Irena - Brochan's

Brochan's was the local version of what everyone thought an Irish pub would look like. Before Irena had left for the city it had seemed exotic, now it felt ordinary and rather fake. Every table was filled when they walked in. Fortunately, Amy and Tricia had already arrived and grabbed one. Seeing her friends in the same styles they had worn in high school, going to clubs with the same kinds of music, forcefully reminded her how much she had drifted out of their circle.

As soon as they were seated a waiter came over for their orders. "Slivovitz, please," Irena added to Stacy's order of Irish Cream. She tried again when the waiter shook his head, "Jameson Limited Reserve?" He shook his head again. "Jameson Gold?" He nodded at that one.

"Still drinking weird stuff?" Amy asked.

"There's nothing odd about slivovitz," Irena replied.

"Ok, big city girl," Tricia added.

The first drink relaxed her enough that the thoughts she had pushed away while driving returned. Stacy and the others started comparing the guys in the pub while Irena's mind wandered, painting a picture of a very different place. Dark stone walls arched over a rough hewn floor. Smoke hung heavy in the air, thick with the scents of grilled meats, tobacco and other smokes, sweat from many different races of creature clogged the air. Booming echoes of conversations, shouts of greeting, food and drink orders, and music from a stage in a small pocket cave partway up the far wall crashed around her in a deafening tide. Shadows flickered from lamps and torches hanging from the ceiling, placed on tables, or jutting out from the walls. She was seated at a small table, tucked into a little alcove against one wall. A single candle guttered in the air currents, flickering light and shadow across the top of the dark black liquid she was drinking. Across from her a small urchin girl sat, sipping a bile green colored sludge and smiling with genuine delight.

"Earth to Irena. Hello, where were you? I've pointed out the same guy four times now and you haven't even twitched your eyes," Stacy hissed.

"Oh, um, nothing, just more tired than I thought from the drive," Irena responded slowly. She forced her eyes to focus where Stacy was pointing. None of the guys in that general direction caught her eye.

"That one. The one in the denim jacket," Stacy almost huffed. Irena looked at the man in question. He was the blandest looking one of the bunch, although he was handsome enough. He could have been a final year student, a law clerk, or an insurance man. "Maybe you are becoming a lesbian," Stacy said with an edge when Irena just looked away.

"Sorry Stace, he just looks boring. I don't see anything edgy about him at all."

"Damn it, what's wrong with you? That ass hole you dumped sure was edgy enough. Abusive, drunk, and rude. Is that what you want again?"

"No, but I want someone with some fire, some passion, and who isn't afraid to be different."

"Is that some type of comment on me?" Stacy asked.

"No. No, of course not," Irena responded, almost too quickly. That actually was what she was thinking. When she had planned the trip home, she'd thought it would help to see her old friends, go to the old haunts, and drool over the boys again. But it all felt empty and hollow. She began to regret having taken an entire week, then told herself if she still felt the same way tomorrow, she'd head back early.

"At least get out there and dance," Stacy pressed. Reluctantly Irena hauled herself up and edged through the crowd to the dance floor. Not very many people were dancing, so she stood out both in her darker attire and because she was dancing alone. Several guys tried to join her, but moved away when she ignored them.

"You didn't even try to dance with any of those guys," Stacy accused when Irena returned to the table.

"Not interested," Irena replied. Stacy pointedly turned away from Irena and only talked to Amy and Tricia for the rest of the evening. After five or ten minutes of the silent treatment, Irena rose and spent the rest of the night alternating between the bar and the dance floor. It wasn't the music she particularly liked to dance to, but it was easier than being near Stacy while she pouted.

The ride home was spent in strained silence. "We have to share my bed, but don't talk to me until morning," Stacy said when they entered her room.

Cloying perfume, scented powder, and overpowering lavender scents clashed in Irena's throat and lungs, forcing a short bout of violent coughing. Stacy just glowered until she was finished, silently handed her a box of tissue, and stomped off to the bathroom. She returned a few minutes later in her perfect pink nighty, flopped down on the bed, rolled to the far side, and stretched out facing away from Irena and the room. Irena stared at Stacy for a long time before pulling a pair of sweats out of her bag, changing into them, and slipping into bed. She stared up at the ceiling for a very long time until sleep finally pulled her down into more strange dreams.

Sophia - Stepping Out

Sophia stirred in the throne and said, "I need to see outside, even if just a little bit. Then I can accept returning to training."

"Very well, but you should at least put on some of the protective wear."

"None of it looks any better than what I have on, and most of it looks like it was designed by a deranged fan-boy."

"All three versions provide the same level of protection, which is quite high by most standards."

"Even the one that looks like a glorified swim suit?"

"Even that one. I did ask Irena why those designs once. She just smiled and said, 'Sex distracts. While my oponent is looking at what I'm not wearing, I get an extra few moments to act first. Besides, if you've got it, flaunt it.'"

"Oh. Am I to assume Irena is quite beautiful then? That attitude might work for the beautiful people, but what about the rest of us?"

"Ah, another person with self-image issues. You are quite beautiful, even if you can't see it. Nothing says you have to wear the revealing ones, there's still the more modest, full body version. Once you decide on a style you prefer, we can modify something to your personal tastes."

"I'll go change and be right back." Sophia returned a few minutes later in the full coverage, black silk set of trousers and long sleeved top. It clung and fit tighter than she was immediately comfortable with, but wasn't nearly as bad as the next choice. "It clings more than I would like, but it will be ok, I guess."

"What you arrived in was more revealing than that," Tyana reminded her.

"Yes, but I was going clubbing, and hoping to attract notice. I don't want to do that here."

"You'll probably be fine. We can also change the wardrobe after we see the local conditions. Do you still want to go or shall we return to your training?"

"I still want to go outside," Sophia replied as she walked toward the door to the interface room.

The interface looked like a small peasant hovel, with a small fire pit, a rough cot, tiny table and a couple of chairs, and cookware hanging over a narrow counter. A ladder led up to an attic and a trap door closed off what might have been a cellar. A small brazier, sculpted to resemble an impossible monster of teeth and claws rested on the shelf. Something about it drew Sophia's gaze.

"That won't work while the power system is damaged," Tyana said.

"Won't work?"

"Oh, right, you wouldn't know. That can be expanded and controlled by a whistle in the desk in your room. It expands to a size that can hold four people comfortably and then it travels under whistle commands."

"Oh," Sophia said, staring at it for a few more moments.

Tyana crossed to the far door. It was ornate, carved in strange beasts and symbols, everything so detailed they seemed to move around the door when Sophia wasn't looking. "This is the main portal. Outside of here we are back in the Real Space Realms. Nothing can gain access through this door without your direct approval, although, once it is given, that being may come and go as they please, unless you rescind the permission. Are you ready?"