The three were shown to a small dressing room by a stagehand. What it lacked in space it made up for in accommodations. A large fruit basket and snack tray sat on a coffee table in the middle of the room, several decorative jars of candy waited on the vanity, and there were other accouterments that could not be recognized, but seem to be sexual in nature. As Isobel dropped her bag by the vanity, Beatrice started picking at the snack tray and Eustis casually examined what seemed to be a dark purple motorized dildo.
Isobel stared at them both through the mirror. She had to get them out of the room. In truth, she had no intention of actually performing. She had brought a change of clothes, her usual blacks. The minute she was alone she had planned to change clothes and walk out. No fuss, no scene. Beatrice and Eustis could even act dumb about the whole thing if Enki interrogated them later. As far as they would be concerned, Isobel escaped without any of their help.
"So," she said, turning around and trying to sound happy and excited. "Let's find someone to get you to some seats, shall we?"
"Are you sure, Izzy?" Eustis asked, finally setting down the dildo. "We could stay for a little while, make sure you are comfortable. It's an awfully big place. Wouldn't want you getting nervous."
"That's true," Beatrice added. "Don't think you have to do it all on your own. If you need moral support, we're here."
Isobel raised her eyebrows at both of them. As much as the two annoyed the ever loving shit out of her, they still would slip into a kind of parental energy, trying their best to be supportive, though it was clear they simply did not have much practice at it.
"Don't worry," she said, reassuring them. "I'll be fine. I like preparing for a show by myself anyway. I, uh, need the quiet."
"Well, if you're sure." Beatrice grabbed one more snack for the road as Isobel ushered them both out the door. They quickly found a member of the crew who led the two imps toward the audience. Isobel watched them leave, knowing that it would be the last time she saw them. Surprisingly she was mixed with a feeling of good riddance and a bit of sorrow. It was almost enough to make her forget all the times she promised to kill them. They, after all, weren't terrible people, just kind of dumb and obnoxious.
However, this was no time for sentimentality.
Isobel headed back to the dressing room and quickly changed. She was thankful for all the food. Though none of it tasted particularly good, (such was Hell) she didn't know how long she would be without. She loaded up her bag and took a final look in the mirror. There she was, perhaps a little thinner and ragged than the last time she saw herself. Her hooded jacket now had holes and rips, some of which were crudely patched and stitched. It hung a little looser on her, the result of weeks of farm work and sub par food. Her dark braid now hung all the way down to her waist. She made a mental note to get a haircut before tearing her eyes away from the mirror, taking a deep fortifying breath, and walking out the door.
Thankfully everyone was too busy to really give her any notice as she wandered the hallways. Though she had tried to keep track of all the twists and turns on her way in, Isobel had never been great at direction, and she easily became confused. She dared not ask anyone's help with directions as she tried to keep out of everyone's way, small and invisible.
She was walking down a hall following a lighted exit sign when her body froze and her feet planted to the floor. At the far end a door swung open and a group of four or five what looked to be bigwigs strolled out. These were not stagehands, these were the ones in charge. The movers, the shakers, the ones responsible for the event as a whole. Among them, with antennas buzzing and wide conceded smile, Vox.
What the hell was he doing here? Then she remembered the tagline of the show, 'a televised event.' She had always wondered why they were pushing that so much. It was probably Vox's doing. He needed his piece of the pie.
She took a breath of relief as the group turned away from her and continued down the hall. She would just wait, let them pass. But she should have known better, because wherever Vox was the other Vs were sure to be close behind.
The door opened again and another group of people, this time led by Velvette, who was loudly holding court, entered the hall. Luckily she too turned away from Isobel to follow the first group. However, bringing up the rear and ducking under the door, Valentino sauntered out and just happened to look down the hall right at Isobel.
He took a double take, a vague sense of recognition crossing his face, but he couldn't see clearly from that distance. Suspiciously, he squinted at her. Ever since Isobel had solidified her strange relationship with Alastor, she had become of special interest for the Vs, especially Vox. She could only imagine what would happen if they found her alone in the wild.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Isobel's brain screamed. She was already flying by the seat of her pants, this unexpected complication was going to ruin her escape for sure. She turned her back on him ready to run, but suddenly saw another door just a few steps away. She quickly went in and locked the door behind herself. Pressing an ear to it, she waited, straining for any sound. Was he following her?
She couldn't hear much, but no one tried the locked door, so she figured she was safe for now. However, she decided it better to wait a while before venturing out again to give everyone enough time to vacate the hall.
"Ahem."
The sound of someone loudly and deliberately clearing their throat came from behind her. Startled, Isobel spun around to find that the storage closet she thought she was hiding in was, in fact, a gigantic lavishly furnished dressing room.
The sheer size was outrageous. The room she had been set up in could have easily fit into this one three or four times over. Bouquets of flowers covered every flat surface and wrapped presents littered the floor. There were fainting couches, a grande piano, and a crystal chandelier.
Across the room a large and elaborate vanity sat with a grande mirror and cushy couch. And looking at her from behind that couch was the one who had apparently cleared his throat, a small, annoyed imp clown.
"Can I help you?" he asked with a croaky voice.
