEST agents without them scoping [i]her[/i] out first. She knew she should leave them alone entirely, she wasn't registered, but the draw of metahumans with power like that... It was something she wished she had, if only to police [i]Las Palmas[/i] better during her night-time skulking. She never considered using a gun, but the batons that they were issued were top-grade, and she could almost feel one in her hand, reinforced by her power, as she beat up a would-be rapist. That was a thought that sent a smile to her lips as flexed her hands, imagining the glory of it.