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[indent][color=c8d1c6][i]O[/i]n the yellowing-grey cusp of an early afternoon of daily machinations did the temperatures of The Badlands slowly begin to ascend, though delicately enough that even clad in cashmere warmth, Anastasia disregarded the shift with nothing more than fixating a pair of solar protected lenses on the perch of her nasal. Traveling on foot from one district onto another was the only typical way one traversed through the bogged city, every road intersected with a myriad of chains of franchise and corporate luxuries, peddlers, and owners of kiosks that operated on the hours betwixt dawn and night. These were the busiest cycles of the day that hardly shifted through seasons, only to carefully interchange merchandise and methods of browse by the supply and demand of tourist incline and students courtesy of the local University that barely passed the title of maintaining its' college status. Ana stepped around clusters of candy-eyed youths shimmering gold and bronze in what little sunlight there was, squelched her body between denizens of the crowded bus stop and crossed the signaled walkway before the lights flickered once more from their red to green.

It had only taken her a quarter of an hour from The Blue Mirror establishment onto the busier market streets, her destination another ten minutes across the way across what was literally called the College Way; lacking taste in a moniker, but exact in purpose if nothing else. Whilst representative citizens of The Badlands tended to model existences and musings, Anastasia found her thoughts lacking that blissful normalcy. After all, to rely on the potential kindness and whims of another was rather risky for a woman of her work, for her own tools and capabilities were all she needed, her talent natural and fluent, refined and elegant and left naught a trace. Ana had found in her younger years that she needed none and desired none; though her origins were modest and hardly legendary, she had to proudly display that she had come well into her own over time and grace of luck and fortune. [i]Though, partially stolen.[/i]

Having to trek across town under these facilitated pretenses, as it were, left her mind in a constant reel of her next step, each potential varied and possibilities of each and every one of those calculated upon the finalizing factor of [i]"what if"[/i]. And Anastasia did not favour those eternal doubts and inconclusive outcomes that could lead to a literal life or death decision of fate and sheer luck. On the sidewalk across from the more active attractions and establishments, she could witness the spiraling peaks and crowns of the museum adorned in slight cherubs and angels reminiscent of the view she shared with others across from the Herlion complex. Terracotta hues blended seamlessly with grey undertones and burnt mahoganies that capped pale stone and brick that appeared to be toned in beige and darker golds in the time telling shadows. She cut across the alleyways, ducking down under metal ladders and vents betwixt the buildings, knowing most of the backtrack methods to navigating The Badlands that were conveniently used to be literally unseen. Most of the city could be taken this way, one would never have to cross the main roads if they desired not to and most, if not all, had been carefully planned as precise escape routes long before she had even utilized them herself. 

Perks of the trade, she muses and comes from the shadows with arms crossed at her bustline and eyes gazing up through shielded lashes at her destination. 

Still, under minor construction, the courtyard sprawling before ornate doors, though many would describe such as a luxury park by the number of trees planted around the expanse, with artful iron fences and lamposts paired with oak wooden benches against immaculate sidewalks, it still gave her pause by the sheer beauty of it all. The architecture was something of a lost art, similar to the original master and designer of the Cathedral across from her home, with the original blueprints being only of one and kept under literal lock by the former curator himself. Anastasia could only imagine what [i]inside[/i] looked like now, what with their constantly expanding exhibits and new collections rotated through their featuring newsletter. Of course, that was where her intended lay, and from her judgment of the exterior, the gala would be somewhere on a secluded floor rather than the more prominent rooms facing out. So, something of a challenge then.

Ana casually sauntered towards one of the many benches, this one picked for its' view of the foyer, angled just so within the shade of a maple tree and fetched her mobile from her belongings, and with all the nonchalance of a regular woman browsing within the fresh air, she began to read over the digital press article of the gala's secret promotion. Appearances had to be maintained, certain ploys had to be played out and liken the park to a stage, Ana was flawless in her execution and performance. She crossed one leg over another, deliberate and leaned back just so, enough for comfort and enough for visual advantage and she continued to re-read the information she already knew.

[i]Hmm.[/i]

It wasn't until a full five minutes had ticked by that Ana pinged through her messages, as if looking for an old friend lost within the feed of her some on and off acquaintances, a woman that was, perhaps, meeting with a friend under the grey skies. Her eyes lit up briefly when she found the name was searching for and began to type out a summons, the smallest of carefully solicited simpers curling her lips.

	[i][color=000000][sup]Hey.[/sup][/color][/i]

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[i]I[/i]t had only taken him an exact seven minutes.

Enough time for a woman such as she to spruce her appearance, hair tucked into place, the smallest of shrugs to the shoulder allowing soft wool to droop just so and for genuine softness to curb icy blues to something a little more appreciative. Ana's smile was all porcelain fragile and white as bone, gnashed against the widest of grins that lifted her gaze and crinkled just so to be seen as welcoming. 

Patrick Montreyu was a man of careful reception and appearance, even she had not seen him out of particularly arranged attire and even in the most casual of grace, he was always on the cusp of gentry and refinement. With a vocabulary of proper etiquette and tutelage and a mind rich with the expanses of histories, he was a rich bank of information to the most curious thief wishing to learn more of her gains. Over the years, she had come to form a friendship of sorts, backboned carefully by their families' intertwined involvements. Though, he needn't know of [i]her[/i] exact ties to the name of Frievald. In a three-piece suit toned a soft, warm gray, double-breasted and oxfords of course, for she expected no less, Patrick approached with his phone in hand and hazel eyes never leaving her features.

	[color=ebf2e9]"Don't stare, Patrick. It's rude."[/color] She jaunted, peppering her voice an octave higher and with a spring of annunciation to colour her voice in warmth. His shoulders fell just so, only to immediately bristle.

	[color=7c7c60]"Just, hey? I don't see or hear from you for three months and then you just,"[/color] he gestured, even that motion was careful. [color=7c7c60]"Show up. I swear you're like a phantom, Ana. Come and go as you please, as is your want."[/color]

She scoffed, petulant and visibly chaffed. [color=ebf2e9]"I was out of town."[/color]

	[color=7c7c60]"I find that difficult to believe, nobody leaves town. And certainly not for a quarter of a year."[/color] He immediately sounded back, reclining next to her on the bench, a proper distance away, but still close enough she could visibly notice the hurt in his eyes. It was like emerald shards stabbing into her breast, and Ana, though still under her guise, could not feign that smidgen of guilt that came with her performance.

	[color=ebf2e9]"Well, I'm here now."[/color] She muttered, not quite an apology, but close enough that Patrick sighed, tucking his phone away and leaning forward to table his elbows across his knees, relaxed by her admission. 

	[color=7c7c60]"...True. Though I wish you would have called first. I've been incredibly swamped lately."[/color]

	[color=ebf2e9]"I've noticed,"[/color] she inclined her head. [color=ebf2e9]"Still expanding I see, and what's this I hear of a [i]gala[/i]? There hasn't been an event outside annual holiday festivals for a long time."[/color]

That was her ticket, her first initial prompting into securing her way into the echelon of sponsors, buyers, and collectors. A pathway she had to immediately secure at all costs. 

	[color=7c7c60]"Saw that, did you?"[/color] He chanced a glance her way, under his lashes, carefully raking her from boot to crown, eyes lingering, something curling his smile just a tad from male appreciation. [color=7c7c60]"It's been difficult to keep it under wraps, but the press has ways to get something out of me yet if only to keep them from crowding my office again."[/color] 

	[color=ebf2e9]"Uh huh."[/color]

He straightened his posture, elbows lifted back against the bench's support. [color=7c7c60]"Well if you've read the papers, then you know how important this is. We've been setting up for the past week and it has taken me months to secure all the pieces."[/color]

[i]Go on.[/i]

Anastasia leans forward that much more, subtle, interested, all the cues of a dame baited on his words.

	[color=7c7c60]"We've even translated new pages in The Atis, the centre piece of the whole exhibit..."[/color]

[i]Wait.[/i] Ana's body stilled, her breaths coming in shallow and quick, barely there to register her sudden decline in emotional fixations. The very name, The Atis, was always enough to stow away her thoughts into an overdrive of hyper-awareness. For the one he spoke of was a forgery done by the gypsies in her family, given back under pretenses of goodwill to the United Mythos when they had extracted it from the church. To hear that these false pages had been translated turned her heart to a stone, one of burden; it was a weight of something ancient, something that had been given to her by the hands of her father. She had never opened such a thing, for the very thought seemed [i]wrong[/i]. Patrick's voice faded, her mind awash in sudden waves of blue and red, fire and ice, of fangs seeped red and black skies on the horizon chaining her into place.

She forgets to breathe.

	[color=7c7c60]"Ana?"[/color]

She jumps. [color=ebf2e9][i]"Oh."[/i][/color]

	[color=ebf2e9]"I'm sorry, wow. You really translated them? How many pages? I mean. I know you're like an expert at dead languages, but didn't you tell me once that it was impossible?"[/color]

He seemed concerned, though didn't press, vaguely encouraged by her sudden inquires and interest. [color=7c7c60]"Yes, but I found written passages in the margins towards the centre of the book. It's barely legible, but just enough to read and work that into a reference on how they translated it themselves. Since doing so, I've been contacted by many collectors claiming to have pieces of artwork that were inspired by the very scripture dating back hundreds of years ago."[/color]

	[color=ebf2e9]"Wow..."[/color] She breathes; the reveal of his discovery daunting, foiling her act just enough for the sake of her plans to pause within her mind. The security of such a thing alone, and the sheer number of artifacts associated with something so coveted. It would be the biggest accomplishment of her career.

	[color=ebf2e9]"I'd love to see them."[/color] Ana cooly recites, vixen-esque temptation coiling her voice something sweet. She can see the cogs churning with his eyes, manipulated senses at work with only a minimal amount of hesitation banked there. He hasn't seen her in a long while, the impromptu visit has him toiling in memory, their last time together rising to the forefront of his mind. And, he thinks, he glances to those eyes and remembers, somewhere in his office, there's a scripted invitation, one of only so few that was left from those already sent. Only one, for one another.

	[color=7c7c60]"I do have a spare invitation, actually, if you'd like, I'd love to show you the translations and see what you think of the exhibit at the gala premiere."[/color]

	[color=ebf2e9]"Oh, really!? I'd love to!"[/color]

	[i][color=000000]Bingo.[/color][/i][/color][/indent]
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[center][sup][color=c4e4e6]. 𝒆 𝒕  𝒅 𝒓 𝒂 𝒄 𝒐  𝒈 𝒍 𝒂 𝒄 𝒊 𝒆 𝒊 .[/color][/sup]
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