Harlem was scowling deeply into the mirror, staring her reflection down as if it may back down from the sheer loathing in her gaze. The affect was rather lost on the reflection; it just glared right back at Harlem. Even when she narrowed her violet gaze at a full grown mundane he would nearly piss his pants! But her reflection remained firm.<br/><br/>Or at least as firm as she could be while her mother was dutifully pulling her hair and pricking her scalp. She glowered as the reflection of her motherâ€™s hands tied her silver hair up with dark purple ribbons. A Shadowhunter<span style="font-style: italic">ball.</span>Sheâ€™d never heard anything more ridiculous. Whoever had decided on this thing was an utter moron and needed to be beaten, as savagely as humanly possible â€“ no, as savagely as<span style="font-style: italic">shadowhunter-ly</span>possible â€“ then humiliated in every way imaginable before being dropped in a vat of corrosive acid and â€“<br/><br/>â€œSis, you look scary.â€ said an immature voice dryly.<br/><br/>Harlem shifted her glare in the mirror to see her little brother looking rather amused by his older sisterâ€™s torture. Their father was back there too; adjusting Ianâ€™s bowtie.<br/><br/>Harlem snorted and returned to glaring at the mirror with a crossing of her arms. â€œThere were never dumb parties like this in San Francisco.â€ She fumed.<br/><br/>Her mother gave a sigh of resignation. Sheâ€™d been dealing with her daughterâ€™s stubborn abhorrence of the mere thought of moving to the new Institute in Seattle since the day her husband had brought it up. What Harlem didnâ€™t understand was that her mother had reason to believe it was no longer safe in California...<br/><br/>So her mother tried an overused tactic that sheâ€™d been trying to drill into the girlâ€™s head for the two days. â€œThe ball was<span style="font-style: italic">conveniently</span>pre-planned to more or less unintentionally greet us upon our arrival. This will give you and Ian the chance to meet the shadowhunters that run it, and find someone around your age who may live nearby or at the Institute. You will have to do this because â€“â€œ at this point Harlem jumped in and helped her finish.<br/><br/>â€œ-because your father and I will be going to Idris to the City of Alicante to an important meeting with the Clave.â€ Harlem chorused along with her mother.<br/><br/>Her mother gave her a reproachful glare.<br/><br/>â€œAnd, it has to do with the<span style="font-style: italic">Inquisitor</span>of all people!â€ Harlem tacked on with mocking in her voice.<br/><br/>â€œ<span style="font-style: italic">Harlem...</span>â€<br/><br/>The girl wilted. â€œYeah, fine.â€<br/><br/>Her mother frowned. â€œGood. Now, letâ€™s get to the Institute. Itâ€™s just a few blocks from the hotel; weâ€™ll walk.â€<br/><br/>Harlem frowned balefully, standing from her seat and brushing at the fluttery layers of her black skirt. Her parents left the room, young Ian following after a quick glance in the mirror. Harlem watched the twelve year old pat and brush his silver hair with his fingers then give his reflection a childish grin. Then he turned and bolted out of the room; shiny black dress shoes flashing about as he stomped out loudly.<br/><br/>Harlem sighed. There would be so much to teach that boy about stealth.<br/><br/>Chancing being caught, Harlem gave herself a once over in the mirror. Her mother had pulled her hair up in her usual twin tails, but had decorated them with violet bows to match her eyes. Bracelets hung from her snow white wrists; each one marked with runes for things like beauty, grace, poise, strength, silence, bravery, and swiftness. You know, normal stuff. She also sported a necklace heavy with dangling crystals; crystals enhanced with Sensor abilities. They would turn red and pulse when a demonic presence approached. Her heavy lashes had been curled and there was a layer of fine powder over her already nice skin. She tried to not let it bother her though; it was a â€˜special occasion;â€™ and she didnâ€™t have to put up with this torture too often.<br/><br/>Before she went to join her family, she took her stele and slid it into her shiny faux-leather bustier and hid a dagger in a thigh sheath under her ankle-length skirt.<br/><br/>Feeling empty without her scythe (which was to remain hidden under her hotel bed incase housekeeping ignored the â€˜do not disturbâ€™ sign) Harlem went to join her family, donning a coat before dashing out the door.<br/><br/>---<br/><br/>Harlem had always thought parties were dumber than dumb. Especially ones thrown by adults. Lord Raziel â€“ it was so BORING. Light classical music played â€“ which wasnâ€™t so bad by her standards â€“ but being surrounded by small talk, clinking glasses, polite laughter, witty remarks, chit-chat about the weather, and frilly little appetizers was driving her<span style="font-style: italic"><span style="font-weight: bold">crazy</span></span>.<br/><br/>Her parents had located the leader of the Institute and introduced themselves as Harriet and Logan Morgenstern and explained that they would be entrusting their children to the Instituteâ€™s care while they took a trip to Alicante. Apparently this had all been explained in a letter which the had been sent to the Institute about a month before the move from Cali, but Harlem figured her parents thought the woman needed a quick recap. Upon the mention of children, her mother had pulled Harlem back to her side (sheâ€™d been attempting to escape) and introduced her and Ian.<br/><br/>â€œAnd these are our children, Harlem and Ian Morgenstern.â€ Said her mother properly.<br/><br/>Ian smiled charmingly at the woman in the silver dress. â€œItâ€™s nice to meet you!â€ He chirped, reminding the dry-humored Harlem of a trained cockatiel.<br/><br/>Harlem just drew her eyes away from crowd-scanning (you know, just in case a threat somehow got passed a huge room full of shadowhunters) to look at the older shadowhunter woman. â€œAh, hi.â€ She greeted lamely, and then eyed a plate of tiny sandwiches as they bounced past her, carried by a man in a suit.<br/><br/><div style="margin:20px; margin-top:5px"><div class="quotetitle"><input class="button2 btnlite" onclick="if (this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display != '') { this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display = '';      this.innerText = ''; this.value = 'Hide'; } else { this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display = 'none'; this.innerText = ''; this.value = 'Show'; }" style="text-align:center;width:100px;margin:0px;padding:0px;" type="button" value="Show"/></div><div class="quotecontent"><div style="display: none;"><a class="postlink" href="http://i317.photobucket.com/albums/mm374/AmeeraLyalock/GothicdressforHarlem.jpg">[ img ]</a> <a class="postlink" href="http://i317.photobucket.com/albums/mm374/AmeeraLyalock/whatever.jpg">[ img ]</a></div></div></div>