[center][sub]EE 87, May 5 | Night[/sub][/center]
And thus sounded the blasted bell once more, heralding the lightning that sealed the buildings, the incursion of that all-consuming mist. Ten chimes rang with cacophonous, metered rage, and this time, the sudden locking down of every exit point did not come to a surprise to any of the residents within the isolated island. Now was the time for the night, for clandestine encounters and the advancement of schemes. Within the muted light of the fog-shrouded streets, shadows stirred, pursuing disjointed goals.

[sub][@banjoanjo][/sub]
The dinner party had concluded, dishes scoured and discarded, the guests leaving to do whatever work they wished, or to seek the rest that they believed they deserved. In the end, Ryuuko, seeking adventure and excitement, had left the apartments with Nazca, searching for any sign of the rumoured manbat, leaving Bang to chaperone their fractious charge. Throughout their discussions and studies about what had transpired the night before, Jeanne remained largely mute, only watching them speak and intermittently picking at her food. The Frenchwoman affected once more a sense of uninvolved cool, and despite Franz’s request, she had not done more than flip through a few pages of the censored student register before tossing it to a couch.

Jeanne herself sat by the window, her eyes squinting against the blinding Formula that made alteration impossible, her gaze drawn to the fog that pressed up against the glass without clouding it over. Nothing was said between the two. It had been two hours now, of this awkward silence, in this suite with no possessions worth distracting one’s self with.

Perhaps Bang should have brought a book.

[sub][@Vega7285][/sub]
The operator was quick and efficient, with the sort of manic tone that sounded like someone who had caffeinated properly in preparations for a night shift at the telecommunications center. Within a couple of moments, the line connected to the famed ‘Angelo Beloco’, and a distorted voice sounded, some sort of device utilized to artificially crack what should be an otherwise stellar connection.

[b]“Bermuda Triangle, Classified Section. Who’s this?”[/b]

In the background, opera music vibrated out of a gramophone, warbling tragic tones in a language Hana didn’t know.