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Jetta Miracle Constantine

"I dare ya"

0 · 247 views · located in The Masquerade Ball

a character in “Misguided Ghosts: A Promise”, as played by Ashbugg22


Name: Jetta Miracle Constantine

Age: 25

Gender: Female

Ethnicity: Mother’s side is Norwegian/British/French. The Father’s side is a mix. So basically, she is a white girl.

Occupation: Hippie/Dancer/Groupie

Sexuality: Straight

Appearance: Jetta has large pretty eyes that are a dark brown. She also has a heart shaped face with long brown hair. Jetta has the tone and tan body of a dancer. She also has nice curves and is average in height. She walks and in general moves with the flow and tempo of a dancer.


Personality: Jetta is fun loving and playful in nature. She lives to party, lives in the moment and says screw the consequences! Jetta is witty, funny and enjoys causing trouble or being the trouble. She is the kind who would take any dare, try anything and mount any challenge. Jetta does all this ultimately to forget her troubles. She cant deal with reality so she lives to forget and plans on being young forever. Perhaps Jetta need someone to show her she doesn’t have to forget, she can embrace the now, it‘s not so scary. No matter what her father thinks or what she has done, she is special the way she is. Maybe she needs someone to love her anyway…

Living in the moment
The environment
Helping those in need

Long term relationships
Serious People
Goal driven people who think about the future
Thinking about the past

Fear of confronting reality
Fear of realizing what she has done with her life
Fear of ageing

Masque and Gown/Tuxedo: (Description or pictures. Either one works for me.)




~ Niklas Aaron Constantine (Father)
~ Coralie Genevieve Pearce-Constantine (Mother) - Deceased
~ Emily Catherine Gianluca-Constantine (Step-Mother)
~ Quinton Flynn Constantine (Older twin brother of Viv, 21)
~ Viviannah Azalea Georgia Constantine (Younger twin brother of Quinton, 21)
~ Lavi Aschlin Kimberley Constantine (Younger brother, 14)
~ Anastacia Elizabeth Ranaldi (Younger Step-Sister, 14)
~ Kinsley Matthew Ranaldi (Younger Step-Brother, 13)
~ Coralie Genevieve Constantine (Niece, 4) - Deceased


Jetta was the first child born into the Constantine Family. It was a picture perfect family of beautiful people who had a world of opportunities before them. Her mother and father had three boys after they had Jetta, two of which were twins. Jetta grew up happy and healthy in a ordinary suburban home. That was, until her mother died…

Since the day her mother died, Jetta was never the same. She always thought that none of the other kids really were either. Her father remarried a lovely woman who Viviannah particularly hated. It wasn’t that Jetta hated her step mother like Viviannah.. She was a nice lady. Jetta simply didn’t like the fact that she was married to her dad instead of her mom. It was selfish, unrealistic and childish, but Jetta couldn’t help feeling that way none the less.

Jetta was a pretty laid back, good kid when she was very young. She lived a normal life as her hidden and pushed back resentment grew. Why was it that she had to grow up without a mom? She always felt that her father didn’t love her as much as he loved the other kids. She was miss independent, first born, didn’t need the same type of attention.

Because of the resentment for her step mother and her father, Jetta hit her teen years quite hard. She went out and partied, her grades dropped to before unthinkable levels and she began to have guys in and out of the house at all times. She started to get in constant trouble, just because she could. Just because the only people who would care in the world would be her brothers or her many friends at school. But that didn’t matter. All that mattered was having fun and forgetting all her troubles…

Jetta, is a grad A woman with “daddy issues”. It started small in those teen years but she then began to feel like she needed all the attention from guys, began to crave those drugs that had only been casually used and rebellion started to implant it’s self in her personality. She started to use drugs to forget, use the way men would make her feel to escape how she thought her father felt about her.

After barley passing high school, she hung with a lot of different crowds. If their life was purely about partying and fun, then they were probably Jetta‘s friends. She learned to dance quite well with the hip hop crowd. She was a member of a street dance crew that won quite a few dance competitions. This was the closest to any type of success that Jetta ever got to. The crew however never made it farther than that. Everyone got wrapped up into the life of gangs and drugs, throwing the group’s unusually high talent away.

Jetta too got wrapped up in the world of drugs, though not the gangs part. She began to hang out with artists and musicians. She traveled in busses with groupies and hippies, or whatever else they called themselves. She traveled around blindly, simply addicted to the party. She followed bands, danced at clubs(sometimes for money), traveled aimlessly and joined causes that touched her heart. She even joined the peace corps for awhile.

While Jetta didn’t find herself worthy enough to save or take care of, she had a soft spot for others in need, animals, the environment and other such noble causes. She had the passion and rebellion of an activist but the life of drugs had already consumed her.. She was drugged out at a protest rally one day when a man who owned a world famous club saw her by complete chance. She was dancing, strung out of her mind in a peaceful protect for some cause. The man of the club instantly saw her talent and sexual beauty, as he had an eye for talent and beauty. He saw beyond the appearance of a drugged out hippie and knew what her potential could be if she got cleaned up. He immediately recruited her to dance at his club, only for the rich and famous.

This has been a slight turn around for her. The owner of the club made her get much of her act together. Jetta is now trying to get off drugs and is uncharacteristically thinking of what she should do with her future. This is a hard turn around for her, to get clean. Maybe she wont make it and fall back in to her old ways, or maybe she will make it. For some reason, part of her is still fighting the change….

However one day, she got a call from her favorite brother, the only family member who knew how to get a hold of Jetta, (a very hard thing to do). Viviannah passed on a letter meant for them both. Her brother begged her to go, in hopes that he could get spend some time with her. Ultimately he just wanted to use the time to talk to her about going into rehab and getting a real job. Jetta loved her brother, so she decided to go. Plus, it’s essentially a party right? So up Jetta’s ally.




So begins...

Jetta Miracle Constantine's Story

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Jetta smiled wistfully as she chugged her delightfully sweet champagne. Jetta always thought the sweeter the better. She looked around cheerfully for her brother. He was with her just a moment ago and now he was mysteriously absent. He had convinced Jetta to come and now he was no where to be found.

Jetta shrugged her shoulder as examined the area. Everything was incredibly elegant and beautiful. The air of the place was like pure magic, just floating around. The magic seemed to be in everything, from the food to the paint on the walls. Jetta had to admit that when she arrived with her brother, everything seemed rather strange, yet enchanting! No one even spoke initially, like they had all been wrapped up in a spell.

But now, the mood was different. The music carried Jetta’s soul into a feeling of whimsy. She usually wasn’t around such music or in a high class place like this. Her place was smoking weed at a protest rally, dancing in her tie dye dress and ready to throw a bucket of blood on anyone wearing fur. Or she would be at the club, dancing the night away to music very different from this and with people very different from these.

Jetta herself, was a very different person than the kind that belonged here. However tonight, she at least looked like she belonged here, with these people. She did herself up the best way she knew how. The dancer from the world famous club, exclusively for the stars looked like a beautiful, rich heiress. She was in no way famous herself, she was just a dancer, hired to entertain. But it was also true that only the best dancers who looked better than the others were hired at this exclusive club. But it is still a rather demeaning type of life none the less. But tonight, Jetta belonged. They all belonged here tonight.

Jetta looked around once again for her brother who was no where to be found. Her hands were starting to get a bit shaky. She hadn’t had her fix in so long.. Her brother had made sure to stay around at all times so her couldn’t fed her addiction. Yet now that they get to the party, he is no where to be found. Jetta lightly got up, gracefully stepping onto the ball room floor. She danced around a bit before her heard a woman’s voice exclaim "I need a cigarette!"

Jetta smiled as she heard the words. “Cigarette”, what a sexy word. Jetta spun around and headed toward the garden, where the woman seemed to have retreated to. When she went through the doors, she was immediately draped in moonlight. Everything in the garden had a lovely silver glow. The flowers even seemed to dance and smile at Jetta as she gracefully entered the area. The air was so magical, it tempted Jetta to want to just dance in a patch of flowers. Part of her believed the flowers would dance along with her. Maybe they would.

She looked around for the woman she heard. It was always nice to have someone to talk to when you go out for a smoke. She finally found her, sitting down in her dress with a Marlboro Menthols cigarette. Jetta smiled sociably as she walked over and pulled out her hidden joint from her bra. Her brother would have murdered her if he knew she had brought something with her.

“Heya, this place is beautiful right?” she said as she toyed with the joint between her fingers. “You have a light Hun?” She asked with a charismatic smile. “Oh and I’m Jetta by the way.” She said as she sat in a chair net to the woman.

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#, as written by Odyne
Wordlessly, Lila held up her lighter, observing the girl cautiously. Jetta didn't seem to balk at her appearance, her eyes jovial and accepting. At that moment, a revelation broke to Lila. Why am I on the ground in a borrowed dress at a party? she pondered, giving a little sigh at the ridiculousness of her actions. So it's a ball. You can do this. You've been in a room of naked people before, why do dresses and tuxes intimidate you? Suck it up! Say something! Braving a small smile, she brought herself to a squat and with some effort, to her feet. Flicking open the Zippo, she held the flame to what appeared to be a hand-rolled cigarette and waited for the tell-tale glowing ember before closing the lid and tossing it back into her purse. The smell of skunky marijuana wafted beneath her nostrils, leaving her nose burning.

"Lila," she replied, decidedly giving her the respect of smoking pot without saying a word about it. Lila contemplated her statement about the massive mansion looming behind her, taking a moment to inspect the garden. There were multiple species of flowers and trees in blossom, some of which she had never seen before. Their colors were muted beneath the full moon hanging in the sky, the light playing off of a small bubbling fountain. Sculptures of gods and muses splayed in assorted risque positions seemed to reach out for her, their faces fixed in dreamy euphoria. The expanded terrace was made with creamy terracotta tiles, the rails draped in gauzy taffeta and tiny firefly lights. She turned her head, the polished tiles and many roofs of the towering empire behind her driving lofty music around them. "It's...magical," she murmured, awe-struck. Her resolve recompensed, she smiled apologetically. "It's very nice to meet you, but I reckon I should get back in there." Shaking Jetta's hand warmly, she finished off her cigarette and turned to the French doors once more. "I'll see you again, I'm sure!"

The quartet finished their first song and everyone clapped respectably, including Lila. The next song began as a punchy melody and Lila could feel the excitement ripple through the crowd . She looked around the ballroom. A few people were already dancing, smiling, laughing and drinking...and a few were standing against walls or sitting alone, their jitters apparent, making her feel a little better about her own outburst.

She began swinging her hips, unable to resist the bewitching tune. Dancing toward the other couples, she squealed, "AYAYAYAYEEE!" Timid wouldn't do tonight; she knew people were beginning to stare and she wouldn't have it any other way.

Lila rose her arms above her head and slowly, salaciously, rolled them through her hair, over her neck, and her chest until reaching her hips. From the corner of her eye, she saw a timid boy standing near the Women's restroom, looking simply delicious in silver and black. She playfully strolled towards him in time to the music, wearing her best "come hither" expression. Without a word of permission, she draped one arm around his neck and snaked the other around his waist, her eyes locked in his azure gaze. Mistaking his shaking for desire, she undulated gently against his hips. Lila wouldn't plead for a dance tonight. She would take what's hers, one way or another and "no" was not an option.

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Jetta smiled softly as the girl light her joint. She seemed cautious, maybe fearful of the night to come. By the way she was dressed and acted, she did not appear to be from the same world as the people who belonged at the masquerade ball. Jetta however, was never one to judge and didn’t belong here either.

“Lila” said the girl, not saying a word about the joint. Jetta smiled casually as she made an effort to push her smoke away from Lila. She was happy that Lila didn’t make a big deal about the weed. As far as Jetta was concerned, weed was practically completely legal anyway.

Before Jetta could respond, Lila said “It's very nice to meet you, but I reckon I should get back in there" As she shook Jetta’s hand. Before Jetta thought to say another word, Lila had disappeared into the masked party.

Jetta shrugged her shoulders as she stared out into the moonlight, letting the beautiful herb take her away, to a better life than her own. One where lighting up was not necessary and when one heard the word “Baked” they where referring to their chips. Jetta giggled lightly at the thought, yearning for the shakes to go away. Her hand trembled as she brought the joint back to her lips. Just the rough papery feel of it on her lips was almost orgasmic. Or, quite close to it.

Jetta let out three smoke Os and watched them as they floated into the sky, disappearing into the moon light. The Os were like sweet, sweet candy. Delicious, precious, treasured.... but short lived.

“The stars.. they are so bright tonight…” Jetta mused to herself, thinking of sleeping under the moonlight. To just forget… to just sleep while covered by a silver veil, without a single worry.

“Mhhh” Jetta purred as she mused. A small chill tingled through her body. It was starting to get a bit nippy out. Jetta sighed as she put out her joint, letting to cool before she put it in a flower pot for latter. She wasn’t too baked, just subdued due to her tolerance level.

She strolled along the lovely stone of the garden. The flowers seemed to whisper to her, enticing her “Dance my love, Dance. Forget my love, Forget” Jetta shook her head in confusion and kept moving for the French doors.

“Gotta cut back on the weed” She said to herself as she passed back into the ball.

“Meet them Love, Wish on it my Love” said the tiny, soft voices. They were such persuading voices.

At that, Jetta rushed into the ball room with a whisp of panic. She quickly got out a strong perfume that smelled of vanilla and hints of wild berries. If her brother were to catch her smelling like weed, oh, all hell would be unleashed upon her.

Jetta then scanned the room, analyzing the people there, the situations unfolding. There were so many people, it was hard to keep track of them all. The so called "Jonathan Promise" was no where to be found. Some people were sitting, eating the food, chugging drinks or scoping out the tail. Scoping out the tail was what Jetta felt like doing, that or hitting the dance floor. Then, before Jetta could even open her mouth to ask the waiter for what had just popped into her mind, he was there.

“Oh snap!” Jetta exclaimed. The boy simply stood there politely as expectantly looked at her. A devious little tinge shinnied in his eyes.

“Oh ummm… Uh, could I get some Sex on the Beach please?” Jetta teased with a surprised stammer. The boy quickly brought back the drink, letting a bit of amusement escape in his eyes before he was gone once again. Jetta found herself shrugging her shoulders for the second time that night. The whole place just made Jetta want to shrug her shoulders.

“Who to talk to? Hmmm.. Drinks first, dancing latter.” Jetta whispered to herself as she spotted a man listening to the music. He looked tall, gangly, and silver haired. He appeared to be intelligent, in the way he carried himself and studied things. Maybe it was just a vibe. Jetta had no idea what to do with herself at the moment and something was telling her she needed to get to know the people here. She wasn’t an exceptionally smart or dumb person, but she always enjoyed those with wit and a talent for words. It was charming. Being inelegant and successful, those were the things Jetta should have been, in that other world. Maybe, she could talk to the silver haired man and pretend. Pretend for just one night that she was important.

Jetta pulled up her dress, to cover up more and appear classy. She began to stroll over, trying to disguise the graceful yet passionate steps of a true dancer. She kept her head held high, trying not to sway much.

Jetta neared the silver haired man, smiling with the confidence of those in power. She sipped her sex on the beach, trying in vain to appear fancy. One can not be fancy when drinking sex on the beach.

“Hey there” Jetta greeted as she appraised him, guessing at what type of man this was. Something about him was so… Intriguing. Something compelled her to know more. “The musicians… I wonder how they play so beautifully with gauze in their ears?” Jetta asked him as she looked at the musicians who played the music of enchantment.

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The room was a mess of sensation already, a shadowplay of desperate hands reaching blindly in the dark, points of light flitting about erratically without noticing that there were others doing the same, and every contact, however deliberate, was to his eyes a complete accident, a random collision dictated only by the wildest probabilities and the intervention of human wills that could not be numerically expressed but still possessed the characteristic effervescence of that which came to life as an amalgamation of one-in-a-millions and would wink out in much the same way, having left a shadow of a mark on something, somewhere, as its only memento. Just like something random, but with deliberateness. Atoms connecting and disconnecting in the void, an old Greek man drawing a triangle in the sand at his feet, insisting that nothing was taught or learned, only remembered.

Some were so vibrantly alive that it almost hurt to look at them, some seemed to linger on the edge of a crevasse, wavering between one side and another without ever thinking to build a bridge between them. At least one was half-dead and didn't know it. Ian knew it, though, in the strange scant-explicable way that he knew so many things, though the specifics were lost on him in the whirl of resplendence and the thrumming of music in his bones. Why was never the right question where he was concerned, only how.

Presently, he was approached by a woman. To say "a woman in a red dress" was to do an awful disservice to the sorts of things that Ian was both trained to instantaneously notice and also instinctively reached for. Dark hair, eyes, artificially marred grace, the scent of something illegal. But then there was also the illusory bass throbbing beneath his feet, something that did not exist in the present reality, but somehow got associated with her all the same. There was a fence, chain-linked and rusting but standing all the same, and henna and picket signs and other things he knew by name but not experience.

For all this, the greeting that passed into the space between them was starkly ordinary, which dispelled the unreality and subsumed the current moment in its place once more. There were people whose heads were always in the clouds; Ian's was always somewhere else entirely, at least until he remembered himself and angled his thoughts back to the immediate. There was a moment, perhaps too long, in which he pondered her question with all solemnity, not because he did not know the answer, but because articulating it in a way that would make any sense to someone else was not an instantaneous process for him.

His head tilted noticeably to one side, and he looked for a moment at nothing but the deafened maestros, but then he blinked and his gaze cleared, coming back to rest on the woman's face. "It is felt, not heard. The instruments are hollow; sound waves produce vibration... after long enough, this can replace the sound. Beethoven was deaf." He recalled the distinct impression of elongated digits pressed firmly, precisely over strings upon the neck of a cello, all reddish wood and emptiness that simply begged to be filled with those selfsame transcendent reverberations.

The corner of Ian's mouth twitched into something resembling a smile. "But surely you would know that?" A pause; his question had not been meant of condescension, merely a ready association with something he knew-but-did-not-know. "I apologize. Sometimes, I am told, I say things I should not." Chances were, she'd simply been trying for small-talk, and he'd completely ruined it. This was a rather common occurrence. Straightening from where he was leaned against the wall, he brought himself to his full 6'7" and then bowed slightly, as he'd been taught in childhood. "Ian Schaffer, fraulein. Er- miss, that is. A pleasure."

Mischa was watching the near-empty dance floor, thinking that it really was a shame it was going unused, for the music was simply excellent. She was not the sort of woman that necessarily would have wanted to wait around to be asked, but given that her equivalent would be a bit difficult to communicate, she was often forced to anyway. She thought about casting an unmistakably come-hither glance at someone, but then that might give off the wrong impression, mightn't it?

As it turned out, her silent battle was abruptly put to an end with the appearance of a man wearing nothing less than a checkered blazer. Normally, she would have thought such a thing amusing in the very least, but there was no mistake- this was the sort of person who had enough presence to get away with it. Clearly, he was also of the belief that he could get away with sweeping her across the dance floor as he liked, but this did not affront Mischa. Rather, it amused her, and reminded her of something her uncle had always been fond of saying: A man 'leads' the dance, but he does not control it. In the end, that falls to the purview of a woman. After all, it is she who draws the eye and she who weaves the most intricate steps.

The present musical selection was a rather charming waltz, and she frankly though that if her music was always this good, she might be in trouble, for she may be disinclined to stop. As it was, she allowed the charming stranger, all small courtesies and prominent smiles, to whisk her about, but never once did she lose control of her pacing, and each foot fell exactly where it was supposed to, the very picture of composed grace and airiness, as a waltz was meant to convey.

There was little her feet could not express, but her face took care of the rest; her expression equal parts wry amusement at his forwardness, genuine happiness at the result, and the subtlest of challenges: just how well do you dance? This was more than an idle entertainment for Mischa, after all, it was her very profession. Though she did not expect the same of anyone here, it was still a little contention that she could not resist, and it drew her back into the place she was so fond of, the one she could only reach when wheeling across a ballroom floor like this. A small, inscrutable smile, a glint to the honey color of her eyes behind the mask, and just a tiny bit of threat in her motion.

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:v i v i a n n a h:

I fidgeted in my seat as I waited for the limousine to come to a stop. I chewed on my lip and kicked at the empty seats across from my own, fingering the edge of the mask that I had discarded next to me, providing more comfort for the ride there than anything else. Actually, I was glad it was a masquerade. Maybe I wouldn't have been comfortable otherwise. No... that's a lie. I'm perfectly comfortable in whatever environment I'm thrown into, just so long as it follows my destiny. There's something I'm meant to do in this world... and it might not be some great achievement, but it's something, and I have to accept it. I do accept it.... I try, at least. Still... sometimes it's cruelly unfair, and that can be a very harsh lesson to learn. For some reason, though, I felt wrong and out of place in the limousine, like I was betraying myself somehow. I tried to convince myself that it was because I had told Mitsuki that I couldn't work tonight and she had begged me because someone important was going to be there and no one made better sushi there than I did. But I still had to let her down. Funny thing, though, that someone who's never been able to try sushi can be such a genius at making it, right? I mean, there was that one time that I tried it just to see if I was maybe only allergic to certain kinds of fish.... No luck. It wasn't pretty. Luckily I'm not deathly allergic, I just swell up really bad like I've been stung in the face about fifty times by the same wasp. Whatever I did to that wasp, I'm really sorry. Oh well. I live with it by just not eating fish. Simple and logical.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, we arrived and I was allowed out by the driver who hadn't spoken a word to me at all, even as a greeting. I wasn't really offended at all; I just thought it was odd. As I stepped out, I stopped and stared at him. He still didn't say anything. I waved at him, but he didn't return it. Finally replacing my mask, I decided I would speak for him. "You look lovely, sir." And I smiled at the thought of such a classy... uhmmm... limo driver... calling another man lovely. But still I just smiled and tilted my head to one side. I needed to reply to myself, speaking for the driver, didn't I? Maybe he'd realize that I was interested in speaking to him. "Thank you, I used a whole paycheck on this suit and had to live off those sixty cent cup noodles for a week." He still refused to say anything in response, so I frowned and turned back away from him. "Have a wonderful evening, sir." As I was about to walk away, I saw him bow ever slightly to me. Maybe I had made him feel a little better about his thankless duties.

As I met the butler and the cute little servant girl, I tried the same approaches with them (not so much with the girl, because I'm sure that someone isn't going to speak with their mouth taped shut), and both times I was shot down wordlessly. Literally. It didn't hurt at all. I, as a man who was once also a father, had experienced the worst kind of pain. Nothing hurt anymore. At least... that's what I told myself. Of course it wounded me a little bit, but I forgot all about it when I spotted Jetta and practically flew across the ballroom to her. I greeted her, gave her a tight hug, told her how business had been going at Viva Sushi! — which has the seriously best Spanish and Japanese food in the whole country, at least — and then was distracted by something across the room. On my journey to discover what thing dare taunt me in my weakened state, I was halted halfway to listen to the host's speech. I did more fidgeting than actually listening, and I know it's a bad habit of mine, but I got the gist of it. No flower picking, don't leave the ballroom without an escort, et cetera or something. And as soon as he disappeared, I was off again on my hunt for the distracting object. Of course, though, in my excitement, I was once again distracted by the other servant who carried a tray of champagne past me; I almost collided with him, but was able to stop myself. At this point, I actually decided to try and take in my surroundings so as not to lose myself in the maze of people.

I did recognize this exact spot. It was where I first met Jetta and then ran off. So... I'd pretty much just gone in a big circle. That didn't bother me, at all compared to the absence of my sister.

Of course she wasn't there. I had a pretty good idea of where she had disappeared off to, and I wasn't happy about it either. I hate smoking, I really do, and I especially hate Jetta's weed. It's illegal for a reason, and I don't appreciate her breaking the law just for a little fun that's going to — in so many words — melt her brain before she turns thirty, and I was certain that she would need it after that. Of course, if it was part of her path of life to end up a dope-smoking vegetable living off Dad and Emily when she could no longer support herself... then that's how it had to be. Alternately, she could be ratted out and maybe she'd end up in jail or rehab... or both. It would be for the best, so I can't really say that I'm too upset about it. Anyway, she had promised that she wouldn't bring any joints with her — this was a classy environment, after all — so I probably shouldn't have been worrying about it as much as I was. I shook it off; when I saw her next I'd make sure to smell her breath, just to make sure. I have no quaffs about embarrassing her in front of a ballroom full of people, even if they can't see our faces, if it means that I might get a positive outcome from it. That's just what little brothers are for, right?

Of course, I wouldn't say I'm really a little brother, considering that both my twin, Quinton, and I are taller than her. Younger brother is more like it. Second youngest of four, unless you want to count Emily's kids, and then I'm third oldest of six. The only one of six who's most likely to never give my father grandchildren... not after Coralie, anyway. Of course not.... It's the whole reason I divorced Melody after so long pretending that I was attracted to her. It's the whole reason I'm not allowed to live at home, and why Dad doesn't want to talk to me. As much as I hate her, Emily calls me every now and again to see how I'm doing and ask me if I want to come home. Of course I don't, not while she's there, and not while Dad's going to glare at me every time I walk into the room. He should give it up, though, really. He has two other sons, and a step-son. He has a daughter and a step-daughter. I don't understand why he can't just give up and let me go. One of life's mysteries; I suppose I'm probably not supposed to know. It bothers me, but if that's the case, then there's no reason to pursue an answer, is there?

Speaking of pursuit, I finally spotted Jetta across the room and immediately made my way over before I lost sight of her. Sipping Sex on the Beach, trying so hard to look classy.... I sighed and shook my head, stepping up behind her and taking her shoulder. "Jetta." Sincerely, I hoped I'd scare her. It was one of those thoughtless things that people do.... I don't claim to be perfect, and I don't claim to think before I do most things that I do. Dad used to call me his 'Dumb One', just because of this, and Quinton would say that he was happy I received all the dumb genes, because that made him a genius. Sure... if he wanted to see it that way... sure. Secretly, my grades were always just a hair better than his, which he paid me not to tell anyone but I don't care anymore. Quinton is made of nothing but pride and business-like stand-offish-ness. It's not a word, I know. I mean, I could've just said that he's kind of a dick, but that lacks all luster that I could've possibly put into it, and where's the fun in that?

"Jet, were you smoking?" She smelled of vanilla, and I could guess easily that she might have reapplied her perfume. I know her better than she probably thinks I do. "I want to smell your breath." I didn't even care that she was in the middle of a conversation with the tallest man I had ever seen, and that upon closer inspection, probably also one of the most well-bred and beautiful men I had ever seen as well. It was in the way he carried himself, and honestly, it was a little intimidating.

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The glorious vibrations of music echoed in Jetta’s hears, tempting her so very much to sway to it, move in some way, anyway. It was a deep compulsion, starting in her ears and ending in her toes. The pulse through her body that thumped in tune with the music itched and bit at her for movement. Each note was a fragment of a movement in a dance that when put together, created true art. To Jetta, it was art that moved people with more than just their ears or more than just their eyes. It took on both senses.

Then, if one actually did the dancing, one could become the art. Dance provoked every sense then, the touch of the body, the taste of sweat permeating the air in a dance studio and the smell of so many things. The smell of strong perfume and cologne each dancer wore in order to cover up the smell of sweat, alcohol or as in Jetta’s case, weed. In her opinion, dancing was the truest form of art.

The enchanting music of the deaf band was now beginning to truly cast its spell on her. Her art was calling to her. When she had approached the silver haired man, he appeared so lost in his thoughts. He seemed consumed by what appeared to be deep thinking. When he noticed her however, his appraisal began.

Jetta recognized it immediately. He did not look at her like the hungry man looks at a woman, his intended meal. Nor did he look at her like the jealous wall flower, or even truly a cautious stranger. He had an odd way of appraisal, precise and knowing. It was eerily similar to the police or investigators. With all the different experiences she had in her life, she knew how to pick out a person from law enforcement. His giveaway was the way he appraised her, she otherwise wouldn’t have known. Those from the law and in the department of investigation, they always tried to “figure you out” and they often thought they did. Normal people appraise to, but they do it in a very different way, more shallow and unintended.

The silver haired man seemed to tilt his head in thought after Jetta had asked her question. "It is felt, not heard. The instruments are hollow; sound waves produce vibration... after long enough, this can replace the sound." He said as he watched the band. He spoke more so like someone of intelligence. Perhaps he was a detective? He was someone of a very different end of the rope than herself, it was quite obvious. But, he didn’t have to know that.

The man seemed to smile, as if he didn’t know quite how or he simply didn’t do it often. Then added "But surely you would know that?" in a way that did not seem like he meant to be condescending, though the words were definitely so. He then added "I apologize. Sometimes, I am told, I say things I should not." As to show Jetta he had not meant to be rude. He was terribly socially awkward, it was written in bold letter across his face. For some reason though, it worked for him. Maybe it was even cute, in a bashful, sweet sort of way? Only talking to him more would tell if she was right about that.

The man then stood up straight, leaving his spot on the wall to reveal his true height. He towered above Jetta, casting a slight shadow to fall over her face as he stood in front of the lighting that came from the walls of the room. Jetta then added an additional goofily charming characteristic to the list. He then added a slight bow before introducing himself "Ian Schaffer, fraulein. Er- miss, that is. A pleasure."

Jetta smiled with amusement at Ian as she subconsciously flattened out a light wrinkle on her elaborate dress. He was defiantly someone who belonged here. Jetta quickly toyed with what she should do in her mind. Introduce herself as Jetta, or maybe assume a new identity. She could be Charmaine, the heiress who spent her days reading things and practicing fancy floral arrangement. She very well could do that, it would be fun. Playing the role would be an amusing new challenge. How long would it take her to get caught? She would have none of the extra baggage Jetta had. But something about this man provoked her to do otherwise.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I say things I shouldn’t all the time” Jetta said with a laugh and a smile. When one is often high or drunk, one very often says things they should not. “It’s nice to meet ya Ian Schaffer, Fraulein” Jetta said as she playfully did a small curtsy in response to his little bow.

“Yep, it’s Miss. I’m Jetta Constantine.” Jetta said not sure if he was asking if she was a Miss or a Misses. Without Jetta noticing, her body had disobeyed her and started to sway a bit to the music, itching to move. Jetta finished her drink and before she even thought to summon the help, her empty drink was already gone. “So tell me about yourself Ian. What do you do for a living?” Jetta asked, genuinely interested in learning more about him. Part of her also wanted to know if she was right about the law enforcement thing. A hint of caution escaped when she asked about his profession. What was his take on hippie, dancer, druggie, groupies? Likely not a good one.

Just as Jetta had finished her sentence, a hand grabbed her shoulder. She jumped up in fright, much because of all the guilt she was feeling. She felt guilt over portraying herself as a Jetta of high class to the nice, smart Ian and guilt over smoking when she promised her brother she wouldn’t. He had been through so much recently; it wasn’t even fair that she was putting more stress on her beloved brother. Then again, she defiantly had her own problems too. Her addiction won over anyone in her life.

"Jet, were you smoking?" said the person from behind her. As soon as she heard his voice she knew it was Viv. Jetta spun herself around, trying to shove out a smile. "I want to smell your breath" he added, piling on the embarrassment.

For a moment a bit of anger budded through and Jetta gave Viv a “I am going to kill you… later” look until she looked into his eyes. She couldn’t keep up anger when she saw her brother’s eyes. They used to be so full of life, happy and almost bouncy with delight. Since his daughter died, his eyes were full of anguish, bland yet full of pain. Jetta couldn’t stand looking at him now a days, he just wasn’t himself. That truely gave her pain, more than anything. Anything other than thinking of her past and what she had done with her life. How she did things like this.

“Erhum… Hey Viv” Jetta chocked out nervously. His presence was like getting caught by a parent who you actually cared about; A new experience for Jetta. She knew she was busted, Viv knew her way too well. “Ummm, Heh, uh yeah.. Ian! Meet my younger brother Viviannah. He is a sushi chief who is allergic to fish. Aint that just interesting? Viv this is Ian, I’m sure he’s real interesting too. Why don’t you tell us about yourself Ian?” Jetta said very quickly, completely ignoring Viviannah’s question and demand. Hopefully they would just get wrapped up in conversation. Oh a distraction, like a chandler falling off the celling would be lovely. She spoke very quickly now that she was nervous, saying absolutely whatever popped into her head.

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His linguistic slip had been noticed, but apparently misinterpreted. Ian was hardly surprised. Fraulein was a rather archaic term by today's standards anyway, and he certainly did not expect anyone here to know German. From the meld of voices, he guessed that to the contrary the majority were Americans, with some other nationalities thrown in here or there. He'd heard someone British and someone Russian at least.

It was not the only misinterpretation that had already wormed its way into their conversation either. When he'd asked if she shouldn't know about vibration replacing music, he had not been attempting to insult her intelligence but rather remark upon the fact that then as now she seemed disposed to feel rather than hear music herself. He was unsure if she noticed it, but she was moving with it at this very moment, though not enough that it constituted actual dancing. While an ordinary person might feel the need to correct these unfortunate misses, Ian did not. Rather, they were such a fixture of any conversation he tried to have with anyone that he was entirely resigned to them.

She asked after his profession, and he did not miss the cautionwarinessdistance that this produced. Perhaps she had an idea and was not happy with it? It never struck him to be anything less than perfectly honest, but he did wonder what reason anyone would have to fear a criminal profiler of all things. Well, unless one was a criminal of course. Though he had identified the fact that she had been smoking cannabis at some point recently, he was hardly going to arrest anyone for that. Certainly, it was not something that Ian himself would ever do, but... well, he'd tried to leave his work at the door, to only partial success if the fact that he was standing in a corner observing everything was anything to go by.

Before he could answer, though, he noted someone making a beeline straight for them, and his eyes shifted in that direction instead. He would be the first to admit that he was easily distracted; but then when each new thought or idea could prove to be something of utmost importance, being able to pick it up and follow it through almost instantly was something of a requirement. It was not as though a person could only think one thing at a time, after all. The newcomer seemed to be quite well-acquainted with Jetta, though this was explained in quick-enough order. Ian blinked slowly; he would not have picked Jetta as the sort to lose her composure in the presence of a family member, though he could guess well enough what the actual issue was.

Ian was not really sure he should interfere, but she was clearly begging for him to do, well, something. He supposed he might be able to oblige, but he now found himself in something of a predicament. The man she introduced as her brother Viviannah was of a sort that Ian had only too much experience with: the kind who had lost the thing in their lives that they had loved the most. What made it worse was that he was clearly also of the brave-faced sort and would not wear it openly if he could avoid doing so. Ian needed no unconventional thinking to arrive at this conclusion- he had seen it so many times on the relatives of victims that frankly it was a side of humanity that he was too familiar with.

That familiarity never made it easier to deal with. He was not the kind of person who ever knew the right thing to say, nor would it be welcome from a complete stranger in a situation like this. But he knew, and acting like he didn't was bound to be even harder. With no other recourse, he slipped into the sort of persona he'd been raised with: cultured European gentleman. Offering a half-smile, he stuck out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Constantine. As Miss Jetta said, my name is Ian Schaeffer. I work for the International Police as a criminal profiler, I suppose you could say."

He paused for a moment, then regarded them both steadily. "I wouldn't want to interrupt, so please, if there are matters you would rather discuss elsewhere, I will certainly excuse myself..." he left the offer dangling in the air, for though he knew that this was probably the last thing Jetta wanted, courtesy demanded that he make the offer at the very least. Or he thought it did. Sometimes he wasn't sure he remembered.

Mischa was lost enough in the play of motion over the dance floor that it did not occur to her that she might have something of a quandary until he spoke. She knew she would be expected to respond, of course, and in her own way she did. The corners of her lips tilted up in a way that was all mystery and intrigue, and she tilted her head slightly to one side. Still, she knew he deserved more of an explanation than this, and was in the midst of trying to figure out how to convey what she wanted when the song ended, the two of them coming to a perfect stop on the edge of the floor.

As soon as the idea had bloomed in her mind, the flaxen-haired child was there, his server's tray this time not containing any form of refreshment, but rather the answer to her troubles. She smiled brilliantly her thanks and took up both the index-sized cards and the pen, scrawling over their surfaces quickly, but not with undue haste. Mischa felt a bit guilty for perhaps confusing her partner, but she was not one to hurry so much that she wasted effort. All things in life should be taken at the pace they warrant, and no faster.

Turning back to her unconventionally-dressed but undeniably dashing acquaintance, she held up the small stack of cards, now adorned with black lines in a loopy, elegant script. The first one read simply: I cannot speak. She gave a small, somewhat melancholy twist of the lips at this, then flipped to the next one.

But If I could, she flipped again,

I would be happy to tell you that my name is Mischa (mee-shah),

I'm a professional ballroom dancer,

And it's very nice to make your acquaintance.
The last one, which had been written as an afterthought, actually caused her to redden slightly, though her complexion made it difficult to tell.

Do you tango? If so, might I ask for some of your time later? They seemed to be on classical music at the moment, but she had little doubt somehow that this would be mixed up a bit by the end of the evening. Though she loved all dances, Mischa was particularly fond of the more fast-paced or higher-difficulty ones, especially if they had that hint of Latin spice. Call it a weakness of sorts, but something that was all sweetness wasn't really her preference. Such a tendency had gotten her into some serious trouble before, but she'd resolved not to let that change a thing about her.